The Im in Perfect – Part 1


"This life is filled with hurt,
When happiness doesn't work,
Trust me, and take my hand,
When the lights go out, you'll understand."


   The stacks of university applications laid on the glossy, black countertop behind the cash register with Courtney's hand pressed onto the top as her neat and perfectly curved writing gently glided across the pages. She could hear the sounds of the dishes being smacked and clanged together in the back kitchen, as the kitchen employees laughed and chattered in their conversation. Though the arms of the vintage looking wall clock struck past ten, there were still a couple of customers enjoying their meals in a few of the booths. It wasn't time to close up yet, but there was enough time to continue on the lengthy post secondary education applications.

   A small click flickered on the black and white checker floors from behind Courtney and she knew it was her boss walking in her daily heels. The teenager had a good feeling she knew her boss was going to ask her to close up the shop. Not many people enjoyed the task of completing the final bits of clean up and maintaining the responsibility of making sure all the doors and windows to the small diner were locked. Courtney sure didn't. But she would constantly be assigned for this task, as she was one of the diner's most trusted employees. That, and because nearly everyone else has worked a shorter period than she has.

   "Courtney, could you close up the diner tonight?" She asked.

    She couldn't find a way to say no, so she nodded her head and gently sighed. Her boss then gave her an approving smile and walked into the back kitchen. There was a physics test in first period tomorrow, and Courtney really didn't want to stay around until eleven. But she had no choice; she needed the money for her post secondary expenses and all the help from scholarships she could get. Courtney wanted to enter the notable Harvard University to get a Master's degree in law. For a big name school, and a degree that would take years and years of education, it was obvious the next few years of Courtney's life weren't going to be cheap.

   Letting out another sigh, Courtney raised her head to take a glance at the few customers left at this time in night. Noticing the customers were taking their time with their food, the teenager swept her rich chocolate brown hair away from her eyes and continued with her application.

   At a quarter past eleven, Courtney turned the keys to lock the diner, and then headed to her 90s Toyota in the vacant parking lot. The rust along the bumpers of her dark green car wasn't exactly ideal, but it was the best she could afford. She reminded herself that once she graduated from Harvard, she'll be able to afford cars a lot nicer than this. So, Courtney started up her car, took another look at the diner, and then headed home.



   The summer wind blew softly against Duncan's face with the speed he was running. The alley he was in was long, narrow, and dark, with only tiny specks of the streetlights illuminating the early parts of the alley. The parts that Duncan was getting close to reaching.

   Bam!

   Duncan reacted with a startled jump. A jump that caused a few of the twenties he had in his hand to slip onto the ground he was running away from. Though he watched the cash pick up air from the soft breeze, the punk didn't stop running for his life.

   The street was getting closer as another gun shot went off. Bam! Duncan used his arms to cover his head as he felt a quick shot of air speed by him, and his heart skipped a big beat. The bullet just missed him, but Duncan still knew this was no time to celebrate.

   "Come back here, you motherfucking punk!" The man chasing him yelled.

   Duncan was outrunning him, he knew that. But still, a quick glance behind him helped confirmed his thoughts. The man was hurt, bleeding; stabbed. And the bloody knife lay tightly wrapped around the delinquent's hand. The alley's end was just a couple of feet away.

   To his advantage, Duncan couldn't hear much sounds of traffic on the roads; there was probably only a car or two. And one of those cars was going to be his way to escape. Bam!

   Another bullet was shot, as Duncan exited out of the alley, saw a green Toyota, and ran into the street. Though the vehicle was driving at the legal limit, and there wasn't more than a room length's distance between him and the dark green, economic sized car, Duncan still made the risk. Once he was blocking the way, the car went into an abrupt stop, as the tires screeched in the dark, lonely night and the delinquent placed his hands onto the hood of the car in attempt to stop the Toyota from coming any closer.

