Page 4 of Watch Me Burn

You’re not going to get introubletrouble if you walk around alone. It’s just accepted that, if we leave the apartment after the sun goes down, we go in pairs. Whether that’s me and Elise hitting one of the few restaurants that stay open late, or Elise’s dinner dates accompanying her back to the Sanguine, when it comes to how women are treated in Clarity, it’s a throwback to a different time.

Of course it’s only women who are expected to do that. If I hadn’t seen what Thorn Wilkins looked like myself, I’d think he was some ancient man who thinks he’s stuck in another age. Nope. Thorn is barely forty, but as the head of the Cadre, if he thinks it’s safer for us to be each others’ chaperone, whatever.

Especially since that’s not going to stop me when I have to head out on a quick errand or two.

Like I said. We don’t get in trouble. It’s more like the people on the street give us a strange, speculating look as we pass them by. That’s why I usually hop in my car if necessary, but Shadow Nails is only ten blocks away. I can handle the dirty looks for ten blocks.

Though, as I grab my phone, my hoodie, my keys, and my debit card before locking up the apartment, I only hope that I make it home before Elise does. I can handle the dirty looks from disapproving strangers. But when I disappoint Elise by flaunting the rules she’s spent her whole life following as a Clarity native?

That sucks, and it’s the only reason I try my best to play along.

Because, yup, Thorn isn’t the only leader of the Cadre who enforced these admittedly misogynistic rules. His predecessor must’ve done the same, and though Elise’s parents have moved back to Holland where her father was from, she grew up here and, to Elise, following the Cadre’s mandates isn’t weird. It’s just what you do in Clarity.

I’m from Queens. It takes a lot more to get me to abide by some archaic rules I don’t necessarily agree with. My nail broke, I want it fixed, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

During this time of year, it’s dark by five-thirty. It’s past six now, but it looks like it could be the dead of night out here. I almost head back in, figuring I can suck it up and head to the salon in the morning. Then I shake my head, chiding myself for being a weenie. Pulling my hood up, thinking that I can pass for a dude under the thick sweatshirt, I step out onto the sidewalk.

I’m not wearing a coat. For as long as I can remember, the cold’s never really bothered me; when Frozen came out, I used to sing along with Elsa like ‘Let It Go’ was my own personal theme song. I love the snow. Love the chill in the air. I guess I’ve always just run at a higher internal temp because I barely notice it.

Though, when I was a kid, it was easy faking a sick day because I’ve never seen a thermometer give me a reading below one hundred. That’s normal for me. I don’t get fevers, and I don’t feel the cold. In the summer? I’m in my element, too, almost like I’m a lizard who lives to roast in the heat. It’s another reason why I don’t mind walking everywhere. No matter the weather, I’m comfortable.

Across the street from the Sanguine, there’s a man all bundled up. At least, I think it’s a man. He has on a dark, heavy coat, dark denim jeans, and a scarf that covers up most of his face. He’s standing beneath the awning of the enclosure that marks the bus stop.

His head shoots up as I move away from the entrance to the apartment building.

For a second, I think Peter’s back. I haven’t seen him lurking around since the holidays, but then I notice this man—and it has to be a man—is taller and broader than Peter. Plus, his hair is a lighter color. Closer to a straw-colored blond than a deep brown, I’m pretty sure I know who he is.

I rarely leave the apartment, but by that I mean that I rarely leave the block. When I get frustrated with my latest commission, or I feel a little too cooped up inside, I throw on my shoes and head outdoors for some fresh air.

And for the last week or two, anytime I’ve done that, I’ve inevitably seen this one guy waiting at the bus stop, staring over at the Sanguine.

It’s weird, but then again, I’m a creature of habit, too. Maybe I take my usual breaks at the same time without realizing it and it just so happens to be when the bus schedule makes this stop along the route. That’s most often mid-afternoon, and it’s after six now, but this bus travels all over Clarity. He might just be heading out for the night after a day at work.

There’s no reason for me to take the bus when I can make it to Shadow Nails so much faster on foot. So, glancing away from the stranger at the bus stop, I feed my keys through the gaps between my fingers, a makeshift weapon in case I need one.

Then, pretending like I’m Wolverine, I duck my head and start down the street.

CHAPTER 2

CHASE

Angie is a life saver.

I made it to Shadow Nails with forty minutes to go before closing. She’d just finished up with her last customer, and though she was ready to head out with Sam, the two of them were kind enough to stick around the fifteen minutes it took for Angie to make it look like I never snapped my nail. She did it free of charge as a kindness, I threw her twenty bucks to say thanks, then passed on her offer to walk with them until our paths split up.

Looks like Angie and Sam follow the same rules as Elise, but since I knew she’s only two blocks down, then a cross street in the opposite direction from the Sanguine, it’s pointless for me to join them.

Of course, Angie insisted. Feeling bad about being so hardheaded about it, I joined them for the first two blocks, then said goodbye as the two of them went down Fifth Street. I promised I’d get home quickly. I made it another three blocks when my phone buzzed, and I paused on the corner to see that Elise has sent me a text.

How do you feel about shrimp linguine?

I exhale roughly.

On the one hand, Elise is very thoughtful. Nearly every time she goes out to dinner with a new date, she brings me home take-out. She claims it’s her leftovers, but I know what a restaurant portion looks like. If she ate any of it before she boxed it up for me, I’d be surprised.

Now, she has money. From what I understand, her parents are loaded. She works because she enjoys her job, and she has a roommate because she was lonely and looking for a friend. For some reason, she picked me. If she enjoys spending her money, buying me take-out sometimes, I’m not going to complain.

On the other hand, I never see Elise eat. Likenever. She says it’s because she has a very unique diet, but while she’s never without her steel stumbler, sipping on the metal straw, the only time I’m sure she’s actually eating more than snacks like popcorn and crackers is when she goes out to dinner.

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