Page 2 of Pretty Broken Wings

I can’t leave that.

“Excuse me.” I step around the man, and he moves, only he backs up into the counter, further blocking me.

I don’t let him stop me. I dart my hand back, my fingers brushing the leather of my purse, when the man’s hand snaps down, grabbing my arm.

“Hey!” His voice is startled.

I jerk back, managing to free my arm. “Fuck off!” Stumbling back, I stare at the man with wide eyes. And as I take him in, I realize why he looks so different—he has no eyebrows. Or eyelashes. Or hair.

Only he does. But they’re white. And behind his glasses, his eyes are…pale. It’s almost like the features that would normally have pigment are covered in frost. He has a haunted look about him.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The man holds up his hands, palms out. “Thought you were grabbing me.” He flashes me a playboy smile.

There’s a loud bang, and I flinch, turning around. The door to the stall I was just in is moving back, only it looks like it’s happening in slow motion. Then, slowly, the man I was messing with comes stumbling out.

“Sorry.” There’s a touch on my arm, and I jump again. The frosty man is grabbing my arm, smiling at me like he knows he’s attractive.

“Hands off, asshole,” I spit, and suddenly, I’m hit by the scent of mint, and it breaks me slightly out of my daze. The man with the icy hair chews absently, squinting his eyes at me.

“He bothering you?” Behind his glasses, his eyes narrow.

I suck in a breath, getting a whiff of that mint again, and it overpowers the smell of cologne. I straighten, sucking another breath into my lungs. Because, like fuck am I going to have a panic attack right here and now.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

The man turns and grabs my purse, then hands it over to me.

Embarrassment heats my cheeks. I needed him to give me my purse. I was just weak. So fucking weak. And if there’s one thing I’ll never be again, it’s weak in front of a man.

I snatch my purse from him and waltz out of the bathroom. I should be running. I don’t like the unnerving intensity the man with glasses looked at me with. Like he was soaking in every tiny detail to use against me.

And I’ll be fucked if I give him that.

It takes about ten minutes to walk home in the shockingly cold fall air. It gives me a chance to clear the alcohol from my brain.

Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid. Can’t help getting myself in trouble, and for what? I didn’t even get to ruin that man’s orgasm.

Fuck.

I check to make sure no one is following me. The street is empty, lit up by the street lamps and yellow Halloween lights strung up in the bushes outside the gas station. I have a car, but gas is expensive, and almost everything in this stupid town is close together. All the shops and department stores are in one small area. Everyone here knows everyone. I’ve only lived here a few months, but this town is odd. Lots of people like to say it’s haunted, but I don’t believe in that bullshit.

By the time I make it to my studio apartment, my nose is running. It takes me three tries to get the key in the front door, and it’s not just because my hands are numb. I check again to make sure no one followed me.

Fuck, I’m being paranoid.

Finally, the key slides in, and I step inside, shivering in the warmth that floods over me. I can only afford to keep the place at sixty-five, but it still feels far better than outside.

Flipping on the main light, I wince. It’s bright and harsh, lighting up the sparse apartment. There isn’t much. Just a small kitchen built into the side wall, and beyond it, my bed, baseball bat, my meager collection of childhood books stacked on the floor, and my plastic drawers full of clothes. It looks so bleak with the fluorescent light. I think this place used to be a shop, but the owner turned it into three narrow studios.

I’m the only sucker who saw the old creepy department store and said ‘Sign me up!’ I keep meaning to find a lamp at the secondhand shop, preferably one with a yellow bulb. Easier to read with the soft light. Not that I have the energy to read much anymore.

I can feel the buzz leaving my body, leaving me numb and hungry. I shouldn’t eat this late, but I open the fridge anyway. Inside is my container of rice and beans from earlier.

I shut the door.

I shouldn’t eat it. That’s lunch for tomorrow.

Pacing to the bed, I strip my clothes off. It feels like the urine and cologne are sticking to my skin. I need a shower. A scalding one.