Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 25
[Mind Garden]
Stacy sat cemented in her car, right hand around her phone and her two eyes staring at the number that just called her.
Cove’s.
She’s looking at Mind Garden right now. She only has to make a little curve past the little bed of trees around, and she’d be right in front of the building, but now she has been caught between a half-broken bridge.
She’s in a huge dilemma.
Her phone screen is still lit cos her thumb is on it, and her head looks like a disaster is occuring inside.
Why would Cove suddenly call and offer her a tutorial?
Why the heck would he call at the same time she has a tutorial session with Dorian?
A piece of her hair fell to her brows, and she slowly pushed it back with her palm.
She can’t possibly stand Dorian up, right?
He offered a tutorial by himself, so she can’t trash that kindness.
“Drive forward,” she told her driver, but immediately the car engines purred, she jerked.
The Mixer!
What if Cove refuses to come if she fails to go to him right now?
She can’t even read him or his plan for this move, but one thing is for sure; she has to go.
She told the driver to stop the car just when it has barely moved, then she positioned her phone in two hands and punched a text to Dorian.
Stacy: I have a terrible migraine, i suddenly got night sickness so I don’t think I’d make it.
That’s a big fat lie, but she can’t possibly tell him she’s off to see the egoistic Cove.
Her driver pulled out of that curve, and as they drove down the dark road, she feels something nipping at her mind, faintly but still there…
Guilt.
In the building, Dorian already finished drinking the apple drink he picked, and he has also played a full note from his guitar.
It’s been twenty minutes, and she should have arrived since ten minutes ago, so what went wrong again?
Why is she not calling or sending him a text?
He dropped the guitar, taking his phone, and that was when he remembered he actually turned it off cos of Angela’s preposterous text.
He switched on the phone, and it responded with a buzz the moment the screen clicked.
It’s a new message from five minutes ago…sent by Brat.
“She suddenly got migraine? Night sickness?” He muttered.
Same girl who texted him that she’d be here in ten minutes?
Is he being weird by not believing this new text?
He tried calling her line, but it’s off.
See? He’s not weird after all.
Why would a sick person turn off her phone? Can’t be electricity issues cos he’s sure her dad’s mansion spends billions on lightning yearly, so why?
He left the guitar on the table, then he closed the songbook and left the building, but one of his guards around the building came to him.
“Sir, we sighted a car around the curve some minutes ago—a pink McLaren,” he reported.
Dorian’s brows bunched.
“So two of our men followed the car to be sure it doesn’t belong to stalkers, and we found out the car is registered under Stacy Montana’s name.” The guard nodded.
“Stacy came here?” Dorian muttered, bypassing the guard.
“Very sure she did, sir.” The guard replied before returning to his post.
“I’ve always trusted my intuitions,” Dorian muttered, dialling her line again.
It’s still off.
“The men who followed her car, do they still have the coordinates of her route?” He asked.
That guard came back running.
“Yes, she was driving towards the Eastside road.” He said.
Dorian’s eyes shadowed.
Eastern road leads to many locations, but Stacy can’t be going to a grocery store when she has maids. She can’t be going to a church when she doesn’t look like a believer.
She can’t be going to a party either… Stacy and her friends frequently use Gunner clubhouse, and it’s nowhere near eastern, which leaves out just one location.
The streets.
The dark streets were illegal factories and old garages are.
No Sleep Garage.
He’s gonna have to see for himself if it’s true.
“Take me outta here,” he ordered his driver, and the car door was quickly opened for him, but before he could get inside, a smaller car drove into the small driveway.
Angela came down from the car, looking puffed—pale face, painfully red eyes and bent figure. She’s holding her tummy, groaning.
“Angel?” Dorian went closer.
“Why was your phone off?” The 45 years old woman sniffled. “I really haven’t felt this way with my period before. The cramps are killing me I wanna crawl under a rock and just die…” She muttered.
“Don’t say such things, you’ll be fine…I thought you sent me that text to bring me back home cos you didn’t want me to tutor Stacy, didn’t know you were real…” Dorian placed an arm on her shoulder.
