Page 1 of Scary Suitor

ChapterOne

Alina

“This is your last chance,” the man with a smile that promised years of torment had said. “When you’re done having a tantrum, pretty, I’ll come get you.”

There is blood on his teeth, crimson triumph in his eyes, and a thin barrier of discipline racing through his body.

Danger. Wherever I turn my head, it’s the only thing I can sense. Elongated shadows hopping along the walls of closed businesses, unsuspecting objects flex their shadows, and iciness cloaks me like a phantom embrace.

Dull bass gradually convinces me I’m wrong. I’m not alone in the streets, vulnerable to the dreaded paranoia hitching a ride from the pit of my stomach to the acidic burn in the back of my throat.

I’m with my close friend, arms linked out of habit, as we walk on a busy street. A bustling flow of taxis and ride-shares whiz around us, picking up staggering patrons from the red-themed nightclub. Some are fist fighting drunkenly in front of on-coming traffic.

The man, who I thought was the epitome of my nightmare, turns out to be a man waiting happily for his date to finish emptying her stomach on the sidewalk.

“You know,” Finny says slowly, pinching my wrist for attention, “we can go clubbing this weekend. You’ve been eyeing the bouncer since we started taking this route home.”

I roll my eyes, returning a playful pinch to her skin. Somehow, the man and I would make brief eye contact when I got off work, but they were simple exchanges from a distance. He would nod his head, I returned it with courtesy, and then a shared smile ended the interaction.

“As if we aren’t around sweaty people enough,” I mumble, swallowing a gag.

“It’s been months, and nobody’s complained about it,” Finny whines and throws her head to grunt up at the starry sky.

January’s wind comes with flurries of snow, bone-rattling chills, and teeth-shattering clatters.

Even if I were paid millions to live in New York City, it’s not my first option for a new home.

Tourists come to the infamous Times Square, leaving with disappointment and an overpriced souvenir. Neighboring states poke their heads in for a weekend getaway and fill the city with more people.

“You think we can file an anonymous complaint?” Finny inquires thoughtfully. “That will get our manager to shower for once. I’ll chip in for deodorants.”

The new manager had no shame when he blustered about his lack of hygiene to save water during wintertime. He had exclaimed with arms over his head, either willfully ignorant or intentionally ignoring the stifled gags and scrunched noses, that he doesn’t smell because the human body naturally cleanses itself.

I think the future physiologist on our team had an existential life crisis that day, and it’s still ongoing.

“Don’t be so mean.” I smack the back of her hand, chuckling as she inhales solemnly.

“You’re supposed to say he stinks!” Finny slams her hip into mine, but our thick coats take the impact.

“Some things aren’t meant to be said,” I correct her, because I’m petty she took the first sip of my morning coffee. “I believe in kindness.”

“Please,” Finny snorts, “I saw you hang an air freshener on your lamp.”

I regret the decision; the smell of our pungent manager and peppermint combined will haunt me for the rest of my life. I only buy citrus-flavored gum now.

Why he takes pride in not showering is a mystery best left unsolved.

“Oh, there’s your ‘technically, not really’ boyfriend again,” Finny wheezes and clutches my arm.

I elbow her, smiling at the irate groan as I return a polite nod to the bouncer when we walk by a couple of men with their heads hanging between their legs. The first strangled gag ignites a chain reaction of liquid splashing on the sidewalk, then comes the wave of moody wails about never drinking again.

Finny also waves at the man and winks seductively. “If I knew you had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have set you up on a blind date.”

“You did what?” My shoe dips into a small crack in the ground, but I manage to catch my balance.

“In my defense, I didn’t know.” Finny jerks her head back, mostly from the fiery glare I brand on her forehead.

She’s always been self-conscious of her hairline, said the tectonic plates of her brain’s hemispheres are colliding under her intelligence, and she got bullied for it. But she would headbutt those who made fun of her, so she didn’t have the friendliest reputation in grade school.

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