ℂℍ𝔸ℙ𝕋𝔼ℝ 𝕆ℕ𝔼
Life can be such a bitch—shoving you to the ground and grinding you into the dirt just when everything was finally falling into place. And it was. For a moment, I had everything.
A fiancé, a wedding date planned in a few weeks, a new apartment that didn’t smell like poverty. I wasn’t a woman who dreamed of that special day—the one where you wore white and stood before a priest to proclaim your undying love. But I was a woman who didn’t have any family. Nada. Died when I was a child, a teen, left me with nothing. Well, trauma. I’d have skipped out on that, but they weren’t asking. Point being, having someone—my person—made life a whole lot more worth living.
We were cheesy, walking hand in hand like an old couple, waking with soft kisses, making breakfast in our underwear to the radio. Every workday, Henry met me on my lunch break for coffee. I was up for a promotion, had done my numbers, smiled, and put in enough overtime to feed us for months.
I’d never had a life I could be proud of, never met each day with a smile on my face.
I was in heaven.
But I should have known.
There can’t be a heaven without a hell.
I erupted in laughter. “Don’t you dare!”
A warm rain pattered on the umbrella held above my head. Henry chortled and moved the umbrella slightly. I smacked his arm. He wouldn’t actually ruin my hair, and honestly, I wouldn’t care if he did. The concert was over, but he was teasing me, and I couldn’t let him get away with it — the fox.
He draped an arm over my shoulder, pulling me against his side, laughter ebbing, but his handsome smile remained.
“The concert was... interesting,” he said, kissing my hair, curled in loose waves.
I smiled up at him. He had a small scar on his forehead from a snowboarding accident when he was young. It didn’t take away from his handsomeness. Nose a little crooked, full lips, and blue eyes, made deep by his raven black hair.
“Thank you for coming with me,” I whispered.
Velvet Autopsy was a lesser-known alternative band — one I’d followed since their conception in college. My good friend Tommy was the lead singer and, in my opinion, was good enough to go big if the right people heard him sing his heart out. The only problem was that getting those people to hear his music hadn’t panned out. He was pushing twenty-four and had told me in confidence he wouldn’t be able to do this much longer. A desk job was calling him. It was unfortunate. He loved music. But adulting was a full-time job, and sometimes, we had to give up what we loved to make the bills. That’s why I dragged Henry out tonight. That was one of Tommy’s last shows.
“Hm, it was nice to spend time with you,” Henry said, “and meet your friends.”
“Tommy and you seemed to get along.”
“He’s a good guy. I see why you like him.”
Tommy and Henry had hit it off. Shaky at the start, like all new relationships were, but once video games had come up, they’d been enamored by each other for nearly the whole after-show. We’d had a few drinks with the band, passed on the copious amounts of weed they were smoking, and left around eleven o’clock. It was a nice night. No stress, beyond figuring out what to wear — dark jeans, knee-high heeled boots, and a t-shirt with Velvet Autopsy in red lettering and their artist’s depiction of flowers being strangled by thorns. And Henry. At my side, smiling at me when he thought I didn’t notice. I didn’t think he actually liked the music, just the way it made me sing along and light up.
This man... If he hadn’t already, he’d steal my heart.
We’d met on the street, like a romance novel; he’d bumped into me, and I’d spilled my purse onto the pavement. He’d helped me collect everything, even my tampon that nearly rolled onto the road. Then, we’d seen each other the next week at a local grocery store. He’d said something along the lines of, ’We keep meeting, I might as well ask for your number, it’s fate.” I’d given it to him, and the rest was history.
“This rain isn’t slowing,” Henry murmured.
“I know, it’s pissing.”
“You have a filthy mouth.” A smile quirked the corner of his mouth.
“You weren’t complaining last night.”
He leaned down, kissing me hard.
I laughed.
We almost reached the carport where I’d parked my Plymouth ’Cuda. The only thing my old man had left me when I was seventeen and he bit the bullet. Literally, shot himself — heard his teeth were scattered around the living room. Didn’t miss him or the back of his hand, but I loved his car. He hadn’t left a will, so I, being next of kin, got his stuff. A bunch of crap, with one shining beacon, the Plymouth ’Cuda. Black, sleek, sexy. I’ve kept driving like a dream since. Every cent I made working my summers at that sweltering meat-packing shop went to its upkeep.
“Mind if we stop? I need a pack,” I asked.
Henry gave me a hard look.
