by C. G. Blaine
Who the fuck is this jabroni?
A few inches taller than her, so at least six less than me, sandy-blond hair, too wide of a smile. But forget the fact that he looks like he goes skiing in Vail on the weekends with his fellow future MBAs. He’s leaning into her, his hand rubbing her arm.
I risk it, pulling out the crystal ball, and concentrate on her face until it appears in the globe. She looks nervous, chin tilted slightly down, eyes cast up at him, a hint of color in her cheeks. And when she smiles, I feel it ripple inside me, barely there … but there. She likes him. The ball goes back in my jacket pocket, so I’m not the weird guy on the bench, and I listen.
“So, I’ll call you,” he says. “But not too soon, so you think I’m cool.”
“And I’ll let it go to voicemail, so you think I’m unavailable.” She shifts her weight to one leg, fidgeting.
“Perfect.” He walks backward, off the sidewalk and into the grass. “I’ll not talk to you soon, Hannah.”
“I’ll be ignoring you, Gabe.”
Gabe. I bet it’s short for Gabriel, and he’s going to prove to be just as annoying as the original.
Hannah’s suitors’ goals and mine directly oppose one another. They want to fuck her, and I don’t want anyone fucking her. She’s not a virgin. She gave that up to a guy named Ricky in the back of a van by a lake in high school. Even though it was tempting to “suggest” all my charges remain virginally pure to speed up my sentence, I’m an asshole, not a sadist. But Hannah’s freshman year, a condom broke, triggering the most nerve-racking two weeks of my entire existence. I don’t intend to ever repeat it, especially now when I’m so close. Which means it’s time for some sabotage.
“Not a chance I’m letting you out in public like that.” Terra’s head jerks back and forth, further emphasizing.
“Why?” I turn around, checking the mirror, not seeing her issue with my costume.
“You look like a fucking nun.”
I hold out the rosary and gesture to the habit. “I am a nun.”
She rolls her eyes on the way to the closet. “We can do better. And by better, I mean sluttier because that’s the entire point of Halloween.”
“Agree to disagree.” I sigh, pulling off the headpiece of my now-vetoed costume.
Our choice of Halloween activities differs as much as our Halloween attire, but I owe her a social event, so the Omega Haunted House Party is on the agenda.
She reaches up on a shelf and retrieves a pair of over-the-knee black stiletto boots and lays them on the bed along with a black dress. Then she digs through my underwear drawer until she finds black lace panties.
“I detect a theme here,” I say, picking up the dress. The very short dress with a nonexistent back. “Sexy goth girl?”
She smiles and fishes a shopping bag out from behind her bed.
I narrow my eyes at her as she reaches in. “You just happened to have this lying around in case you hated my costume?”
“No. I saw the ugly sack you planned to wear and picked you up something this morning.” She pulls out a pair of black wings and a flower crown made of black roses.
“A dark angel.” I smile, running my finger along the soft feathers.
“What’s sexier than that?” she asks.
The answer: Terra’s interpretation of a demon.
While I change, she zips into a red latex catsuit with strategically placed cutouts covered in mesh. A long leather whip with a point at the end acts as a tail, and she slips a horned headband in the wavy black hair cascading down her back. Since her crimson heels spike even higher than my boots, she still stands a few inches taller as she adjusts my “halo.”
She pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of us in the mirror. Neither of us looks enthused—my disinterest genuine, hers for aesthetic.
My phone vibrates with a message from Gabe a few minutes before we leave.
Sorry, held up at work. Rain check on our rain-checked rain check?
Even though he said he wouldn’t, he texted me the same day we met. But we haven’t seen each other again because every time we make plans, something happens. He has to stay at work late; I lose my keys, phone, and shoes all at once; three of his tires go flat.
I send, Next week?
It’s a date. One with both of us in the same place at the same time.
I smile on my way out, and Terra whips me with her tail.
