There was a time when Suraya wanted nothing more than to erase the leaves engraved on her skin; to rip away the roots wrapping around her bones; to drain the chlorophyll flowing in her veins.

Maybe if she could go back, be a god for a minute or two, Suraya would have switched up the pattern of her genetic makeup and hope that it resulted in something normal. If it didn't work, she'd try it again. And again, and again, until it did.

What did it matter, the extraordinary things Suraya could do, if ordinary people would turn her away once they knew the truth?

For a long time, she had known that there were bad people in the world. She knew because she saw it, felt it, lived with it.

Her mother always kept a vase of flowers, fresh in the kitchen, but then he would come home. Have a drink, then two, then five. The yelling started and then.... Was it wrong that Suraya wanted those flowers to grow, to wrap themselves around his neck until he couldn't breathe?

Suraya's mother still had the indentations on her arm where he grabbed her, and Suraya still had the bruise on her cheek where she hit her afterward. She was angry, Suraya knew that. She hadn't meant the words she said or the things she did. She was grieving. Her mother wouldn't even look at her since the accident. That's what the police called it, even if Suraya and her mother knew otherwise. Suraya took it as a good sign, her mother not revealing to others what she had done.

Suraya was wrong.

"But....I don't want to leave."

"I don't care what you want." It was more terrifying that her mother didn't raise her voice. She was calm, collected, set in her decision.

"I was trying to protect you," Suraya pleaded. "He was hurting you, Ma, and I couldn't just —"

"And now I can't look at you without seeing what you did," her mother snapped. It was then that she finally met Suraya's gaze, nostrils flared, jaw clenched. "I don't know what you are, but you certainly aren't my daughter."

With the tremble in her mother's voice and the way her eyes raked along the markings on Suraya's skin, she understood. It wasn't that her mother was terrifying; it was that she was terrified.

「࿔༻❀༺࿔」

Was it a paradox that Suraya lost faith in humanity but learned how to enjoy living among them?

Even with everything she'd been through, Suraya had to admit that there were some good humans. Suraya wished that was enough to make her not feel resentment at how the world worked—to not feel hatred at those who made and kept it that way.

Maybe if she could go back, be a god for a minute or two, Suraya would rearrange the world. And if that didn't work, she'd uproot it herself and have something new, something better, grow in its place.

But, for now, she was happy (enough) playing normal.

「࿔༻❀༺࿔」

"I don't have your stupid watch," Suraya insisted. Her voice was a whisper, but still assertive; she was looking for a book when James approached. Suraya was done wasting her time on James, especially if it meant being late for her next class.

"I can't find it anywhere, though."

"And that's my problem, why?"

"Well, I haven't seen it since we last slept together. I was thinking that maybe...."

"What exactly are you accusing me of?" Suraya finally stopped examining the shelves and turned towards James, arms crossed.

At that moment, a boy walked between them — someone Suraya had seen around campus, but never spoken to. Around her age, always in a blazer or a button down, always carrying a few books in his arms. He was sometimes with another girl, but today he was alone, wandering the aisles for his next read.

Once the boy moved a bit further away from the pair, James adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "Look, you and I — we had a good time."

Suraya felt something tug at the back of her mind, but she ignored it because the bigger headache was standing right in front of her. "No, you had a good time," she scoffed. "I faked it every time."

His cheeks flushed bright red, eyes darting to the boy, who didn't seem to have heard since he was moving on to the next aisle, and then back to Suraya. "Whatever. Just give me my watch back, and no hard feelings."

Yeah, that's the thing: James was gorgeous, but he was also a huge jerk. Like when he took all the credit for their lab report and the professor almost failed Suraya and even then, James wouldn't tell the truth—that she had done all the work and that, if anyone should be failing, it was him. Even just saying that they'd split the work equally (which, again, wasn't what happened) would have been better.

But, whatever. No hard feelings.

"I don't have your stupid watch," she declared. "Go bother someone else."

James let out a frustrated sigh. "Bitch," he grumbled, walking away.

While returning her gaze to the books in front of her, Suraya sensed the closest plant — a Dracaena — and smiled as she heard James run into it when one of its branches grew unexpectedly. She silently thanked whoever decided that the library needed to be decorated with some house plants.