   The moment the car stopped, Duncan took one glance at the young driver's startled face, before memories started coming back to him. Memories of the life he had around cameras, lies, games, and prizes. Nothing has changed about her; she still had the same brown eyes, rich, chocolate brown hair, cut into a cropped bob, naturally tanned skin, preppy smart looks and a killer mouth. Duncan and the driver made eye contact as her eyes widened. She recognized him too.

   Without giving it any more time to think, Duncan ran towards the passenger door and pulled onto the handles in attempt to open the locked door. "Courtney!" He screamed, turning his head to realize the bastard has limped his way closer to the streets. "Unlock the door!"

   She didn't. And the look on her face painted the entire picture to Duncan. He stabbed her in the back and broke her heart. He knew that. But Courtney also looked terrified, and the punk didn't blame her; his blood coated knife was in plain view.

   "Courtney!!" He screamed once again, continuously yanking on the door handles like they were magically going to unlock.

   Bam!

   Duncan ducked, and covered his head with his arms, as he watched the bullet create a spark on the door next to him. That was when the teenager turned his head yet another time to watch the man exit the alley, with one hand bloodied from pressing against the wound near his stomach. He was exhausted, but dangerously close with his gun. Then, he heard a click and the door unlocked, as a tiny wave of relief zoomed through Duncan. The delinquent then slid into the passenger seat as fast as he could before slamming the door shut, hearing and feeling another bullet hit the passenger door.

   He was expecting Courtney to drive away that instant, but she didn't. So when Duncan turned his head to look at his ex girlfriend, he knew she was beyond terrified and hesitating between obeying the law and helping Duncan. "DRIVE!" Duncan yelled.

   She didn't as the look of panic overwhelmed her. Courtney's face told Duncan he was unwanted. But she was also scared, and the punk was going to take advantage of her emotions once again.

   "DRIVE COURTNEY, DRIVE!" He screamed. "GODDAMMIT, COURTNEY! JUST DRIVE THE FUCKING CAR!"

   She gave no response, and that's when Duncan turned around once again to realize the man was limping off the sidewalk and headings towards the car with a satisfying grin on his face. His grin was lethal, cocky, and marked pride as he held onto his handgun, waiting for the right moment to satisfy his desire. Then, for the first time in a long while, Duncan felt truly terrified, and held a tight, defensive grip around his knife. Terrified to the point he saw images flash through his head; most of them dark, dare devil attempts for thrills. None of them happy.

   Suddenly, the vehicle jerked forward and Duncan fell back against the seat. He saw the man's expression turn into anger as he held up his gun and started shooting once again. But the bullets couldn't compete against the speed of the car, as the man quickly became tiny. Duncan escaped him, with cash still in his hand, and a body free of injuries. Yet still, the punk knew this wasn't the end. It was just the beginning.

Far From Perfect

A Hush, Hush and Crescendo fan fic. A/N: There are no real spoilers in this fan fiction for Crescendo. Just little references here and there, nothing major. It doesn't really go along with the story line of Crescendo anyways.


"I'll be there watching from way up high,
The shadow you can't see when the sun's in the sky."


