Page 24 of Lovers Fate

“That is beautiful.Who was Mrs. Hades?” I ask curiously.

The dark-haired boy looks up, and I can’t get over how gorgeous he is, but he’s emotionally unavailable. He’s the hottest guy in school. He transferred to this class. I don’t know his first name, but people call him Hades. Even the teachers refer to him as Hades.

Rumor has it that he takes both online and on-campus classes.

I don’t understand why he would allow me to read something so personal about his family. I also don’t know why he watches me in class when there are so many other girls who are prettier and more popular, hoping he would talk to them.

“Her name was Ivy Hades,” the voice echoes in my head.

I wake up clutching the thin sheet in my hands. I look around the dark room, confused. I exhale with a sense of relief as I recognize the dingy motel room.

There were nights when I would wake up from weird dreams in the psychiatric hospital. Some dreams felt like they were from the past but would fade the longer I was there. This last dream was different. It’s not the first time I’ve dreamed of reading a letter from someone named Hades, whom I met in class, but the most bizarre aspect of it all is that it never actually happened.

I never read a letter in any class. At least I can’t remember any. The only difference was that the boy was the same one I knew from ninth grade but never knew his name. It was the first day of class, the first week of school. He sat next to me to complete our first assignment. The boy in my dream had the same black hair and eyes as dark as the night sky. His skin was so fair; it was almost translucent. His jaw was so sharp that it looked sculpted, but his gaze was so powerful that it promised to split a girl’s heart in two. But that boy in my class showed me a letter. He didn’t say much. To be honest, I don’t remember exactly what he looked like. Just bits and pieces.

Ivy Hades and D Hades. I don’t know who they are or why I keep dreaming of reading a love letter from a husband to his wife. None of it makes any sense.

I glance at the old brown clock on the nightstand, hoping it’s accurate. It reads, three o’ four.

I don’t own a phone, and this motel feels stuck in the past. There is no Wi-Fi. No TV. Now that I think about it, cable probably doesn’t exist anymore. The brown box with two dials on top of the small dresser is not compatible with streaming. When I was a kid, I saw a TV just like it on the cover of an 80s horror paperback at the public library.

A loud sound comes from the door. I pull the sheet up to my chin and try to see through the tiny burnt hole in the curtain. The sky is still dark, but I don’t see anyone through the flickering light. Wiping the sweat from my neck, I walk cautiously to the door and peer through the peephole.

No one.

To double-check, I gently slide the curtain, but there is no one. After a few seconds, I open the door and find a plastic bag on the floor.

I look left and right, but the hallway is empty. I stoop, retrieve the plastic bag, and shut the door, hearing the automaticdoor lock. I put the bag on the bed, wondering who could have left it there. It doesn’t smell weird. I recognize the name of the grocery store in town, Big H.

I untie the large plastic bag and smile. There is a large fluffy red towel, shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, body wash, an electric toothbrush, and toothpaste. The packaging is brand new.

I don’t hesitate, and I stop worrying about who left it out there for me to find and walk to the bathroom for a shower. When the water finally stops sputtering from the showerhead and goes warm, I groan. At least it’s warm and not cold like the psychiatric hospital.

After my shower, I was hoping to catch Simon in time to thank him for the care package, but he wasn’t at the front desk. There was no way it was anyone else. He was the only one that I could think of that knew I needed toiletries. Instead, there was an older lady with gnarly hands seated behind the desk, barely able to keep her eyes open under the glare of the sun streaming through the window. I didn’t bother to ask her if Simon would be in later. I’m positive he would show up for work to collect his $100 later tonight.

When two o’clock rolls around, I head outside and wait under the motel’s awning near the front office, relieved to see Rose’s black car pull up front.

“Hey,” she greets me when I slide into the passenger seat.

“Hey,” I reply shyly, grateful to point out I’m wearing the same clothes I had on last night.

I don’t have anything except the clothes I was arrested in and the outfit from the strip club I borrowed.

I thought of breaking into the house to see if my stuff is in there, but I’m not sure if my mother still lives there, and if she did, she probably threw out my things anyway. After I was arrested, she acted like I was a serial killer and not her daughter.

“Ready to go shopping?” Rose says with a hopeful smile.

“Yeah.” If I planned to make money at all, I need to get something to wear tonight.

After the ten-minute drive on the beltway, she turns right, passing an old run-down mall next to an abandoned apartment complex.

“That used to be a mall,” she says, pointing at the building with peeling paint and yellow-clouded doors. I remember it. It was called Stockbridge Mall. The plan was for a developer to purchase it and transform the mall and abandoned apartment complex into a mixed-use commercial development featuring apartments, offices, and retail stores. It looks like it never happened.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I guess they changed their minds. Most people shop online nowadays. I guess they figured it was a waste of money. Sometimes, I feel this town is going back in time.”

“How come you stayed?”

---