We.
His hand is still on my thigh and suddenly I’m warm inside, and not from the tea. I try to squirm away, but his fingers dig into my stockinged leg, holding me in place. A smirk tugs on the corner of his mouth.
“Aroused, in public?”
“Shut up,” I whisper.
“Miscreant,” he says, the tone of his voice sultry.
The gnocchi arrives, saving me from any further embarrassment. He asks me to tell him the story of the little pasta balls as we eat, and I regale him about ancient Rome and the creation of the pasta “knot,” or “knuckle,” the historians can’t decide the true root of the word.
The creamy, spicy sauce with the sweet potato dumplings is an absolute delight when paired with the chai. The roasted asparagus is so green and fresh I know my pee is going to smellpotentin the next twenty minutes.
He asks me about the book I’m binding while we eat, and for the first time in a long time, Jerry doesn’t bother me. I know I shouldn’t attribute it tohim. It’s probably just my workout routine, and getting to do something I love all morning, but…
It feels like it’s him.
Like he’s smoothing over the rough edges. Like he’s gravity, pulling me closer to center in my emotional ups and downs. Maybe it’s more like an umbrella in a downpour. I can still see the rain, but I’m not getting wet.
Does he know that’s what he’s doing?
Can I trust it?
Can it last?
sixteen
Magic Senses and Lascivious Texts
The first breath of warm air seems to bring all the water of Lake Superior with it into town, leaving a dense fog hanging in the streets this morning. I pull my blanket around my shoulders tighter as I stare into the white nothingness.
I wish it would swell into the house and swallow me up. Take away this emptiness that I feel. Banish the apathy for my own existence. The indifference of cost or consequence.
My eyes lose focus as I fantasize the end of it all. A great white wall rising from the lakes, the seas, and every ocean. It blankets the world, silencing it. No more violence. No more fear. Just the stillness of absolute solitude. The reprieve of agony.
How I wish for it.
“You’re like a void,” Bastian says. “Is something wrong?”
Yes.
My brain chemistry is being an absolute cunt.
I take a deep breath and shake my head. “No, but it could be, you know? Like what if some monster is lurking out there in the mist. It crawled up out of the lake and it’s gulping down passersby in the cover of the fog.”
Images of a tentacled monster schlerping out of the lake is much better than the silent whiteout of existence. Imagining the violence brings a tingle of feeling back into my body. Revulsion. I wouldn’t wish a monster on anyone.
“It’s my understanding that there are very few beings capable of eating humans whole, and though some do live in water, none live in that lake,” he says, matter-of-factly.
“Oh yeah? How do you know that?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him.
He crosses his arms at the challenge and his biceps bulge under his black t-shirt. “I would sense a creature of that size.”
I scowl. “Is that a real thing?”
“Of course, I’m a dragon.”
“And I’m a witch, apparently, but it doesn’t mean I know anything,” I say. “Speaking of, do you know what my magic is?”
