He stepped past with a tip of his hat, then flashed me a look before leisurely strolling down the sidewalk.
“How are you?” I mumbled, staring down at my shoes that were toe to toe with hers, only the wooden saddle of the door between us like a line in the sand.
“Could we talk?” Lorelei sighed. She was clutching her little purse, rubbing at the slightly worn handle.
She was never good at apologies, but shewasgood at coming back around.
I stepped aside, welcoming her into the home with a gesture.
Lorelei had already begun rambling about something faster than a racehorse through the gate, immediately making herself comfortable in the living room. I leaned on the archway, her words becoming muffled as my mind wandered, gently being pulled toward the basement door, a loose lock dangling, mocking me as the keyhole stared like some malevolent eye watching over my day.
Finally, I was alone.
My afternoon ritual could begin. A fresh brewing of a new malty black tea Cosette gifted me. She said the hint of chocolate would pair perfectly with the dried apricots. My favorite cups, the cream-colored ones with gold and deep-reddish-orange glaze in the designs around the rim. I only had two, the rest long since chipped, worn, or discarded.
Within the living room, I settled comfortably on the sofa with a novel from the shelf. The only decision I was keen on making tonight was whether I wanted to read a new story or reread an old comfort novel. My own personal library must have been half made up of books I’d read more times than years living, new books I’d bought for how pretty their bindings were, or the small amount that were out-of-taste gifts that I would never touch.
Just as I was settling in, a loud, quite agitating rasping came at the door.
“One moment of peace, Ibeg,” I groaned, snapping the book closed again and tossing it on the table, making my teacup clamor in its saucer.
The door practically flew back, smacking me in the forehead, when I simply unlatched it.
“Did youreallythink you could avoid me? How quickly you move on, fickle thing,” the coroner scoffed, striding into my home like a debt collector.
I hurriedly caught the door and shut it.
“I wasn’t avoiding you, Vincent. Don’t be obtuse.” I was, indeed, unmistakably, avoiding him.
“You can’t just cut me out, you know.” He let out a cruel laugh, turning on his heel to snap his head at me, a few stray pieces of hair falling and bringing attention to how manic his eyes were, pupils wide like a feral pest. “Who else will help a depraved little thing like you? Your new husband? No, he would run at the very idea—”
“I didn’t cut anyone out,” I interrupted, hastily collecting the mail that the door had scattered and placing it on the hallway table. “My hands are tied, it wasn’t my decision,” I lied.
“You promised yourself to me.”
“I don’t know what you thought our arrangement was,” I started, busying myself slicing through one of the envelopes with the letter opener, “but I did no such thing.”
The tall man stalked forward, but I stood firm, propping up my facade of indifference with twigs. If my back weren’t turned to him, he may have caught the tremor in my hand.
“You know, just because you are free of the ballet ...” he began, his stature hanging over me like a guillotine waiting to drop.
In the reflection of the letter opener, his eyes were dark, hungry.
“... does not mean you will be free ofme.” He placed his hand low on my back, smoothing lower.
“Stop.” I crushed the letter in my hand.
“I don’t think you mean it.” He licked my ear, shoving his hand between my legs and squeezing.
“Stop!” I shouted, reaching down and digging my nails into his hand.
He squeezed tighter, yanking me backward and pressing his hardened bulge against my back.
“I saidstop!” I screamed, whipping around to slap him with the blunt end of my letter opener.
My aim was miscalculated.
He was too tall.