“Why would I not want you to tutor her? I’m just in pains,” Angela took his hand, bringing it to her tummy.
“Touch, feel it. You can feel my contractions,”
“It isn’t right, Angel. The nurses will touch you when we arrive at the hospital,” Dorian withdrew his hand.
“But you’re like a son to me, don’t shy away,” Angela shook her head.
“Get in the car, Angela.” Dorian replied sternly, voice hard.
“Ok…” She nodded, and he guided her back as she climbed into his car.
Angela sat comfortably on the backseat, and Dorian adjusted her legs for her which she enjoyed, but it’d be more enjoyable if those hands were inside her clothes instead.
What’s his face gonna look like when he sees her naked?
That thought made her eyes open a bit, hunger and thirst are so deeply encapsulated in those eyes.
But not hunger for food nor thirst for water. It’s obvious who she’s hungry and thirsty for.
She had to spray mace in her eyes to make them red, she also ate unripe mangoes to give herself stomach ache, then she came here, and thankfully, it’s not in vain.
She got him.
Luckily, that sneaky Stacy girl isn’t anywhere around him.
Dorian slipped into the backseat beside her, and she quickly closed her eyes back as the drive to the hospital began.
Dorian’s mind isn’t in the car at all.
Agreed, he’s worried about Angela’s health, but ninety nine percent of his attention is on Stacy who’s not even in this car with him.
He’s just gonna drop Angela off for treatment in the hospital, and once she sleeps on soporific, he’s gonna still go check the garage.
—
[No Sleep Garage]
Stacy found out it wasn’t a joke when she arrived ten minutes ago. Cove really did make the call, it wasn’t a modulated voice.
She met him trying to lift a car on top of a carriage truck with some street boys.
She sat on the only available chair in the garage front, her backpack containing her books still on her back.
She watched the push for few minutes before the guys were able to push the car on top of the truck.
No idea where they’re taking it, but one of the guys drove the truck out of the garage immediately.
The others were giving her unfriendly looks as they left the garage, and Cove went to the tap beside a linoleum wall to wash his hands. He wore leather when they were lifting the car, so his hands are clean, his he still washed.
He was wiping with an handkerchief as he walked to her.
Seems Trevor and Matteo aren’t here cos she’s not seeing them anywhere.
“Where is the truck taking the car to?” She asked before she could stop herself.
“A junkyard,” he answered flatly without insulting her, and that strangely felt refreshing.
He talked without saying something harsh? Medal soon.
He entered the spare room, and minutes later, he emerged.
He has changed his garage gear, now wearing a armless black shirt…not any of his hoods.
Then a jean under it.
He’s with his backpack too, and he pulled a chair and a table closer to where he sat.
With the table between them, he sat on the other chair opposite her, and her eyes caught the way his muscles moved almost mechanically under his skin. It’s the first time she’s seeing him wear armless, so ogling a bit won’t make her go to hell.
The slam of his laptop on the table made her look away from his open arms.
She focused.
“So…you left your other tutor hanging?” He said in a flat voice, opening the laptop.
“What do you mean left my other tutor hanging? You think I wanna come here?” She smirked.
“Why are you now here?” He looked up, his smirk mirroring hers.
“I want a favor from you about the Mixer! Of course I’d do everything to make sure you come! I’d rather receive tutor from Dorian instead of you so get over yourself. What do you even know about mass comm? You’re a computer science student anyways,” she hissed.
“The syllabus,” he replied like he didn’t hear what she just ranted.
She threw the flat book on the table, and he pulled it open, his eyes scanning till he saw the perfect topic to treat.
Media Framing & Public Perception.
He leaned back in his chair, his shirt cuffing around his joint, pen already twirling between his fingers.
“Listen,” he started, face too calm but holding that topping of coldness that’s never lost. “Boring course you’re offering, but at least there’s a subject that won’t induce sleep.”
Stacy folded her arms. “There you go. I’ve been expecting something offensive from you.”
He cleared his throat once. “Framing is basically how the media packages a story. Same event, different angles, different reactions.”
She tilted her head. “Example?”