The only way to enter the party is by going through a haunted house set up by the fraternity. Once we get our wristbands, Terra drags me up the steps without any hesitation. A few couples are ahead of us as we walk inside, but they disappear when the door slams behind us, leaving us in the dark. I jump, and Terra squeals, clasping on to my arm.
We rely on each other for protection and maneuver our way through a room full of dolls. Cracked porcelain faces stare at us from every side, some with missing eyes, as a little girl’s voice keeps asking if we’ll play with her.
A pile of broken doll bodies in the corner starts moving, and a person rises out of it. “Stay with me,” she says, stumbling toward us. “Stay forever.”
“Fuck that.” Terra dashes through a doorway, and I laugh, more creeped out than anything.
We follow glowing tape on the floor to move us in the right direction down an unlit hallway. Every now and then, someone screams from somewhere. Then I’m the one screaming at the hands grabbing at my legs.
The next room is set up as an insane asylum with patients drifting around. One of the actors, a guy dressed in gray sweats and a dirty T-shirt, pulls at the back of his hair. He wanders toward us, mumbling. The closer he gets, the louder he chants, and the others are surrounding us and shouting nonsense. As they close in, my heart hammers in my chest, my breath coming faster. All at once, they jump at us as the lights cut out. Terra’s hand slips out of mine.
“Hannah!” she shrieks.
A strobe light blinks from a ceiling corner. They’re pulling her away, but whenever I try getting to her, someone bumps me in the opposite direction. The mumbling guy in sweats stalks toward me, his movements choppy in the flashes of light. None of it’s real, but the yelling and strobe disorient me, and I panic.
“Back the fuck off, man.” A guy steps between us and reaches back, moving me behind him.
Once the actor changes direction, my new hero turns around. Blunt metal spikes decorate the front of his jacket. His hair points every which way.
I’m still catching my breath when he takes my hand. The punk rocker keeps me close behind him and leads me around the perimeter. He pushes through plastic slats hung in the doorway and holds them back for me. I look for Terra, but knowing her, she’s hooking up with someone in zombie makeup, so I follow him.
In the next room, a white-and-black-checkerboard pattern covers the floor, walls, and ceiling. There’s no door other than the one we came through, and a single lightbulb hangs down in the center. As he steps closer to the light, I struggle to figure out how I know him. The heavy eyeliner and hair throw me off, but I’ve seen the chiseled features and scruffy jawline.
He taps the bulb, sending it swinging, and our shadows bounce around the room. The light glints off a doorknob straight ahead, the door painted to match everything else. We head toward it, and a person perfectly camouflaged against the backdrop lunges at me. I let out a yelp and latch on to the rocker again. He stops and looks down at our hands, his dark eyebrows drawn together.
Oh God, Hannah.
“Sorry,” I say, heat flooding my cheeks.
I start to pull my hand away, but warm fingers curl around mine and lead me forward.
“Welcome!” A bubbly voice meets us from behind a surgical mask in the next room. A stainless steel table on one side holds a body with trays of surgical tools scattered around. The girl in a sexy nurse costume struts over. “I’m Nurse Joy.”
She tugs the rocker over to the table by the zipper on his jacket, and I come along, welcome or not. Her
skit includes giving an autopsy to a still-alive man, while giggling the entire time. We’re almost out of the room when she taps me on the shoulder. I turn around and scream. Her mask is off, and it looks like her skin’s been torn away, muscle and teeth exposed. I cling to the guy’s arm as he hauls me out of the room and into a dark hallway. The walls move, knocking into us. I bounce back and forth until he tucks me under his arm.
He keeps me there for the next two rooms—a demon baby’s nursery and a meat locker with bodies hanging from the hooks. We step into one more hallway. I relax, seeing the exit sign, but then a chainsaw growls to life. Since I’ve already proven myself unable to handle anything remotely scary, I unapologetically wrap my arms around the guy’s torso, burying my face in the leather. Once the sound cuts off, his grip on me loosens. Cold air hits my skin, and I peek up, realizing we’re outside.
