Page 5 of Crybaby

I open but soon close my mouth because, for once in my life, I’m caught off guard.

“How do you know all this stuff?”

And there is the question that has plagued me my entire life.

I always knew I was different. Since I can remember, I’ve been able to retain information and recite it without a problem. That seems like something most can do.

But when I explained to my mom how to change the spark plugs in her car, she knew I was special. I was five.

I overheard the mechanic at the local garage we walked by the week prior describe it to Mrs. Murphy, and it just stuck with me, as do most things. I don’t know how I know. I just do…but being here with this strange girl is something I don’t know.

And I don’t like it.

I like to assert control in all aspects of my life, and standing here, in the middle of the street, under the full moon, I am not in control.

Reaching into my backpack for my pack of cigarettes, I casually light one, making a point to look at the crucifix around the girl’s neck. I don’t even know her name.

“So what’s a good girl like you doing out here in the dark?”

Smoke plumes between us, and the nicotine is exactly what I need to calm this pulsating energy.

Her eyes linger on my lips, but I soon realize it’s not my mouth she’s transfixed by, but rather, the ember of my cigarette, which glows red.

Her gaze soon focuses on it, and I don’t move when she steps forward and stands on her toes to steal the cigarette from between my lips.

She places it between hers, inhaling deeply.

I wait with bated breath.

“What makes you think I’m a good girl?”

I point at the crucifix around her throat.

A smile spreads across her cheeks, but the devil himself may as well be grinning at me, and when a red glow suddenly smolders from behind her, it just confirms the fact.

“Looks can be deceiving,” she states, calmly blowing out a cloud of smoke.

The crimson glow suddenly gets bigger, brighter, and when I look over her head, I see that’s because the prized red rose bush of the double-story house we stand in front of is on fire.

“Your rose bush is on fire,” I say casually, and she laughs lightly. The sound fucking scares me for all the right reasons.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Does she know what I was doing across the road?

Before I have a chance to reply, the porch light switches on. I suspect her parents are about to put out the fire, but when she tosses the cigarette to the ground and grabs my hand, it seems I’ve misread this entire thing.

“Run!” she cries, her excitement palpable as we break into a dead sprint away from her house. But the farther we run, the clearer it becomes that that isn’t her home.

We run through the neighborhood, our footsteps pounding against the concrete in sync with our heavy breaths. Her amused giggles punch me low when we hear the anguished screams of whoever’s rose bush she just set alight.

“Just another Sunday night for you then?” I quip while she turns to me, grinning.

We continue running away from the crime scene, hand in hand, and I can’t help but feel it’s us versus the world. A stupid thought to have as this girl is clearly a pyromaniac, and I’m a thief. But this is the most fun I’ve had in a while.

We turn a corner, and she suddenly lets go of my hand.

We stand still, breathless and facing one another with the world on fire around us. But I don’t look away. I can’t. And it seems she can’t either.

With her bare feet and bunny suit, she fucking slays me because I want to know who she is. But I don’t get the chance to ask as she suddenly runs down a driveway where she jumps over the fence, ignoring the German Shepherd that nips at her bunny tail.

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