   I tried once again to call Patch. The four walls to my bedroom used to comfort me in a tempest of a thunder storm until two months ago, when Patch entered my life and things began to become chaotic. Because of him, I learned about fallen angels, Nephilim – the cross breed between a fallen angel and a human, and me; a descendant of a Nephilim. These truths put me into the wingless angels and Nephilim's death row, with a rusty, rough, black gun aimed between my eyes and my feet and wrist chained down by the hands of the angels of death. They all wanted to kill me; for a sacrifice to become human, to kill a pure breed immortal Nephilim, or to torture the fallen angels, or more specifically, Patch. Patch is a fallen turned guardian angel, but to everyone who didn't know about the angels, he's my boyfriend. I know I should be afraid of him; he tried to make a human sacrifice out of me. But he didn't. He regained his wings and became my saviour instead.
   Voicemail. "Hey, it's Nora; could you call me when you get this?" This was the forth voicemail I've left him today alone. He hasn't shown himself in days now and deep down, I knew it wasn't up to me to make my appointments with him. He was the one in control and he would come and go as he pleased.
   Waiting for him was pointless. The clock next to my bed shone midnight in a blood red light and dried leaves rustled outside in the wind. The doors to the farmhouse were locked, but Patch had always seemed to find a way around them.  He would drop by a visit if he wanted to. Then again, Patch also found a way inside my dreams. I didn't know how it worked, but I swear the Patch I was with in my dream the other night was actually him. He didn't say anything though, he just watched me with his hard, black eyes, without a readable expression in sight. I wouldn't have thought much about it if he didn't slip a copper ring onto my index finger. Because when I woke up, the exact ring was wrapped around the right finger. And it wasn't there before I fell asleep.
   Maybe he'll visit again. However he was doing it. I then slipped the ring off my finger and studied the engraving inside of it. There was a solid heart in between two deeply scratched on names, Nora and Patch. A single butterfly flew around my stomach. I had to see Patch again. In my dreams or in person, I just had to.


   Everything around me was in black and white. Not a single speck of colour was in sight, yet I was still in my own bedroom, sitting upright on my bed. I had to be asleep; dreaming. And as I looked down to rub my ring that lacked its copper colour, a shadow appeared in the corner of my eye. Patch. He leaned against my bedroom wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
   "How are you in my dream?" I asked. There were other things I had in mind, but the question seemed too important. I needed to make sure it was actually him; the guy with the mouth full of innuendoes and my personal hero.
   A corner of his mouth lifted. His eyes were the same colour of his hair, black and nothing more. As usual, Patch wore a black t-shirt and black jeans. His rock hard muscles could not be hidden underneath his clothes as his lean, tender muscles running down his exposed arms proved it.
   Suddenly, I didn't want an answer. Not that I was expecting one anyways. Patch kept many things away from me, and I sometimes wonder if I wanted to know what those were. Many of his memories were kept inside his wings. If I wanted to see into his past, I could slip my hands onto his back and touch the wings invisible to human eyes. But I only wanted to be in his arms. Right now.
   It was like he read my mind, because the next thing I knew, Patch sat on the edge of my bed. The side of the mattress sunk in at his weight as he shifted himself closer to me. My heart pounded louder between us as the faint smell of mint traveled up my nose. He always smelt so good.
   "Why so quiet, Angel?" He asked as his eyes became soft and I became aware of how close our bodies were to toughing.
   "Just thinking," I whispered. With him being so close to me, the mint scent was stronger than ever, giving me the desire to want Patch desperately. To feel the high I've been waiting for all day.
   "Want to share thoughts?"
    Looking at his eyes, then his lips, then back at his eyes, I grinned, "I want to share something else."
   Patch spread a grin onto his face, and then gave my lips an electrifying shock against his. Our mouths parted and I felt the tickle of his tongue as my fingers ran through his midnight black hair. Patch then wrestled me down against my bed while we continued kissing like we were never going to see each other again. Both of our kisses were rough, quick, deep and hungry.  It felt like he was going to leave my lips bruised, but I didn't care. My dream was our little, private world, where no one could interrupt.
   When we broke apart for breath, I looked into Patch's eyes. It didn't matter how far we go tonight, Patch is with me, on me, and suddenly, he was the most important thing in the world to me. My heart fluttered and a big knot churned my stomach, and before I could think twice, I whispered, "I love you."
