But most of all, I hate that even in my misery, I find West’s stubborn presence to be a comfort.
10
Maybe I Like It Rough-ish
When I wake, I feel empty.
At first, I just assume I’m hungry. Last night did me in. A stack of pancakes or a mountain of scrambled eggs is exactly what I need, I’m quite sure.
Until I look at myself in the mirror. I bring a hand up to my pallid, sickly face. Is there still makeup on it from last night, perhaps? Did I not sleep well?
Neither of those things are it. I know damned well what it is that’s different.
West respected my wishes and fucked off.
I shut my eyes and let out a long, aching sigh.
My dreams last night were … very weird. I’m just putting that out there. There was a huge and terrifying beady-eyed demon with a pumpkin head and sharp teeth that gnashed when it spoke. But it wasn’t my enemy.
It was my only friend.
And together, we scavenged the streets for candy. We took it from screaming children. We stole it from teenagers who still thought themselves cool enough to go trick-or-treating. Even the occasional grownup made a mad dash to escape us, screaming in terror, but no one could get away. We were the perfect, deadly duo. After we got bored of lavish looting from unsuspecting trick-or-treaters, we started breaking down doors and stealing candy straight from the source.
It was the most fun I ever had.
But when we were finished, we found ourselves on the roof of a very tall building, seated right at the edge, with glittering, colorful candy mountains of our plunder spilled proudly all around us, yet we ate none of it. It was just the fun together that we craved, not the sweets. I gazed at my pumpkin-head demon pal. He gazed back. Somehow, his carved mouth was bent into a frown.
We were mutually sad that the night was ending.
All that remained was to jump off the roof into the oblivion and see what came next.
Then I woke up.
As I sit at my table now eating a modest breakfast of cold cereal, I have to wonder: was that dream West’s way of saying goodbye? Is he gone for good now? What will happen when I light a candle again? Will he be …?
I’m too worried of the answer to try.
After taking care of my empty cereal bowl, I glance at my phone and catch a text from last night I must have missed.
From Byron: “Are you alright?”
It’s a lone text accompanied by a single missed call, which I apparently didn’t even hear. I take the lack of a slew of texts and calls to be indicative of him giving me space to work out whatever it was I was going through last night. Identity crisis? Imposter syndrome? Insanity?
There’s no telling. It might’ve been all of those.
I pocket my phone with a sigh.
With nothing much to do for two more days before I start my so-called dream job at Pixelomenon, I decide to put on some clothes and go for a walk. The sunlight pierces me like a vampire, nearly inspiring me to hiss at it. But I just hug myself and keep moving, dodging all of the occasional Halloween debris of candy wrappers and fake plastic fangs on the pavement.
It’s no surprise I find myself standing in front of Spooky Beans, even if I was meandering up and down the oddly empty and uninhabited streets, turning down unfamiliar alleyways, letting my feet carry me wherever they wished. It turns out to be rather obvious what they wished: to plant me directly in front of the place that ought to have been my destination all along.
Through the window, I see Byron working, serving up coffee to customer after customer. Smiling. Happy.
I wonder if he ever gets a day off.
I slip through the doors unnoticed and get in line. It takes me exactly fifteen minutes and ten seconds to get to the front.
Byron must not have noticed me come in, because my appearance is a complete and utter surprise to him. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, his mouth parts, and he freezes in place. “G-Griffin …” He remembers himself and puts on a smile, though I can tell it’s a very awkward one. “Hey. I was worried about—”
“Yes.”
He stops. “Yes …?”
“I’m answering your text. Yes, I’m alright.”
“Oh.” He smiles. “Great.”
“And I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I … was strangely aggressive. Sexually speaking. And I really didn’t mean to try and tear your costume off of you. I guess you can say I …” My mouth twists. “… wasn’t completely myself last night.”
A man gruffly clears his throat behind me.
Byron bites his lip and lowers his voice. “Uh, sorry, maybe we can talk about this when I—?”