Dec 10 2011
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Sweat dripped down my forehead. My hair hung damp in my face, a limp version of its former self. We’d been at this for hours. Hours. And all I’d managed to move was a pencil. Two inches.
“Again, Cameron,” barked my tutor, Deacon. “You’re not focusing. Move it to the end of the desk and we’ll call it a day.” Most people go out of their way to make him happy. I’m not most people. I picked the pencil up and threw it across the room.
“There. It’s moved.” I blew my bangs back from my face, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning my hip on the desk. Translation: I’m done for the day.
“Perhaps it’s time to rest. Come. Meditate.” He bared his feet, carefully tucking his socks into his black Nikes and indicated I should mirror him. Once prepared, we sat across from each other, legs crossed, backs straight.
I suppose this could be where my problem lies. The point of meditating is to have all your focus on, well, meditating. My focus lacks focus. Random thoughts flutter around my head and try as I might, I still find myself thinking about my parents, or how much I want the new Lucky jeans, or why some people just can’t stop with the plastic surgery. I mean, seriously, when your face starts rivaling Barbie’s in texture, it’s not a good thing.
Oh, crap. See? I was supposed to be centering my focus on relaxing my muscles. Instead, I went a little crazy with the inner monologue. Okay, Cami. Focus. Relax your toes. Breathe. Relax. I hope mom remembered to feed Pippa.
Well, yeah, that’s about how it went. For ages. Until he decided we had focused all we could. Only then could we stand back up. Goodness. Life was so much easier before the Touch took hold in me. I missed my quiet life with my parents and my cat. I haven’t even seen them in months. Not since the training began and Deacon got saddled with getting my powers under control.
“That’s enough. Now, I want you to try the pencil again.” The object of my lesson floated from its resting place on the plush carpet to land back on the desk. Show off.
“Not all telekinetics have been honing their power for over twenty years. Did it ever occur to anyone that the one time I actually moved something was a fluke?” That was a great day. The day my life changed for ever. The day I stopped being mundane and became Touched. Well sort of. I’ve been Touched since I was six, but I was more of a dud, like a firework that never explodes. “Maybe it was the combination of environmental factors that initiated the original, successful telekinetic display.” That’s a nice way of putting it; I threw a man over his car. Without touching him. For whistling at me.
“Yes. The vampire blood was still in my system. And,” I struggled to come up with support for my flimsy premise. I finally settled on, “PMS.” There. I’d like to see a man argue with that.
“The vamp blood will always be in your system, Cameron. Your body can’t process it out. As for the other factor, give me a calendar; I’ll be sure to schedule us on a day where your usually pleasant, fun-loving demeanor is replaced by the unpleasantness that afflicts women. Oh, wait. That’s everyday for you. One more try and you won’t have to see me the rest of the day.”
Well, hell. That’s motivation in itself.