I let go of him and straighten. “People actually enjoy those things?”
“You’d be surprised.” One side of his mouth turns up, and a dimple appears.
Fuck me, he’s gorgeous. I stare up at him in a stupid schoolgirl daze, and the feeling of knowing him creeps back in. “Have we met before? In class or maybe—”
Terra shouts my name from ahead. I turn to wave at her, and by the time I look back, he’s walking away.
“I’m Hannah, by the way.”
I expect him to stop or at least tell me his name in return, but he keeps going.
Terra calls for me again, the guys with her ready to go in. With my mystery man not interested, I click my way up the sidewalk to them.
We wait at the door while a frat brother checks that everyone has wristbands from the haunted house. I flash mine and look back on our way inside.
He’s standing in a group of people, but our eyes meet, his full attention on me. Goose bumps rush over my skin, and as if he knows, he smiles.
He has two dimples.
Hannah in a haunted house is a fucking drug. I want it. I need it. I’ll do whatever it takes to get more. Enough adrenaline flooded her system that I’m still running warm with light when her gaze finds mine in the crowd. I want to tear across the lawn and carry her back in, caveman-style. Like she knows I need another fix, she gives me one before disappearing inside.
I hang around the rowdy group on the lawn. The ones too drunk to realize they don’t know me. They keep calling me bro and elbowing me to laugh at their crude jokes.
Once they start to disperse, I make my way in to where her roommate is entertaining a group. Hannah lingers around the edge, so I take the winding staircase to a balcony overhead to do what I do—watch. She avoids engaging as much as possible, staring at the beer in her clear plastic cup.
A sexy unicorn sidles up next to me. She’s wearing a white corset, a rainbow-colored tutu, and a pink wig with a horn on top. After being plugged directly into a power source, it only takes her finger brushing over my hand for me to lose interest in Hannah’s inability to enjoy a party. We exchange a few sentences, and then her teeth are tugging at my ear, and my hand’s up the tutu.
She’s sitting on the banister, legs wrapped around me. My eyes flutter open to scan the people below for the face they always seek out. But it’s not there.
“Fuck.” I set the unicorn back on the floor, still searching the crowd for, of all things, an angel.
She touches my chest. “What is it, baby?”
I forget she exists and tear down the stairs. Terra’s giggling by the keg, guys drooling on both sides of her, but no Hannah. The line for the bathroom is long, but she’s not there either. And here’s where the crystal ball becomes as much a blessing as a curse. It’s the fastest way to find her, but I can’t exactly whip it out in front of everyone. I make it outside and find a secluded area, my thoughts on Hannah’s face before the globe’s out of my jacket. Her image is dark, so it’s hard to make out her surroundings as she walks alone.
Where the fuck are you?
And that’s when it hits, dead center in my chest.
Someone wearing a mascot bunny head zips past her on a bike, then another on the other side. A third flies by, snatching the phone from her hand. They circle her, a fourth one laughing.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The glow almost breaks through the tips of my fingers as I duck behind a line of hedges. I shut my eyes, focusing on Hannah touching me, the feel of her skin on mine, the spark of light she supplies. The world drops out from under me, and when my feet land on solid ground, she’s fifty feet ahead of me.
The jokers have climbed off their bikes, bunny heads still on. Hannah tries to run, but one grabs the wings of her costume and tosses her back toward the group. She loses her balance, falling down, and I almost lose my fucking shit.
“Hey!” I shout.
They’re too busy with their new toy to pay attention to the only warning they’ll get. I don’t bother using my powers, ripping off the first bunny head I come across.
The guy’s face gives under my fist, and I catch another by the shirt, jerking him back. His costume head lands next to the other. Since he’s the one who took her phone, he earns a few extra kicks to the ribs.
