Burned Candle

  Nikole Ann walked behind a sea of students, her mind wandering to that soundless part of her conscience. Where things usually never made sense, but always created doubt, a sense of dread spreading through her sensitive olive skin.  

Slowly, she raised her hand to her shoulder, removing her dark hair from it. Her long, red polished nails graced her exposed skin, a shiver running down her spine as the memory resurfaced.   

Blue eyes flashed across her mind, his rough hands lingering beyond the narrows of her lower back.   

The sharp, hot feeling he awakened constantly ran down her back like melted wax, her spirit a candle that was slowly being put out.   

“Permiso,” someone said from behind, sidestepping her, his hurried steps snapping Nikole Ann out of her thoughts as she numbly watched the guy confront the sea of tumultuous students, disappearing beyond the mob. Not caring about who he shoved in his way, Nikole Ann caught on how the people turned and cursed at the guy, and the urge to apologize despite not having been the one to bother, wanted to resurface, yet she shoved it down. Nikole Ann had learned long ago that she didn’t need to apologize—it wasn’t all her fault.   

Yet there’s always that feeling, a small taunting voice whispered in her head. Nikole Ann ignored it. She had learned to always ignore it. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have gotten where she was today. And she liked where she was today, even if somethings weren’t…quite fitting together.   

His voice rang in her head, and Nikole Ann suppressed a sigh. She thought she left him behind at the biology department, yet she could still hear his voice.   

“Stay by my side, you know that’s the only way in.” She knew that. Nikole Ann had always known that.   

Suddenly, Nikole Ann realized she’d stopped walking, her breathing ragged, her dark-brown eyes widened. All of a sudden, she couldn’t recall why she was so bothered, why her head throbbed so badly.   

She gazed down at her phone, dismissing her thoughts.  

  I’m going to be late.   

She tried to assure herself she meant she’d be late for her class, and not something else... after all, this was what she wanted.   

Nikole Ann made her way down the pathway, avoiding the stares of wandering eyes, and continued her steps. She clutched tightly her phone in her left hand, the screen brightness turned up, the text loud and clear.  

“Permiso.” The words slipped tightly past her lips as she sidestepped the mob of people, raising her chin as she, too, shoved aside as she made her way. She heard the brusque chitter of the girls she left behind, their voices loud in the background. They didn’t utter anything Nikole Ann hadn’t heard before. Nikole Ann was accustomed to their glares and sneers, had mastered how to muffle them out.   

She knew she wasn’t the nicest person at Red Ivy University, by far the friendliest. But Nikole Ann Santos Vargas didn’t care for friends, she cared about reputation and standing. And Andrew could guarantee her just that. A place where Nikole Ann could belong and be seen, and those soundless thoughts would just…vanish.   

Nikole Ann allowed her feet to carry her past images and images of people who walked alongside her, staring numbly at their screens, their steps hurried and swift, not once looking up to watch their surroundings. She guessed it was normal, when she, too, did the same, having learned to memorize the pathway. Constantly running a mental count of the number of steps left until she reached the trolley stop.   

Sixty-five more steps, she thought. Step, step, step. Fifty-three. Step, step, step. Forty. Thirty- eight.    

A few more steps and she’d make it to the trolley, and if the white, narrow rolling box didn’t make any new stops, she would arrive just in time for her 7:30 a.m. philosophy class. And right into that old classroom, surrounded by those gravel-gray concrete walls that reminded her of her mother’s first job when she was little, down at the city council’s archives. Where she read the files, those files that had opened the eyes of a young little girl, who thought her world would always remain the same.   

Yet Nikole Ann knew now that wasn’t true.   

Nikole Ann saw the white, stained trolley come to halt at its stop, the mob of people pushing to get on was small, unlike some days. But she figured it had to do with the fact it was 7:30 in the morning and many students took afternoon courses. She didn’t though, she preferred early courses, where her mind wouldn’t be allowed to wander so much, and she wouldn’t be bothered by annoying classmates. Nobody bothered to speak in the early courses, was it because they were all still droopy, or they simply couldn’t be bothered to socialize—she didn’t know. And she genuinely didn’t care. Nikole Ann didn’t like socializing with those in her classes either, especially those in her philosophy class.   

Not when they reminded her of what she didn’t have and what they did. Every time her eyes fell upon them, from the tallest figure up at the front of the class, to the very last one sitting at the corner of the classroom, she would only see the mask they wore, and their ranks. Any time she enrolled in a new course, Nikole Ann would access the group's emails and rank down the last names, in search of them. And Nikole Ann could recognize them all. Every one of them.   

Vargas: Sheep. Vega: Rabbit. Nieves: Rabbit. Castillo: Wolf. Aranzamendi: Rabbit. Villanueva: Lion.  

