Page 4 of Crybaby

I don’t know why I stop, but it’s like my feet are suddenly rooted to the earth beneath them.

I feel her eyes before I see them. Like a cat in the night, they seem to glow.

A girl stands by the curb, a towering white oak tree obscuring her from the world.

I wonder if she’s waiting for someone. She’s barefooted, and in a white hooded bunny suit, so I doubt she’s waiting for a ride. I wonder what she’s doing out here so late at night.

I don’t have time for anything, or anyone—period—but something about this girl, who doesn’t give a fuck standing in the darkness, her white bunny outfit contrasting the night sky, intrigues me.

I’ve never seen her before. I would have remembered if I had.

Her long blonde hair is tied in two loose pigtails, which spill free from the bunny-eared hood she wears. The silver that caught my eye comes from the large silver crucifix around her neck. Out here, under the moonlight, dressed like a white bunny, she fucking takes my breath away.

I stare at her.

She stares at me.

I expect her to look away, but she doesn’t.

She simply stands under the tree, watching me as closely as I’m watching her.

Her confidence as well as what the fuck she’s doing out here dressed this way leaves me fascinated, and against my better judgment, I cross the street.

However, I stop in the middle, not wanting to crowd her. Needing to keep some space between us.

Digging my hands in the pockets of my ripped jeans, I wait for her to speak. Most girls would act coy and maybe bite their lip.

But not this girl.

Up close, she’s even more captivating than she is from afar.

Her eyes light up her delicate face, though it also has an edge to it. She purses her red lips and raises her eyebrows, unimpressed that I’m invading her space. Not the usual response I receive from the opposite sex.

A dark-green leaf catches the cool breeze and detaches from the tree. It flips in the air before landing between her bunny ears. She leaves it perched on her head.

“It’s called white oak because newly cut wood appears light in color and is almost white,” I say nonchalantly.

I’m expecting a smile or maybe even a twitch of the lips, but I get nothing. Nada. Now would be the time to walk away, dignity intact, but I can’t—the whole living life without regret thing.

I open my mouth, about to spew off another fact, but she folds her arms around her small frame. “You can use Google. Congratulations.”

“Google is for lazy morons,” I counter without thought. “I prefer the old way—actually reading a book. In a library. Away from people.”

“You’re not a people person?” she questions evenly, brushing the leaf from her head. “I can’t see why not? Spurting all that fun, factual information must win you a load of friends.”

“I don’t know why you’d think I care. Friends are only good for long treks in the snow. Just ask Alfred Packer.”

“Who’s Alfred Packer?” Her interest has me wishing I used a different fact to prove my point. But I can’t stop now.

“The Colorado Cannibal,” I explain coolly, running a hand through my long bangs. “A prospector who got hungry during one of his quests and ate his crew during the winter of 1874.”

I smile.

She does not.

I expect her to turn away, disgusted, as most would, but she doesn’t.

“At least he didn’t have to worry about refrigeration.”

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