Odder Than an Oddity.
I pick up the pace, until I’m prying the black velvet curtains out of the way and slipping inside.
The same odor in the office knots my stomach, raking over the large shelving unit packed with jars full of small animals and bones submerged in liquid. There are reptiles and birds and… puppies.
What the fuck?
Why would someone do that? Why is this even here?
My heart migrates up my throat, getting caught in the tightness that’s burning my eyes. I rip away before I can see any more, walking around the shelves and passing a packed display of a variety of teeth and bones, and rabbit feet hanging from wooden pegs by chains.
They say a rabbit’s foot brings you luck. Maybe that’s why I’m curiously stopping to look at the preserved white fur, my forefinger shakily running over the softness.
“You a’right there, mate?”
The masculine Australian accent startles me, my jolting heart lurching my body into a one-eighty with a mute yip. Obviously, someone works in here. I don’t know why my nerves are shot like I was caught doing something I shouldn’t.
“Yes, uh, s-sorry,” I respond, gaping at the tall man standing a few feet across from me.
He has one hand in his pocket, the cast of his arm pinning his tailored jacket just enough to see the leather harness strapped to his black button up.
“No worries,” he hums, his gelled, sandy blonde hair collecting the orange hue of the lights illuminating the shelves next to him. “You in for some luck, aye?”
“W-what?”
“Rabbit foot,” he points behind me, offering a lazy grin.
“Oh, uh,-“ I look over my shoulder, taking a steady breath that closes my eyes for a moment “-no. I was actually wanting to ask you about something.”
When I look back to him—he’s closer, his honey eyes content with my awkwardness.
“Ask. I don’t bite.” He flicks down to my throat, pointing out the marks I wear today.
Is he flir… Um, oh… Oh, no.
No. Right? No. He’s well in his late thirties and has rings on each finger, surely that’s a wedding band or, like, a fricking, uh… I don’t know, I’m scared now.
“I was, um…”
He nods patiently, slowly getting closer with intrigue relaxing his face.
Picking at the hem of my shorts, I drop his eye contact to look around. “I was wondering if anyone brings you strange things… or asks you for strange things.”
“Strange?” He stops a foot away, cracking a dimpled grin and visually perusing the oddities. “This not strange enough for you, Bunny?”
Not expecting my name out of his mouth, perplexion tightens my face, encouraging a big ache to throb across my forehead. “You know me? How? Why?”
He laughs, the sound gentle and lingering in the back of his throat. “We fancy the same schedule.”
I’ve never seen him. But if I’ve learned anything the past week, my anxiety has made me oblivious to mostly everything.
Or he’s lying to me, too.
A spark of anger turns my head hot, my cheeks sizzling over the idea that I can’t even trust a stranger. “Uh, never mind. Sorry to bother you.”
Turning away from him, I start to walk toward the curtains, but a warm grip is anchoring around my wrist, putting me in a halt.
It’s light. But alarming.
