“What size?” I know I sound like an asshole, my voice brisk and my tone dead. It’s my only defense against her goddamn smile and her goddamn tits.
“Women’s five,” she replies.
Tiny fucking feet; she’s like a little pixie. I grab the nicest pair I can find while she brushes her long hair away from her face. As I set the shoes down, I catch a whiff of her scent—citrusy, yet sweet.
“Thank you.” She hesitates before she grabs them. “I’m Abelia.”
She offers her free hand and I stare at it. So this is Abelia. I’m immediately annoyed with my shithead coworkers.
Still, I don’t take her hand.
What the hell is this?
“Oh,” she says with a frown, pulling her hand back. “I’m sorry.”
But before it falls to her side, I grab it.
It’s soft and pliable, and I become the same.
“My name is Abel,” I tell her.
2
Adam—Abel?
Fuck.
I forgot my own fake name.
If my ma was in my head again, she’d tell me to walk—no run—away from this blonde devil. Nisht gut. But her eyes…they’re brown and wide and she smiles as our hands hold.
“Abel?” she asks, and I break out of my weird trance.
“Yeah. Well, no. Everyone calls me Adam here.” I try to cover up my mistake but her eyes squint a little, and I’m immediately taken by just how similar she is to my Rose when she looks at me like this.
Not quite distrust but fraying around the edges of confusion. No, Rose’s eyes were harder on others and inquisitive on me.
“Can’t get them to stop?” she asks and I wonder what the fuck she’s talking about. “Forget it,” she says after a moment. “My lame attempt at a joke.”
She grabs her bowling shoes and then she’s gone, leaving her citrus scent behind in her absence.
I’m still in a trance, my heart tripping over its own uneven rhythm when someone else walks up—some kid asking for change for the vending machine. As I trade the crumpled single for four quarters, I try not to look up. To scan the room. To find her golden crown of hair.
In the end, I knew better than to fight against my baser instincts.
You aren’t a bad person.
I hear my last conversation with Dr. Brown in my head, a recollection of this month’s meeting. He fills my prescription and requires me to check in monthly. If I fall off the face of the earth, he calls the authorities.
That’s our deal.
That’s the cost of my freedom.
So when my eyes meet hers from where she stands across the room with her girlfriends, I remind myself that nothing can derail me from the path of quasi-righteousness I’m on.
Still, I imagine if her pussy tastes like Rose’s.
I blink when Ryan’s hand claps over my shoulder. I’m taller than he is, so I don’t know why he does it. I bet he looks stupid as fuck, reaching up. But I let him. I don’t even shrug him off.
I couldn’t give less of a fuck.
Medicated Abel is numb.
Medicated Abel doesn’t look at beautiful Abelia for the rest of his shift.
My hands are rough and cracked from the cleaning chemicals we use for the shoes. Ryan always asks why I don’t use gloves but I stay quiet. Because I can’t find a polite way to inform him that I’m not a weak bitch.
I ignore the sting of my chapped hands as I grip the handlebars of my bike. My knuckles have been split too many times before.
I wonder if they felt sandpaper-rough in her hands. I tell my thoughts to shut the fuck up and almost wish my ma were in there instead so I wouldn’t have to think about that girl again.
The ride home isn’t too bad but the colder it gets, the longer it tends to take to warm up once I get home. I cut across the street and enter the cemetery.
It’s foggy and, sure, it looks a little creepy. But a cemetery looks different when you’ve sent people home to the dirt. I know what goes bump in the night. It used to be me.
Just because it’s Halloween doesn’t mean I have to subscribe to the notion that this night is unlike any of the other nights I venture through the home of the dead.
So when I hear what sounds like people laughing, I don’t stop. Fucking kids, probably trying to freak themselves out.
But when I hear someone scream, I almost crash my bike into one of those giant statues of a saint or angel or something. It looks down disapprovingly at me as I grunt, trying to gain my balance. I give up and stand next to my bike, annoyed.
I try to listen for another sound, but nothing comes.
Just as I’m about to get back on my bike, I hear a woman’s voice crying out.
Go home and mind your fucking business, I tell myself.
But I can’t. Because the path to righteousness is a jagged one. It isn’t me going home and minding my business. It’s helping someone who might need me.
It’s being a good sama—I’ve been listening to Dr. Brown too goddamn much.
I have no fucking clue what I’m about to get myself into, so I walk as quietly as I can until I just barely make out shadows in the moonlight.
Three bodies—two pushing at one.
One of them steps aside and I see her pale skin.
As they pull at her clothes, my past and my present collide.
A vengeful Rose being tackled by nurses.
An innocent Abelia falling victim to these fuckers.
And me, wishing I could save them both.
Somehow, through the dark, her eyes meet mine and I snap out of it. I grab one of them by the back of his collar and smack his forehead into the large headstone they have her pinned against before tossing him aside.
His friend turns around and I’m shocked to see the goddamn nerd from my job staring back at me, eyes wide.
“Adam—”
I don’t give him the chance to say another fucking word. My fist meets his jaw and he falls back, landing hard on his ass. He rolls over onto his side and I kick him in the ribs.
“Piece of fucking shit,” I grunt out before kicking him again, earning me a groan.
When I feel a hand on my arm, I turn around fast enough that it startles Abelia, and she stumbles. Before she can fall, I reach out to steady her.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She’s shaking, I can feel her body vibrating like it’s coming from deep within her. But she doesn’t answer me.
The nerd’s friend rolls onto his back with a groan and his blood looks black in the dark.
“Fucking freak,” he yells out.
I’m about to show him what a fucking freak is when I feel her soft hand on me again. When I glance back at her, she shakes her head.
“Don’t,” she utters. One word, spoken so softly, her eyes not meeting mine.
I take a last look back at the guys who’d nearly hurt her, and then I’m walking off.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
I check to see if she’s following me, and she is. But I’m riding a fucking bike. I don’t know what’s supposed to happen now.
“I can walk you home,” I offer.
I want to tell myself to speak with softer tones but I’m better with venom than I am with honey.
Rose took all my honey.