“If a protest happens,” he said, leaning forward now. “One news outlet might frame it as ‘citizens demanding justice.’ Another might call it ‘rioters causing chaos.’ Same protest. Different frame. Different emotional response.”
Stacy’s brows lifted, her interest bigger. “So it’s about word choice?”
“Don’t be slow, it bores me,” Cove muttered. “Word choice, visuals, what they emphasize, what they ignore,” he corrected. “Media doesn’t just report reality. It constructs it.”
Stacy nodded slowly. “So is framing intentional manipulation?”
He smirked, but his eyes are paused. “Sometimes it’s bias. Sometimes it’s ideology. Sometimes it’s just editorial priority.”
Stacy typed important points down on her own laptop for five straight minutes, then she paused. “How does this affect public opinion long term?”
His expression shifted, his smirk giving impressed.
He tapped the table once.
“Repeated framing shapes narratives. Narratives shape beliefs. If the media consistently frames a group negatively, the audience starts associating that group with negativity automatically. It’s conditioning.”
She studied him for a short-while. “So media has power.”
“Massive power,” he replied.
“What about social media? Does framing apply there too?”
His smirk faded. “Obviously, memes are frames. Hashtags are frames.”
She exhaled. “This is deeper than I thought.”
“You’re shaming your dad here, Bad Idea… The daughter of a media mogul have little to no knowledge of mass comm?” His smirk returned.
“Cove—”
“What? Are you gonna start crying like your friend? What’s her name? The one at the golf field?” He cut in, his head going back.
“Zendaya? You don’t even know her name?” Stacy’s eyes nearly popped.
“Why should I know her name?” He said. “It’s already enough that I know the name of one dullard. Another name would be outright torture,”
Stacy picked her sparkling water Stanley cup from the table and threw it at him.
Thankfully it’s capped, so water didn’t spill, but he picked it up with a dry mocking smile and dropped it back on the table.
She’s still glaring at him from the other end, and he leaned his elbows on it, reeling in.
“Don’t get defensive when someone calls you what you really are. You’re a dullard, Stacy. Your dad owns media houses across the country, but you’re lowly informed, so what was the plan before?” He gave her a eyeball to eyeball look.
Stacy’s neck is nearly at bursting point right now. She’s not breathing as the insults kept coming.
“When you graduate uni with a forged 5.00 CGPA, you’ll be thrown into one of your dad’s media houses as a pretty Top news anchor, is that it?” His brows went up.
Stacy stood abruptly, taking the Stanley cup.
She opened it to wet him, but he talked again…
“It’s not too late. Get tutorials from your dad too…he studied mass comm in school too, didn’t he?” He said.
Her hand went down.
She sat back.
“Don’t just talk about my dad if you don’t know anything…”
“What? Is he an absent dad who only sends you money? He’s never home?” His eyes went low. “Now it’s clear why you’re an attention-seeker.”
And that was the last one.
She poured the water on him, wetting his face to his shirt.
He sat there, still. Even as the water crawled down his body.
Stacy got her books and system back into her backpack, and she lifted it, stumping to the gate.
But she could only open it. Before she could step out, a firmer hand took it from her and slammed it shut.
She was faced with Cove once again.
When did he get behind?
Her back rested on the closed gate, and she looked up at his annoyingly tall figure as he stole her space.
He raised a bottle of engine oil on her head, ready to pour.
She gasped.
“It was water on you! Why the fûck are you using engine oil?”
“You don’t get to chose my revenge method?” He spoke.
“Besides, you said what made you deserve the water,” she said.
“You mean the truth?” He lowered his arm. “Aren’t you an attention seeker? Bad Idea, speak up, and if you lie, I’ll have to bath you with this engine oil,” he rasped, his voice so close to her ears she could hear the echo.
“Are you an attention seeker? Or not?” He asked, in a low growl.
Her eyes shot up, and she could taste NO on her own tongue already, but saying that means this rude boy is gonna really wet her with the hideous engine oil which she doesn’t want. She likes this bum shorts she’s wearing so much to let anyone spoil the fabric for her.
