Page 5 of Antihero
While I'm considering whether I've come too close to back away without her noticing now, Paige tilts her head, sees me, and does a double take. She turns to face me, smiling widely. "John! I didn't know you came down here."
"Yeah, I don't, really. I'm just running."
Her lips curve. "You sure seem to exercise a lot," she comments, then seems to remember she's seen me shirtless, and blushes.
Dragging my hand back through my hair, I push the damp locks back from my face and force my gaze aside, lest she think I'm staring. "It’s like meditation for me… and there's not much else to do," I admit.
With a laugh, hugging the three books she’s carrying to her chest, she says, "I suppose that’s true."
I gesture at the books. "Besides reading."
Glancing down at her haul, she smiles. "Oh, yes, I've read them all, though. Just revisiting some favourites."
"Can I see?" I ask, stepping within reach. Paige frowns, as though surprised, but hands them over.
Glancing at the titles, I hold two in one hand, theCount of Monte CristoandAnd Then There Were None. "I guess these are suitable."
Frowning, she asks quickly, "What do you mean?"
"Just that they're set on islands."
"Oh," she breathes, then smiles.
Glancing at the other,Zodiac,my smile strains. A book about a serial killer,great. I hand them back. "I better be getting back before curfew," I say, stepping back.
"It’s good to see you outside of there," Paige says, meeting my eye again.
Nodding in answer, I make to leave. She's already turned away when I make myself stop, face her, and ask, "Would you want to see me again? Outside the castle? Maybe, around…" I gesture, now glancing around at the pointedly dead and dreary street, and suddenly wonder what on Earth I'm offering; I end with, "…er, here?"
But Paige beams, like she’s been awaiting this question, rather than dreading it. "Yes! I'd really like that."
***
If I knew her number, I'd call and cancel. What was I thinking? She's sweet, and I'm… I don't need to go into what I am.
But I won't stand her up. I'm not that much of a monster. We planned to meet in the square behind the main street of Kidswal. A small expanse of mosaic tiles arranged in an expanding circle, bordered by the more popular shops. There's a fountain in the middle that never seems to be switched on, and a couple of trees on the edge. Their leaves are long gone this late in autumn, so the branches are optimistically strewn with fairy lights instead.
I'm waiting less than a minute before she approaches me. The sun is still up, though casting a watery orange glow, thetemperature dropping rapidly. She’s wearing a pale blue beanie over her loose hair, and the same large jacket that I saw her in yesterday, which reaches her thighs.
"Hungry?" Paige asks. Her cheeks are slightly reddened, and her hands are deep in her pockets as though she's already cold.
I look at the warm light of the only restaurant that’s open. "Sure."
Paige must sense my hesitation, because she tilts her head. "Unless you'd like to go for a walk instead? The sun is setting soon."
Finding myself releived not to have to sit amid the hum of voices and clatter, I smile and gesture her to lead. I've become too used to quiet, isolation.
We climb up to the moors by the west cliff, where the moss is deep and soft, sometimes sinking me as much as half a foot with each step, and sometimes disguising a sharp rock an inch down. It’s my favourite place on this island, with a view of the sun as it sets over the mainland; low enough to briefly burn through some of the fog. Being here on a date feels nice, almost normal. It helps me forget.
But I lie. And lie. And lie.
“What happened to your hands?”
I resist balling my hands into fists to hide the too-smooth pads of my fingers, the red scars like spilled liquid that wrap over my palm. Should’ve kept my gloves on.I burned my hands while I was trying to burn the face off my partner because I thought he killed my sister,while the true answer, was not going to work.
“I spilled cooking oil on my hands. When I was younger.” I’m sitting on a large boulder, grown over with that thick, soft lichen so completely that no sight of the rock underneath remains. The place smells of rich earth. “You’ve always been on this island?" I ask, trying again to divert the conversation back to her. She's been too curious for it to work so far.
Paige skips up to the boulder. Her boots, with their fluffy tops, near-disappear into the earthy green ground with each step. "I came here when I was very young. I don't remember much from before that."