“I know — I know, Hun.” I pouted, knowing it pulled my red bottom lip in a way he loved. “I will quit. I promise. Just not tonight.”
Henry sighed wearily. “I want you around for a long time, Iris.”
“And I will be.” I kissed his cheek.
He smiled a little, and I knew I’d won.
The store we detoured to was situated between two rough-looking houses. It didn’t need to be pretty; it just needed to have cigarettes. Less than a minute, and the shopkeeper, a grizzled man with a goatee, was ringing up my pack of chemicals. I passed him the money over the glass-covered lottery tickets and thanked him. He grunted as he handed me my change.
After I’d stuffed the pack in my purse, Henry laid a hand on my lower back, guiding me out of the messy shop.
I began to say, “When we get home, I want to —”
Stepping onto the street, I hardly noticed the passersby: a pair of men in dark clothing. A shoulder bumped mine, hard. I stumbled, and Henry caught me.
“Shit — sorry,” I mumbled.
“You better be,” one of them snapped. And just to make him number one jackass, he added, “bitch.”
The jerk in question wore a black long-sleeved shirt and designer jeans. Brown hair and startling green eyes. He looked out of place in the neighborhood. Dripping money, from his rings to his watch, and the sunglasses perched on the top of his head. Even sopping wet, he was difficult to look away from, like he had some magnet force — it creeped me out.
A luxury red car was parked a ways down against the curb. Must be theirs. They might want to hurry before it gets broken into.
“Hey,” Henry spoke up, passing me the umbrella and stepping in front of me. “You need to apologize.”
Henry was perfect. Handsome. Patient. But he was also explosive. Not to me. Never to me. If he thought somebody had wronged me, though, his protectiveness came out ten times over. I’d patched up his knuckles more than a few times.
“Henry,” I warned.
“Oh yeah?” Jerk said to Henry, smiling. His teeth were so white I seriously wondered if he ate whitening strips for breakfast.
The guy who’d been quiet until now laughed. Blonde, dark eyes. He gave off the same air as his partner, magnetic.
Were they smoking something that clung to their clothing, and it was affecting me? I didn’t find them attractive. They were, but I didn’t feel a pull to them. Not like I did, Henry.
Why was I leaning closer?
“Yeah.” Henry got into his face. “She apologized. Now, you.” He emphasized ‘you’ with a poke to Jerk’s chest. “She’s not a bitch.”
Jerk looked down at his chest, then back to Henry, and slowly, his head tilted. Something in me recoiled at the predatory motion.
“No,” he said. Rain fell softly. It clung to his brown hair. I noticed his tanned skin held a strange pallor. Not sickly. But not healthy either.
His friend didn’t laugh.
I felt the air around us thin, and found it hard to breathe.
Henry’s brows furrowed, body stiffening.
Did he feel it too?
“Come on, Hun,” I said, snagging his elbow. “Let’s just go.”
He remained stiff against me for a moment, then let me pull him back. That answered enough. He was definitely feeling the offishness, or he wouldn’t have come so easily while his muscles were so tense.
“You’re a fucker,” Henry spat.
Neither reacted beyond staring. Jerk’s green eyes almost glowed in the setting light. His friend, too. They were definitely on something.
“Hurry,” I heard Jerk murmur as we walked away.
I stole a glance over my shoulder.
They were still watching us.
Did they ever blink?
“Fucking, wierdos,” Henry huffed, hand finding my lower back, gently guiding me down the cracked, wet sidewalk.
Weird wasn’t the word for it.
Disturbing, I would use.
“Yeah,” I rasped.
He kissed my head. “You’re not a bitch.”
I smiled at him, but it was forced. An uncomfortable sensation tugged at my belly. Hard to ignore. It kept my head whipping back to see if we were being followed.
We weren’t.
At least that’s what I thought.
My baby was waiting for us beside a rusty sedan. The parking garage sheltered us from the rain. Soft booms of thunder had begun as we’d stepped inside. The storm would get worse by tonight. But we’d be home, safe and sound.
Tossing the wet umbrella into the trunk, Henry sighed heavily. “I’m so ready to be home.” He shut it with an echoing thud.
“Hm, I can think of a few ways to help you relax.”
“Is that right?” His smile turned downright wicked.
I shivered as Henry walked around the muscle car, opening the passenger door.
Leaning on the door, he grinned at me, Cheshire. “I can think of a few ways to make you scream my name.”
“You’re a dog,” I teased, blushing. I looked around. Nobody else was in the garage, or if they were, I didn’t see them.
Henry shrugged. “I just know how beautiful my wife is.”