   Patch sucked in some air and his body tensed. Within a split second, the knot in my stomach turned into a pain in my heart. Though my mind played with denial, my eyes began to water as a moment of silence passed. "Patch?" My voice cracked, forcing myself to keep the tears burning inside my chest.
   The moment we had before was broken. Nothing could make us rewind back a minute. Patch still had his body laid above mine but the air didn't dare hint a peak of romance. Suddenly, I wish I could take my words back. But I desperately wanted him to repeat my words. He had to feel the same way about me; after all he's done to make sure I was alive. He even admitted his only reason why he denied the offer of my human body was because he didn't want to live life without me. But yet his reaction differed.
   "Angel." Patch finally spoke.
   My tears were on the brink to escape, "You're the angel here." He didn't say anything, as the pain in my chest switched sides with anger. "Get off me."
   Patch didn't budge as I wiggled myself from under him, wasting my energy to get nowhere. Though Patch had no physical sensation, I couldn't pull myself back from kneeing him. It was still no use. "Get off of me!" I screamed, with tears leaving a trail down my cheeks. Now that they were out, they kept coming and coming to the point I was bawling and drowning in my own salty tears.
   "I'm forever yours, Angel." He spoke nearly with a whisper. His eyes were soft, and watched me closely and carefully; afraid the wrong words would have him sent to Hell. But the archangels couldn't hear us in my dream; it was Patch's purpose to enter them in the first place. We could do anything we wanted without fear that Patch was breaking one of the guardian angel rules. Though Patch was never a fan of following rules.
   "Then say it." I dared through my clamped teeth. "Prove it to me, Patch."
   Patch broke our eye contact and looked at my lips. I knew he wasn't going to kiss me. Our moment was broken and it wasn't what I was looking for anyways. I needed those three verbal words. It was the only cure to my bleeding heart. But still, Patch didn't say them. Instead, he took a hold of my right hand and gently massaged my index finger with his ring. When his eyes connected back with mine, I knew that was the furthest the angel was willing to go.
   My tears didn't seem to need a break. "You know they can't hear us," I whimpered. "It's just three words."
   Patch hesitated for a long moment, as his eyes suddenly became hard. Then, he gently shook his head, kissed my forehead and removed his weight off me. The heartbreak held itself back as I wanted to desperately do whatever it took to have him back on me. But the only word I managed to say was his name. His head turned, and he studied me. The door to my bedroom was already open and Patch was ready to enter the darkness outside my room. For some reason, there was absolutely nothing visible out my door, it was complete darkness in a shade of black so dark, it seemed impossible compared to Patch's hair and eyes. It was like the shone of light people claim to see for the short moments of their death before being brought back to life. Only, this light was dark. And it was consuming my heart.
   Patch held my eyes with his for another moment, before he looked away, entered the darkness and closed my bedroom door behind him. The next moment, the images of my colourless bedroom began to fade and run far, far away. That's when I understood what a broken heart truly felt like. I was being pulled away from Patch, and sucked back into reality.


   When my eyes opened, the sunlight entered my room, and all the colours were back in its place. My cheeks and pillow were wet and that's how I knew I was no longer in my dream. The details of my dream were concealed in my heart, and recalling those memories both pleasured and hurt me.
   It's just a dream. It had to be nothing more than a dream. It didn't logically make sense that Patch could enter another world and had the power to control my dreams. It was just a bad nightmare. Bad enough to put my body into tears. Patch is still in my life, not wanting to give up on us. If there would be anyone to blame, it would be on the archangels. Not Patch, and not myself, but the archangels.
   Just then, the pain began to ease away at the comforting thought that my dreams were just dreams. Not reality. Everything that happened last night was created by my own mind. Taking a deep sigh, I sat upright on my bed, closed my eyes, and rubbed my hands across my face, with my copper ring following my hands. However the ring got onto my finger, it was not through one of my dreams.
   But all it took was one look with my awaken eyes to doubt myself. My heart rate sped up again and I caught my own breath. Because on the edge of my bed, right above my feet that were buried deep in my covers, was a black feather. A large, dark, silky and smooth looking feather. A feather too big in size to belong to a bird. Ironically, it rested gently and peacefully on my white covers. Ironic like day and night, good and evil, and angels and demons. The feather belonged to Patch.

End.