Page 2 of Fruit
CHAPTER ONE
Of course it starts to rain. It blurs the puddled streetlight of the summer night, plastering the dress to my skin. I’m wearing killer heels, and they slide a little on the wet pavement.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Bitch-ass motherfucker.”
There’s no wind, the rain drawing straight lines in the air. The sweat and grinding heat of the club I just left washes away in an instant. The slightly bitter taste of the water turns sweeter as I walk, and I pause for a moment as I go to cross the street.
Suddenly, I’m all alone with the rain. The noise fills my head and expands. Everything is a trembling version of itself, a struck chord ringing out. My fingers curl protectively. I want to draw this sound, this sudden moment of moving stillness, the wet wrap of the world around me.
A car comes from around the corner and breaks the spell.
A shower. A hot, clean, thorough shower. That’s the first thing I’m going to do when I get home. Get this make-up off me. I probably look like a Helen Frankenthaler painting right about now.
I stop dead in my tracks as I pass a large dumpster. For a second, I think the noise is a baby. A thin reed of a sound ending in a round whine. I turn my head slowly to peer at it, sitting right inside an alleyway, pushed against its brick wall and half-lit by the streetlights from the main road I’m on. It’s making a series of almost melodic sounds as the rain hits its metal structure. I strain my ears.
There.It comes again, a weak cry, blurred at the edges by the rain. I approach carefully.I swear to God, if I get murdered right now…
“Oh, shit,” I mumble as I hear the noise again. It’s not a baby. It’s not even human. It’s a cat.
I walk carefully, keys between my knuckles in case some motherfucker is about to spring at me, but the long gloom of the alleyway is deserted. It’s just me and the rain and this dumpster with a cat inside it.
“Fuck my life,” I say as I lift the lid carefully.
The smell hits me at once. The festering garbage that’s been cooking inside in the summer heat, a putrid fist forcing its way down my throat.
“Me cago’n la leche! Me cago en la puta madre que te parió,”I curse, rearing away. There is no way the cat is in there. It’d be broiled to death by the stink alone.
As if to confirm my thoughts, themeowcomes again, muffled only by the rain and not the metal walls of the catacomb of garbage in front of me. I crouch down, peering under the dumpster. It’s all shadow, and I wish I could pull out my phone to light the area up, but it would get soaked in five seconds. I squint my eyes, pushing the wet strings of my long, normally curly hair out of my face.
“Okay, cat. Meow if you’re under here.” The cat meows. I jolt in surprise, falling onto one of my bare knees.
“Ow, fuck,” I say, but I go with it, getting on bent knees with my legs on the dirty, wet ground. What’s a little more rainwater, right?
I spot movement under the dumpster. “Hey there, Dumpster Baby. How about you come out here before I drown to death?” I coo.
That cat is not persuaded. I can see the glint of its reflective eyes as it moves its head. Holy crap, the creature is tiny.
“Vamos, mi amor.…Sorry I called you Dumpster Baby. It was a joke. You’re more like a Dumpster Kitty, huh? Kidding! Well, I mean, you actually—”
“Hello?”
For an insane moment, I think the cat just spoke to me. I sit up quickly and fall on my ass, only to see the actual source of the greeting, a looming figure backlit as it stands at the entrance of the alleyway, an umbrella hovering menacingly over his head.
I scream. And not even a little yelp—I scream like I’m about to get axe-murdered in the middle of the night.
I might be a tiny bit drunk,I realise belatedly.
The figure takes a startled step backwards, the umbrella tilting to the side. The light hits his face. Dark skin, a strong, wide jaw, lips hanging like figs in the summer heat.Damn. Okay. Do serial killers look like that? I mean, if they do, this dude can kill my—
Stop.I groan internally. This is Ezra’s fault for goading me into all those shots.
“Sorry,” the dude is saying. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice is deep and a little monotone.
“Well then silently walking up behind me in the middle of the night was a great plan,” I bite back sarcastically. His eyebrows go up.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says, holding a large palm up under the safety of the umbrella.
I’m suddenly very aware that I’m on the wet ground beside a dumpster, in a tiny dress. Not the sanest first impression, but not my worst either.