“Not your wife, yet.”
Passion sparked in his eyes. “Let’s do it tonight.”
I couldn’t say I wasn’t tempted. To be officially his, bound by the laws of taxes and the Almighty above, it would be amazing. But...
“We promised your mother —”
His mother was a wheelchair bound widow, living in a retirement village. I’d met her a few times. We promised her we’d have a small wedding with her and the rest of Henry’s family. His two sisters, their husbands, and their children. A few cousins as well.
“I want you,” Henry said, slumping against the car. “So badly,” he almost breathed. I felt the ghost of it run across my skin, memories of his touch rousing me.
“You have me,” I returned softly.
The drive wasn’t far. Thirty minutes or so. We talked about the wedding and the concert, and mostly tried to keep our hands off each other. The last thing I wanted was to get into an accident because my fiancé was groping me. Not that he didn’t try to end our lives a few times, heavy hand on my thigh, sliding up, teasing the hem of my t-shirt, hot touch grazing cold skin.
I’d had to tell him to stop, or we were definitely getting driven into an embankment.
Even though stopping was the last thing I wanted him to do.
We reached our apartment just as the rain became a flurry. Thunder, lightning, the whole works. After securing my baby in the small garage, we ran for the house, clinging to each other. The little bungalow beckoned us through the clinging darkness, up the mismatched pavers, to the oak front door. A heavy brass knocker I adored shook as the wind battered us.
“Get inside,” I gasped, laughing a little.
We were soaked.
“I’m trying.” Henry bit his lip, and finally, the key slid inside the lock. “There!”
We stumbled inside, laughing. Henry shut the door with a loud thud. I flipped the lock, and he gave me a soft look.
“Can’t ever be too careful,” I said.
He ran his palm over my head, cupping my nape. “You’re sweet. I’m happy that you care about keeping us safe — but paranoia doesn’t do anyone any good.”
Henry grew up with old money. I grew up with food stamps. Locking your door, even when you were home, was normal to me. I had been trying to push him to do the same. It only took one bastard with bad intentions to ruin a life.
I shook myself from his hold. “It’s not paranoia,” I said, shrugging my purse off my shoulder.
He kissed my cheek. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.” I turned and caught his mouth with my own. We kissed for a long moment, savouring the taste of each other.
“Shower?” Henry asked.
I nodded. “Get the water warmed? I’m going to make a pot of coffee.”
“So late?”
“I’m kind of awake after the concert. I won’t sleep for a while.”
“Okay, love.” He kissed my forehead.
I watched him toe off his shoes and walk to the bedroom down the hallway, admiring the way his jeans hugged his perfect ass. If I were a sculptor, I’d use him as my model. Perfect. Muscular, but not too muscled. Lean, but hard, and the right amount of thick.
I sighed dreamily and began tugging off my boots. I tossed them beside Henry’s on the sliver of tile by the front door. Stifling a yawn into my fist, I walked down the carpeted hallway, meandering to the kitchen.
The bungalow was small. One bedroom with an en-suite bathroom, a living room, and a kitchen. Henry and I agreed on a lot of decorative choices, and we went with greys and browns. Boring, yeah, but it didn’t overstimulate me, which happened when I was surrounded by colour all the time.
I adored thrifting and found a lot of the pieces to furnish our home secondhand. A heavy oaken cabinet with glass doors. The mahogany stand we used for our television had beautiful carved leaves that made it look like it came out of a museum of history. So many others I found and gave life again.
Well, Henry did, he was the painter, and somehow, after he’d been in the garage for a few days, working away, he made them shine again.
The kitchen was tiny. Counters with wood stickers to make it look real. Not our choice, the previous owners had done it before we moved in. I shifted cereal boxes aside to get to the coffee maker. It didn’t take long to have it brewing away. The smell calmed me instantly.
Before I turned to leave, movement through the small window above the basin sink caught my eye.
For a moment, a flash of lightning illuminated the backyard: the white picket fence, trees growing near our property line —
And a figure.
I gasped.
Everything went dark.
Another flash.
Nothing.
Had I imagined it?
It looked so real. Standing in the middle of my yard. A man? Prickles erupted across my skin, shivering me unpleasantly.
Maybe I should skip the coffee and go right to bed if I were hallucinating.
I checked the back door just in case and found it unlocked. I flipped the latch with a sigh.
Henry...
With one last peak out the window to make sure the figure was truly gone, I left the kitchen, trailing water after me, more than ready for that shower.