Nikole Ann had learned to spot them easily, and as she quickly hopped on the trolley, taking a seat at the front, she became vaguely aware of the eyes on her back, and slowly realized she too had become easy to spot. They whispered about her, not bothering to lower their voices.   

“They say she seduced him,” one voice said.   

“Seduced him? Please, Andrew Santos doesn’t get seduced, he’s a player.” The second voice scoffed, and Nikole Ann could detect the emotions behind their words. “Always has been. She’s better off without him. And his family.”   

If only the voices at the back of the trolley knew that it was precisely Andrew’s family what Nikole Ann would never be better off with. She needed them, and soon they would see they needed her too. Nikole Ann just had to show them. And Andrew would help. He had too. Or else was this trailing feeling that still lingered on her back worth the effort?   

Nikole Ann pressed her lips tightly, not allowing herself to think about that as she smoothed down her black, linen skirt. She gazed down at her polished, black boots before staring out the window. They were close to the narrow, clustered Bus Stop by now. Nikole Ann ran her gaze through the waiting students, her eyes not catching on to any of them.  

No mask here.  

No member.  

No importance.   

The trolley slowly came to a stop, the wide building of the Social Science Department coming into view, the white concrete stones shining under the bright morning sun. Nikole Ann loved this building, though she would never admit it. She had admitted to Andrew, but it was because he had simply guessed it. So, it had been more like she had simply confirmed it, but never truly admitted it. Nikole Ann wasn’t someone who liked to share stuff. Again, probably why she didn’t have that many friends. Or it could be simply because for the past three months she’d been dating the pride of this institute’s soccer field. Either way, Nikole Ann couldn’t be bothered to care. She didn’t need friends—she never had.   

Nikole Ann pulled out her squared, pocketsize mirror before getting off the trolley, the chill, morning air caressing her face. The image that reflected in the small crystal she held up, showed a maskless face, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this maskless face contained any value.   

She snapped the mirror shut, as well as her intrusive thoughts. As she pulled the straps of her burgundy, leather purse higher, she began making her way up to the building, confidence radiating every step she took.  

The loud, drum-like sound of music being blasted beyond the limits a small device allowed, and the strong scent of burned cigarettes' butts, made Nikole Ann notice one of her classmates walking ahead of her. The girl’s smudged, combats boots were being dragged through the pavestone, her posture relaxed, unbothered. She wore her wavy, long black hair tied up into a messy bun, strands peeking out in a circular way, forming an arc behind her head, her large silver headphones resting on the back of her neck.  

Nikole Ann recognized those features anywhere—Lion. Samira Roque Villanueva, the heiress to her mother’s throne, a girl who probably didn’t know just how lucky she was.  

I mean, how could she? She was born a Lion, she doesn’t have a clue.  

If only Nikole Ann had been born into her position, powerful parents: influential father, politically and academically acclaimed mother—yeah, Nikole Ann only wished.  

Nikole Ann observed Samira, the odd bird she was, declaring that she was one that preferred to be alone than surround herself with those she was meant to be with. Nikole Ann guessed she understood her desire to be alone, after all she wasn’t one to interact with others. Not unless they served her purpose.  

Suddenly, everything around Nikole Ann became a blur, figures walking by molded into a hazy cloud of colors, blue, gray, yellow, and the faint scent of smoke and cheap perfume. Nikole Ann could have tried to decipher the figures from the corner of her eye, but her gaze narrowed down on the Villanueva heiress. Nikole Ann had long ago decided that Samira could serve of no purpose. Not with the attitude she carried around. It was a shame really because of Samira’s mom, the esteemed known director of the investigation center at Red Ivy University. Maybe if they’d been friends, Nikole Ann could have found another way in—an easier way in. 

Without realizing it, Nikole Ann found herself following Samira into the department hallway, stopping before the classroom’s entrance. The old, squeaky door opened wide, the chirped voices of students resonating against the gravel-grey concrete walls, and Nikole Ann felt as if they morphed into one single tunnel of tones that headed towards her, begging her to interact. To be part of the group.  

Come, join us. Be one of us.  

Nikole Ann ignored those voices, not bothering to make any eye contact with the classmates around her as she sat at the front of the class. She reached into her purse, carefully displaying her iPad, a small notebook, and two pens (a black and blue one) next to each other on her clean, polished desks.  

Everybody probably knew this desk belonged to her, considering the first day she’d taken the time to wipe it clean, making sure to remove all the black, and pencil-stained marks scratched all over the surface, plus anyone rarely liked sitting next to the quiet and studious Rennata Veguilla, who liked to remain in her space, yet answer most of the questions in class. If Nikole Ann could become friends with anyone—or at least pretend to like someone, it would be Rennata. She seemed to stay in her lane, not bothering anyone, but Nikole Ann always caught on how her delicate, brown eyes analyzed every single word that professor Madlock uttered, as if she couldn’t miss a single adjective, nor coma. If she had to guess, Rennata probably took notes even when the professor inhaled between his sentences, having lost his line.  

