Her response to my presence pleases me greatly. She is visibly attracted to me. No surprise there. But what is a surprise, and an unpleasant one, is her view of herself.
I can see her fiery true self hidden behind a facade of giant glasses, big curls, and funky clothes meant to pull the eye outwards and away from seeing her. From really seeingher.
I wonder if she can even see herself.
Whenever she needs me, I am called to her. There have been many reasons over the years—war, famine, abuse. Over the centuries, the threats have morphed from illness and physical danger to more sophisticated concerns. Like in this lifetime, where she needs to be rescued from herself.
I know her far better than she ever could. I can save her, show her who she is.
My confidence grows. This will bethelifetime. There is no alternative. One way or another, I am going to have her. I will not lose her again. I cannot. This time, I will save her. I will save us. I cannot, will not, fail again.
Ihave never been so happy to close up and head home. A busy day in the store, interspersed with the stranger’s visits, has me beat.
I am so thankful I renovated the two floors above the shop into my unique living space last year. I had left them unused until I saved up enough to really make them the way I wanted. The bonus is, I now have the perfect commute.
Lucifer rushes past me and off on his own errands. I tried to make him an indoor cat to keep him safe, but it was impossible, as he has his own agenda.
I lock the front door to Grimm with my skeleton key and slip down the alley to the back of my building. I am thankful the sun is just setting; the golden glow lights my way, throwing long shadows into sharp relief.
I have always felt safe in this little suburb of Baltimore, but tonight I have that prickling sensation on the back of my neck, like McHottenstein is standing right behind me again.
I hurry a little faster down the alley and around the back stairs. My anxiety continues to ramp up, so I run up them two at a time, breathless by the time I reach the landing. I can’t figure out why I am anxious in such a familiar setting, but it has been an odd day.
It is the anxiety of a child—scared of the dark and what is hiding under the bed. As an adult, I framed prints of scary things and resold them rather than thinking they are beneath my bed. But my heart pounds away, and I wish I could hide beneath the covers.
Rather than the vintage skeleton key that unlocks the front door to the shop, with a shaky hand, I take out a regular one and unlock my deadbolt.
As I turn to close and lock the door behind me, I glance out over the back lot and could swear I glimpse a pair of animal eyes reflecting the light back to me. They are too large and too high up to be my cat, though. I blink and they are gone. Weird.
I am exhausted and rattled, in need of a bath and a shot of my favorite tequila—for medicinal purposes, of course. My mind rambles down its rabbit trails, branching off here and there.
Thinking of medicines reminds me of the box of framed antique prescriptions that I had bought on my last buying trip and still needed to display in the shop, if only I can remember where I stashed them.
As my mind continues to run through the store's displays and my to-do list, I unzip my boots and leave them propped next to the door. I turn on my table lamp, a gothic crow with an Edison bulb hanging from a cord in its mouth, and look around my familiar space.
It is reassuring, if lonely. Everything where I left it, only mine and Lucifer’s messes to take care of. But I sure wouldn’t complain if the oxblood Docs from this morning’s hottie were sitting next to mine. Or better yet, under my bed.
I decide to nickname him McHottie, since Hottie McHottenstein is exceedingly long. I wonder what his real name is and hope it is something as exotic and spectacular as he is.
I walk down the hall and start to fill my slipper tub. The benefit of redoing my space was putting in custom finishes like this one.
I always dreamed of having a tub where I could simultaneously have my feet and boobs under the water, so I put this fabulous one in, and a separate shower area. I add a generous pour of rose-scented oil and leave it to fill.
I traipse to the kitchen at the end of my open-concept main living area and drink some water. After hydrating, I pull down the beautiful blue and white tequila bottle from its spot on top of the fridge. It is my favorite, but hard to find and not cheap, so I save it for special times or when I really need to treat myself.
I grab an ice ball in the shape of a skull from a baggie in the freezer and add it to a copper rocks glass, since I don’t want to risk regular glass in the tub. I pick up a lighter from the junk drawer and walk back to the bathroom.
The room is now filled with lovely rose-scented steam and is exactly what I need. I smirk to myself as I light the penis candles around the room. I had bought a case of them cheaply as a novelty for the shop, but then had been too chicken to put them out.
Of all the strange things in my store, penis candles are where I draw the line. Penis anatomy prints, or even baculum jewelry, are fine, but penis candles? Now that’s just silly.
I light six of them, softly giggling at the thought of flaming dicks, and slip off my striped tights. The candles are just realistic enough, but not gross.
I never understood why dildoes have ropey veins on them and writers felt the need to describe male anatomy in such great detail in the spicy fiction I liked to read. Maybe I just haven’t seen an impressive enough specimen?
For a second, I think about shaving my legs, but dismiss it just as quickly. It’s not like anyone is feeling them but me, and I couldn’t care less. Summer is just starting, and the air is still a little chilly.
I could wear tights with my dresses for a little while yet. Without another thought as to the state of my body hair, I drop my high-cut briefs and strip off my dress.