He awaited an answer, and she suddenly gave him a push on the chest, going down in an escape attempt, but he only had to shove her with an hand, and her body met the gate again.
The metal screamed.
She could feel her laptop making cracking sounds in her bag.
“No answer, no escape.” He whispered, voice too dangerously low.
Then his eyes shot up to the road cos he’s the only one seeing it. Stacy’s back is on the road.
On the road, Dorian’s blue-black car waited, and Cove is very sure he’s inside, watching.
A dark pattern flashed in his eyes, but it was momentous, and as soon as it disappeared, Matteo’s car skid to a slow halt in front of the garage gate.
Matteo and Trevor came out of it, and that was Stacy’s saving grace.
That moment of interruption worked in her favor. She slid away under his bulky arms, and she rushed all the way out of the garage.
She ran past Matteo and Trevoe, and both male look stunned as they watched her run till she entered her car and drove off roughly.
Matteo later drove his car into the garage, he didn’t even close the door when he came out.
When Cove came back to the garage two hours ago without the car engine, Matteo had to go with Trevor to take it.
And they’re just returning.
“What’s Albert’s daughter doing here again?” Matteo asked.
“She ran away this time? What happened? You were pinning her to the gate,” Trevor blinked.
Cove dropped the engine oil bottle on a table, eyes still dark. “She probably won’t come here anymore.” He said.
“Understanding you should be a course on it’s own. Covey 104, I’m tired!” Trevor complained.
“On that road, someone was killed! A man was hit by a car. A hit and run,” Matteo said.
“Cool,” Cove shrugged like death is just a myth. “He probably pissed someone he shouldn’t have pissed off, or said something he shouldn’t have said, or the driver who hit him was drunk. One of the three will be it.”
Matteo blinked, wondering what that categorization is all about.
“Wh@tëver, I need noodles,” he shook his head, entering the spare room.
“Cook two packs Matteo, and like four eggs!” Trevor rushed in too.
Cove wiped the engine oil stains on his fingers, then he looked across the garage road.
Dorian’s car is still there.
He went out the gate and walked up to the car.
Dorian stepped out. Obviously. He’s angry, but it looks leashed—controlled.
“Fabio why are you so annoyed about the modelling gig? And because of that, you intentionally brought her to yourself and made me wait in vain? She’s not a tool to play with!”
“I don’t need the modelling gig, Wesley. You should have asked, that was your mistake. If you fail to ask before doing things, then I might take it more serious than you expect.” Cove replied straight.
Dorian nodded, “fine, I’m sorry for involving you without informing you, was just doing a good deed.”
“Obviously, I don’t need you to apologize. I’m not a god, just a lowly garage boy, but just don’t… make decisions for me. I take revenge too high and you won’t like it.” Cove muttered seriously.
“Revenge between friends? Fûck, you’re so exhausting,” Dorian muttered back, leaning on the car.
Cove smirked, slightly.
“Now that you tutored her, you’re coming to the Mixer, aren’t you?” Dorian straightened.
“We’ll see,” Cove stepped back.
“I swear, Fabio. If you bail, I’ll kill you…” Wesley joked.
“Now I wanna bail. Dying doesn’t sound so bad,” Cove replied.
“I’m dead serious you motherFuçker!” Dorian shouted with a grin.
Cove’s lip edges flattened as his dry smile happened again before he entered the garage.
Dorian got back in his car too.
“Darn, is it how exhausting it is to have a friend? Or is my friend just an habitual arsehole?” He muttered, his smile still intact.
He actually dropped Angela at the hospital and then proceeded to come here cos he was restless.
Now problem is solved.
“Drive back to the hospital,” he told his driver. “Make a detour at the cake shop, I’ll get her cupcakes…”
“Yes, sir.” The driver answered, driving off.
Minutes after they drove out of that street to a ritzy street, Dorian saw someone by the roadside, and he rolled down his window a bit.
It’s Elmira, and her BBL is streaming behind her even when she’s not moving. She looks like she’s waiting for her ride to come.
Something hard to decipher crossed Dorian’s vision. When Elmira sighted him, she gave him two middle fingers before she entered her ride.
Dorian rolled up his window.
—
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