Nikole Ann respected her, saw a small snippet of herself in the girl.  

“Good evening, class,” said professor Madlock cheerly, his scrawny, slender figure staggering into the classroom, clutching his ivory cane with his left hand, three yellow folders tucked beneath his arm. He smiled warmly at the classroom, pleased to hear the echoes of students welcoming him in. Professor Madlock had supposedly suffered a car accident a few years ago, having had his left knee busted—or so he claimed. Some said he had refused to get any surgery done, opting to use a cane for the rest of his life which made him look twice his age. As usual, Nikole Ann was hit with the strong scent of pumpkin spice, wrapping around her like a smoky cloud that engulfed her.  

She inhaled, her hand quickly reaching for her pink rose hand-sanitizer, rubbing some on her wrist and bringing it up to her nose. The smell of pumpkin made her feel queasy, and Nikole Ann hated feeling queasy.  

“Okay class, on today’s lesson were going to finally get working on your final presentation.” Professor Madlock settled on the mahogany desk, placing down the folders. As he made his way around the desk, one of the papers slipped from the desk, stumbling to the floor. Before anyone could blink, Rennata had bent over to retrieve them, her small frame moving quickly, begging not to call any attention to herself. Nikole Ann noticed how she dressed to blend in too: a pair of white pants, a tucked-in blue blouse with a pair of white converse. She wore her faint, blond hair up in a ponytail, nicely put together. Maybe this was someone Nikole Ann could have indeed been friends with.  

In another life maybe. Rennata could never belong where Nikole Ann was headed.  

 “Thank you, Rennata,” professor Madlock whispered as she handed him the scattered papers, her head lowered slightly. She murmured something like ‘always my pleasure’ but Nikole Ann couldn’t be sure she heard her right.  

Facing the class, the professor straightened out in his worn-out velvet cushioned chair, his light hair covered in what seemed like...ash? “As I mentioned, today you’ll start working on your final presentation for the course, this one will have a value of 200 points, so better not suck, guys!” Nikole Ann’s lips remained pressed together, her hands toying with the cap of her pen. A part of her wanted to take notes, yet another couldn’t be bothered. Professor Madlock usually ends up uploading all the class material to their institutional program anyway. She felt like it would be a waste of her ink.  

“I’ve decided to separate you into a group of four, allowing you to pick any of the cases on social debates discussed in class to further study them. I want to know what makes them so impactful to our society, the morality behind the final decision. Does it make any difference to our system or is it simply another rule, change—order that is implemented on us?” Professor Madlock rose to his feet, his devoted tone carried out into the hallway. His brown eyes moved over the heads of the classroom, and Nikole Ann knew what he saw. She was fairly certain professor Madlock knew. She didn't know how to prove it for he sometimes seemed too inadequate to belong to them, yet the way his eyes narrowed, as if seeing something beyond the walls of this classroom, made her wonder.  

Was he? 

“Nikole Ann,” professor Madlock said, snapping Nikole Ann from her thoughts, her eyes quickly finding his. “You’ll be with Villanueva and Aranzamendi, pick any case. But pick a good one, this will determine the final grade of your course.” His eyes quivered beneath her gaze, his voice and his stare projecting two different things. “I know you’ll guys pick a good one.”  

His eyes seemed to warn: Make sure to pick a good one.  

Nikole Ann nodded, ignoring the huffed sound coming from the left side of the room. She didn’t need to know that Samira was probably annoyed by the decision. She was too, she just didn’t react. Ever.  

But Nikole Ann knew that if you stared into her own hazel-brown eyes long enough, you would be able to tell that just like professor Madlock, her eyes, too, told a different story.  

  --------------

The cool, hard surface pressed to Nikole Ann’s back centered her, reminding her to stay grounded and focused. The elevator designated for the ‘Association’ was located at the far end of the south wing of the library. Nikole Ann had taken this elevator only two times, when she’d first met Andrew and the second when he accepted her proposal. That occasion in particular would always be implanted in Nikole Ann’s memory, the unknown feeling of his lips pressed against hers, had scared her. She’d been exposed to a feeling she didn’t like associating with, nor one she wanted in her life. Everything is great when kept at a certain distance, her mother once taught her. Nikole Ann knew she’d have to keep Andrew at a distance, yet... 

“Are you nervous?” Nikole Ann felt bright blue eyes zeroed down on her, studying her.   

She leveled her gaze with his, squaring her shoulders lightly. She raised a brow, catching her reflection on the closed doors. Her bright blue dress hugged her tightly on the hips, and Nikole Ann felt a thrill, pleased with her appearance. Her tone shifted, annoyance lacing her voice.  “Should I be?”   

