Page 6 of Trick or Treat

A nicotine craving suddenly hits out of the blue, and the pack of cigarettes tucked into my bra are calling my name loud and clear. I hop off the stool as Melanie tells River what she wants, sneaking out the side exit for a moment of peace and quiet.

Leaning against the icy brick, I raise my foot and plant it behind me on the building, tilting my head up to watch the snowflakes as they cascade from the dark sky.

It’s fucking beautiful.

Layers of fluffy white snow blanket the ground, engulfing me in a shimmery sea of white. As the streetlights shine down upon it, the snow glistens beautifully, similar to the way a diamond sparkles in the light. There’s just something so peaceful—so magical—about the snow—a feeling of complete serenity no matter what might be happening around you.

I take a long drag off my cigarette, relishing the menthol hint as the smoke hits my tongue. Exhaling slowly, a cloud of smoke swirls throughmy parted lips and into the night sky, mixing with the breath I release, both dissipating into thin air.

The sudden squeal from the side door makes me jump, and my heart pounds like a drum in my chest. I try not to look over to see who or what it is, but just as curiosity killed the cat, it gets the best of me too. I casually turn my head in the direction of the door, my heart racing, wondering who it might be.

“I thought you might still be out here,” River says softly with a lit cigarette tucked in the corner of his lips, approaching me with a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

“Oh, hah, yeah,” I mutter, stumbling over my words while trying to remain calm. “It’s too gorgeous of a night to be inside.”

“Itisa gorgeous night,” River says, taking another hesitated step toward me, leaving us just inches apart. “I’m River, by the way,” he informs me, and I smile and nod, trying to play it off like I don’t already know who he is. “What’s your name?”

I flick the pile of ash from the end of my cigarette, glancing quickly at the ground, and then back up, getting lost in the hypnotic color of his eyes. “Scar…” my voice trails off, and I clear my throat, trying again. “Scarlett. My name is Scarlett, but my friends call me Scar.”

“I didn’t picture you as a Scarlett, but fuck, it’s such a beautiful and fitting name.” He grins, puffing on his smoke while anxiously kicking the snow under his feet around, reminding me of myself when I miss a dose of my ADHD medication.

“Thanks, I guess. I like the name River, too. But I didn’t expect that to be your name either,” I mumble, trying to flirt without being too obvious.

“What do you say we continue this conversation over dinner sometime this week? You can tell me what you thought my name was, while I enjoy the company of such a beautiful girl,” he says boldly and confidently. His pierced eyebrow arches, and another flirtatious grin curls along his lips, making it nearly impossible for me to say no.

The liquor, too—the liquor is giving me the courage to say yes, which I know I’ll be mortified about when I’m sober.

“I guess I can do dinner,” I tell him, doing my best to control my excitement. “I’m free after classes any night this week.”

“Perfect,” he says. The smile on his face is fucking contagious, and I can’t stop smiling back.

As we dive into easy conversation, I can feel myself opening up. I can feel my guard dropping little by little, and the desire to let him all the way in seems to hit me pretty hard.

“My phone is inside. I’ll get your number when we go back in, and I’ll text you later to work out the details,” he drawls, his grin widening until it nearly lights up his face.

My stomach does a little flip at the thought of exchanging numbers. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. I’m not used to this... I don’t do this. I take a moment to absorb the slurred laughter and chatter filtering through the bar’s door behind us. It reminds me just how far I’ve come from the constant anxiety that had taken hold before tonight.

“Here,” I tell him, extending my phone toward him.

My heart thrums in my chest as he takes it, fingers brushing against mine. It’s brief but noticeable, electric in its simplicity. He quickly types in his number before handing it back, and I can’t help but stare at the screen when I see it saved under his name, the letters entwined with a blue heart emoji.

“So, what’s your story, Scar?” he asks, leaning against the building beside me, exhaling a puff of smoke that dances in the cold air. “What’s a girl like you doing in a town like this? It seems like you’ve got such a bright future ahead of you.”

I hesitate, the weight of my past creeping back in uninvited. Part of me wants to share everything—spill all the messy details of my life—but another part knows that’s not the way to start a lighthearted conversation, especially before a first date. Instead, I settle on a version that feels less burdensome.

“I’mjust a student trying to figure it all out, River,” I laugh nervously, wrapping my arms around myself to fend off the chill. “Took on a lot this year, but I think I’m finally starting to find my footing.”

River nods, genuinely interested. “What are you studying?”

“Psychology,” I reply, feeling a little rush of pride. “It’s fascinating, really. How the brain works and how everyone perceives the world differently.”

“Wow, so you’re basically a mind reader,” he jokes, tilting his head with an amused look.

“Something like that,” I chuckle, my shoulders relaxing as he eases the conversation back into playful territory. “But I’m no expert, just doing my best to get through my classes without going crazy.”

River grins at that, and I find myself admiring the way he seems completely at ease, even out in the cold; it reminds me of the little things—how I’ve missed lighthearted interactions with new people—someone who brings an energy that makes my heart race rather than pound in anxiety.

“What about you?” I ask, leaning closer, truly curious, and out of nowhere, the hair stands up on the back of my neck. “What’s your story?”

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