Hannah crawls off the ground, distracting me enough that one of the remaining two lands a few punches. He sprints off when the other jumps on my back. I throw him off, onto the sidewalk, and am on top of him, pulling off his bunny head before he knows what happened. I leave him in the fetal position, face bloody, and I glance around for the lucky one with my blood on his knuckles. He’s riding away on his bike with the other two.
As the last one hauls himself up, I take hold of his shirt. At first, he winces when I touch his busted-to-shit cheek, but then his expression relaxes, his eyes glazing over.
“The one who got away,” I say in a calm tone. “Tell me his name and how to find him.”
He answers without thought, “Barrett Lane. He works at the costume shop.”
“You won’t remember talking to me.”
My hands fall away, and he stumbles backward a few steps, shaking his head. He reorients quickly and takes off on his bike, leaving his bunny head behind.
I barely keep my temper as I stalk toward Hannah, my patience worn thin. We’ve been through this a few times over the years, where something happens and I become too easily remembered. My power’s fading with the danger gone, but she’s still shaken enough to give me the boost I need to make her forget. But as I close in on her, I stop. Removing me from her memories also removes the faces of the guys who just tried to assault her. Not to mention the healthy fear she’ll now have of walking alone at night.
“Shit,” I shout, scooping up the bunny head.
Hannah jumps but not even the surge she supplies settles me down. I grab her phone, followed by her arm, and pull her down the sidewalk.
“Hey!” She tries to jerk away, so I tighten my grip, stopping to glare down at her. She swallows hard but lifts her chin and narrows her eyes right back at me. “I know how I know you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“You’re the jerk who plowed into me outside of Mercy Building last month.”
“You’re confusing me with someone else.”
She shakes her head. “No. It was you. I know it was.”
I can’t catch a break tonight. The mascot head falls to the concrete, and I cup her face in my hands. Drawing on what energy remains, I wait until the moss-green eyes staring up at me soften and lose focus. “That wasn’t me,” I tell her. “The first time we met was in the haunted house.”
She rests her hands on my wrists while her mind molds around my words. “And then you saved me from the evil bunnies?”
My lips twitch, and I blink a few times, caught off guard by her description of the event. “Yes, the men who were going to hurt you because you tried to walk home alone like a fucking idiot. Now, I’m walking you back to the dorms so that no more bunnies come for you and that dress.”
I le
t her go, picking up the head off the ground, and she follows behind me without further argument.
At her building, I wait on the sidewalk until she’s at the door. She pauses and looks back. Neither of us says anything, though, and after a second, she goes inside. In twenty-one years, it’s the longest we’ve been together and the most we’ve spoken without the moment being erased. I no longer blend in with hundreds of other indistinguishable faces. She’ll recognize me, be able to pick me out of a crowd.
God help me if this girl fucks everything up.
After the Halloween party, my eyes constantly search faces. Sometimes I look for the ones who attacked me but mostly the one who saved me. None of them appear, though, and slowly, I stop trying to find them.
My date with Gabe moves three more times. If I were the type of person to believe in signs, I would think the universe was telling me something.
By the second week in November, he promises nothing will stop him from seeing me. Even so, I expect him to call right before, apologizing and asking to reschedule yet again. About an hour before he’s supposed to pick me up, someone knocks. I answer in yoga pants and a sweatshirt.
Gabe looks me over, raising an eyebrow. “If you look this good caught off guard, I have no idea what you’re doing with me.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re early.”
“I know, but I was worried that if I waited until eight, something would happen.” He pulls a bouquet of white flowers from behind his back. “I’ve actually been outside for half an hour already.”
He hands me the flowers, and I smile.
“Let me get changed?”
“Or you can wear that.”
He leans to the side, so he can watch me until the door shuts. The flowers land on my bed as I rush to the closet. I change fast since Terra and I already argued over what I’d wear. For once, I won with skinny jeans and a V-neck sweater. Much more sensible than her miniskirt and halter top she claims are first-date musts.
