Page 15 of Bad Seed
A Cadillac roars down the alley, caring nothing for the people about to be wedged into its grill. I yank my cap and tilt my head down. There’s no reason to bother. It blazes past, horn blaring to empty the road, neither paying attention.
But as they shoot past me, Red yanks the eggplant from Green’s hand and chucks it onto the sidewalk. It lands at my feet, exploding into a mess of white flesh and seeds. My first instinct is to scoop it up as if I can stuff it all back together again and make it whole.
If I believed in the great Sower, I’d probably be even more terrified after the sins I’ve done. But some nebulous god of creation has nothing on the eternal hells being dreamed up in the mind of Mr. Ato. If I want to live to see tomorrow I have to get out of here. Now.
I rise off the wall, mentally running through the checklist of what I need to grab. A chirp from my pocket sends me spinning around. People stream past, grumbling about the out-of-towners that nearly killed them. I fish out my phone.
Sadie: Let’s do the Green Elephant.
There was no way I could get away from her and her friends without handing over my phone number. I just didn’t expect her to use it so quickly. Or ever. I’m amazed she didn’t clock me then and there using the Ferris wheel to keep an eye on Red and Green. The bouncer story. I’m an awful liar.
Or I’m not used to someone having genuine trust in another person. A good person.
She likes me. I’m stringing her along for what? Sex? Right before Red slits my hamstrings and Green drags me back by my bleeding, useless legs.
I should end this. She has no idea what I am, in any form. The polite thing would be to tell her I’m busy tomorrow. Just find an excuse. My cat’s sick…
I wince at possibly manifesting that into the world.
I’m sick. That’s much better.
My finger hovers over the button to tell her off. Warn her away. I’m a terrible man with a price on my head.You don’t want any of this.
But as I reach to start typing, my thumb glances against the auto-suggestion.
Aubry: Okay
I pause in deleting it and hit send instead. If they are watching me, then it’s better they think I’m making plans instead of fleeing into the night.
?
SADIE
“Are you done in there?” My roommate bangs on the bathroom door.
“Almost!” I shout, towel at my waist, left breast in my hand, and tweezers on the final nipple hair. I pluck it without feeling more than a twinge and cover myself. A cloud of steam rolls out behind me as I open the door. “Bathroom’s all yours.”
Before I finish, she shoves me aside and slams the door. Most of the time, we keep to our sides of the duplex. I take the shower in the morning to try to avoid her tying it up in the evening, but tonight is different.
I have a date.
Maybe.
Lucy keeps insisting it’s a real date, but I’m not sure. I did offer to buy him food to thank him for saving me. Though there was the Ferris wheel ride. And he did grab that guy’s hand before he could touch me.
It happened so fast, I barely had a chance to think about what he did for me. People don’t tend to protect me, especially men. Masculine gallantry is saved for petite girls like Lucy or svelte ones like Ann. I’m expected to grab my bootstraps and swing ‘em at anyone getting handsy. Assuming anyone believes creeps would get handsy with my cushions.
Sitting at my desk, I push away my light box and dig out my makeup before fishing for the hairdryer. As the wet strands blow around my head, I stare at the dreaded curling iron sitting in the bottom drawer. The last time I used it, I burned my neck and forehead, and the curls fell in a half hour. My long black hair isn’t designed for all those pretty hairstyles the influencers pop on with a few quick edits.
I stare at my crusty eye shadow palettes. They’re probably okay, right? They don’t expire that fast. I tip back one with a done-up elephant on the lid and catch the date. Six years old.
Guys probably don’t dig the pink-eye look on a first date. But I can’t go without anything, or he’llknowthat I’m the absolute worst at this. I’m not foolish enough to think someone like Aubry would date me. I’m looking to be pinned between his brick body and the headboard for a few hours, nothing more. But that requires dramatic eyes, red lips, and blush—all things that are expired or so old they’ve sealed shut.
Of course, he might not even show. Maybe it was all a joke. What if I stroll up in a dress and high heels while he’s just wearing a stained t-shirt and stares at his phone the whole night?
Okay, that’s every date I’ve been on for the past two years. Frankly, I already know more about Aubry Gene than any of the guys I’ve texted for months before he bought me a burger.
For one, he’s got an adorable cat. Two, he’s a complete nerd and seems proud of it. Three, he carries an Epipen with him to a bar. And four, he would have snapped that carnie’s arm in half if he’d touched me.