It was a requirement at Empire State University that all science majors had to take a literature course, which was why Suraya was searching for a collection of Percy Shelley poetry. Soon, she found what she was looking for and walked to stand in line for the checkout counter. The librarian called next and Suraya walked up, handing her the book. Suddenly, that feeling from before rushed back to her head, as if someone was trying to open a door. Suraya turned her head around, but the only other person — the boy from earlier — was a few feet behind. He caught her gaze, gave her a soft smile.

"Miss!" the librarian raised her voice.

Suraya whipped her head back around. "Sorry. Yes?"

"I was just saying that you can't check out a new book since you have overdue fines. Since it's been more than two weeks, it's considered lost and you have to pay extra. We only have so many copies of Frankenstein, you know," the librarian chided.

Of course it was a book she'd let James borrow, one she had been renewing over and over just to keep on her bookshelf. She definitely wasn't getting it back, and the library wasn't either. Suraya looked in her wallet, that only had her MetroCard and enough money for dinner, then in her messenger bag on the chance she had any spare change. She didn't, having spent it on a coffee earlier that day.

"Is it possible to waive the fees, just for now?"

"No."

"I don't have the money now, but I will pay the library back," Suraya reasoned. "I really need this book for my next class."

"There's a bookshop a few blocks from here," the librarian droned.

Suraya bit her tongue to prevent herself from scoffing. "If I don't have the money to pay overdue fees, what makes you think I can actually buy the book?"

"Not my problem."

"Look, I'm already behind on the readings for this class and if I show up unprepared again, it won't be good."

"You should have thought of that before stealing from the library."

"I didn't steal it — " Suraya stopped herself. She needed the librarian to agree with her, so she had to stay calm. "I misplaced it, and I will pay the library back —"

"Next!" the librarian interrupted. Suraya was about to protest some more when someone interrupted.

"I'm terribly sorry, but this should cover any overdue fees." It was the boy behind her in line — Suraya hadn't realized he was British. He flashed Suraya a smile, this one more confident than before, and continued to persuade the librarian.

The librarian reluctantly took his money and scanned the book.

Suraya mumbled a thank you — to London Boy, not to the librarian — before exiting the building. She stuffed the book in her bag.

All of this and all she got was some Percy Shelley.... now if it was Mary Shelley instead....

"It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world —"

"—but on that account we shall be more attached to one another," Suraya finished the quote, having read Frankenstein so many times. She met London Boy's gaze; in the Friday afternoon light, his eyes were the clear, bright blue of a cloudless sky.

"Mary Shelley's one of the best female authors of our time."

"I don't think you need the female in that sentence," Suraya pointed out. "No one goes around saying Shakespeare is the best male playwright. He's just a playwright."

London Boy laughed—not like he was mocking Suraya, but more of a gentle chuckle. "Yes, that is a good point."

Suraya smiled at his effortless charm. "Thanks again," she gestured towards the library's doors. "I would have been humiliated if I didn't show up to class with that book."

"No worries. I'm always happy to help a pretty girl," he quipped, to which Suraya felt her cheeks grow warm. Looking around, he leaned in closer. "Besides, we've got to look out for our own and all that."

Suraya raised an eyebrow. "Mary Shelley enthusiasts?" she guessed. London Boy didn't answer right away, and Suraya took the opportunity to add: "Well, whatever you mean by that, I'm glad there was a pretty boy there to help."

This seemed to catch London Boy slightly off guard, his dazzling smile joined with a slight flush on his cheeks. At that moment, Suraya noticed a shift in his playboy persona, towards something else she couldn't quite understand; it quickly shifted back, though.

"That's a nice watch," he complimented, gesturing to Suraya's wrist.

James wasn't only a jerk; he was also pretty oblivious.

"Thank you." Suraya glanced at her wrist, then realized the time. "I've got to get to class," she announced, and London Boy nodded. "I'll see you around? Maybe next time I'll save you from library fees."

"Yes," he laughed. "I'd like that." 

「࿔༻❀༺࿔」

Author's Note!

And finally, she publishes the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed it....thank you for reading and lmk what you think :) 

Title inspiration: Macbeth