A smirk slowly tugged at Andrew’s lips; his relaxed body shook with amusement as he shifted, pushing away from the shimmering steel walls. “No, my parents won’t say anything.” He shrugged, his fine-ironed white shirt stretching across his tight chest. He rolled his eyes, exhaling. “At least, not at you.”  

Nikole Ann should have said something. She had a vague sense that it was one of those comments that deserved a response. Yet she couldn’t be bothered. When it came to Andrew, there wasn’t any need to respond. In the last three months, they’d been dating she’d learned that when it came to Andrew, she didn’t have to utter a single word—he talked for the both of them.   

Ese niño hablaría hasta con la pared, si lo dejaran, Nikole Ann could hear her mother’s tantalizing voice. Maria Vargas tended to tease about every aspect of Nikole Ann’s life, every small detail was mocked and pointed out.  

‘Mija why would you wear those shoes? Son costosos y llamativos.’ ‘Eres bella, mija. You don’t need that much makeup, it stains your lindura.’  

Constant little snippets here and there. Anyone would say there was affection behind those words, yet Nikole Ann didn’t focus on what was behind but what was shoved in her face. She knew that her mother’s snooty words weren’t said intentionally, after all, Maria did love her. Or so Maria reminded her every so often when she texted quick ‘hellos’ and ‘how are you?’ here and there, followed with yellow heart-emojis and a very random praying emoji. Nikole Ann had long ago stopped trying to figure out what the last one meant.   

“Nikole?” 

Nikole Ann snapped out her thoughts, her eyes locking with Andrew’s intense gaze. She hated how those blue eyes sent a quiver down her spine. “Yes?” 

“I asked how your day was,” Andrew repeated, his tone calm, yet his eyes studied her. Like they always seemed to do. “Make any new friends?”   Nikole Ann scoffed, pushing off the elevator’s back wall. She took a step towards him, missing the cool press on her exposed back. The prickling burning sensation resurfacing. “Why would I make new friends? I have you.” And that burning trail that followed her every time he was near. “I don’t need more.” She crossed her arms, shaking her head, her silver earrings waltzing around her.  

Andrew smirked, yet it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, but I’m not just your friend, Nikole.” Deliberately his fingers touched her waist, trailing down delicately over her satin dress, coming to a rest at her hip. “And given that, I believe you should make some friends. We do need allies, you know.”  

There was a scratch of her heels being forced against the ground, the sound of a breath caught and before Nikole Ann knew it, she had gripped his white shirt, her grip strong and desperate, her walls coming down. Andrew’s eyes widened as she jerked him towards her, her eyes wide as her voice cracked. “You’re my ally, Andrew Santos. Don’t fail me now. You promised.” 

 She hated herself. Nikole Ann hated that she needed him. And that he knew it, but mostly that she had to remind him.  

Andrew remained still, and Nikole Ann could see her reflection in his clear, bright eyes. A feeling of disgust ran through her, dropping her grip, she stepped back, straightening. She turned her face away from him, collecting herself. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lift his hand, but slowly drop it, his mouth irking up as if he was going to say something. Yet he didn’t.  

Andrew remained silent for the entire four minutes they had left, until the cool steel doors opened, revealing a dimly lit, stone tunnel. The chill, silent air caressed her neck, and suddenly Nikole Ann regretted having worn her hair up, leaving her exposed neck victim to the dead, cold air on the underground passageways.  

“Andrew, honey, is that you?” The sweet, delicate voice of Andrew’s mother echoed against the narrow walls, not a soul to be seen. Another kind of chill ran down Nikole Ann’s spine.  

Andrew didn’t answer his mother, instead he turned to Nikole Ann, offering a sympathetic smile as he slipped his fingers into her palm, interlacing them. He gave her a firm, encouraging squeeze. Nikole Ann wished she hadn’t gripped his hand back.  

“Yes, mother, we’re here,” Andrew announced into the empty passageway, stepping into the dusty-covered limestone, pulling Nikole Ann after him. “And by we, I mean Nikole and me.”  

Nikole Ann could have sworn she heard Jennifer Santos-Plaza scoff, and if she focused just enough she could visualize Jennifer rolling her eyes as she turned to her quiet, mild husband blaming him for his son being a disappointment. After all, everyone was at fault for Andrew having engaged himself to an outsider. A woman with no mask and no status to them.   

Yet not for long, Nikole Ann thought as she stepped out of the elevator and into the desolated, stone-built tunnel. The torches set on the wall were held by sconces made of dark marble, worn-out and fractured, the light reflected shadows across the floor, dancing alongside theirs as Nikole Ann and Andrew began walking towards the sound of people laughing, glass clinking and muffled voices behind masks.  

Nikole Ann became vaguely sure she yet again caught the aroma of that disgusting pumpkin spice, as if it clung to the walls that engulfed them into the darkness beyond.