Page 98 of The Wicked

She walked backward, a teasing smile on her face. “If you do get that phone, don’t be a stranger.”

“Okay.”

She chuckled, shaking her head and muttering, “So cute,” before she turned and disappeared down the aisle, away from view… I memorized the number before slipping the paper into my pocket, continuing my hunt for the last item, which was cotton wool, and then I paid a frightened teenager and exited the store towards the building out back.

Walking into it, I trekked the short hallway to the female washroom.

I raised my hand to knock. “Spo—” I stopped, closing my eyes for a second before opening them back up, my knuckle connecting with the door three times. “Zahra, I got the materials for your arm.”

“Come in.” Her voice was muffled, and I twisted the handle, pushing the door open, and walked in… The moment I raised my head, I paused, unable to stop my eyes from taking her in.

Her hair was wet, and she wore the black sweatpants I had chosen. Her shoulders were naked, and her hand held the black sweatshirt over her chest in an attempt to cover her breasts, but I could still see the swell, barely covered underneath her naked arms.

I was staring. Of course I was staring.

She was the first woman in a year and a half who had piqued my interest sexually.

The reason why was still a mystery to me.

I found her attractive. I find a lot of women attractive, but Zahra, while not my usual type, managed to challenge me in every way.

I didn’t like loud women. She was loud. I didn’t like careless people. She was the definition of careless. I didn’t like people who talked back when they were not supposed to. She talked back—everytime. I didn’t like women with short hair. She wore her hair short, though it always smelled excellent, pleasant to the point that I was impressed with the effort she put into it to make it smell—see? My thoughts derailed again.

She was like me—except she held all the characteristics of myself that I habitually hid to keep up the façade that was my whole life.

It was scary. It intimidated me in a way I had never thought probable.

I liked a challenge, but this time it came in the form of a woman I couldn’t have.

A woman I don’t want to have.

“I would have asked if you liked what you’re seeing, but the last time I asked someone that question, I got slapped.” Her voice made me blink, pulling me back from my head—both my heads.

I approached her, taking my eyes away before placing the items on the counter. “That’s all you’ll need.”

This scourge of a woman wouldn’t take her eyes off me, even as I turned to go back outside.

“Elio,” she called. I stopped. “Help me.”

“I’m assured you know your way around sewing your own wound.”

“I do, but not from this angle. I might do more damage than good.”

I clenched my jaw, pulling on the blankest expression I could muster in her presence before turning to “help.”

Without looking at her, I washed my hands clean in the basin, then put on the gloves I had gotten, cleaning the surface area of the cut.

“You won’t even look at me,” she stated.

I continued my work, ensuring the needle was sterilized properly before connecting it with her skin.

She winced, and I glanced up, catching her stare, which was able to hold mine for about five seconds before I focused on what I was doing again.

It was quiet for a while before she spoke again. “Fine,” she snapped, sounding agitated. “Your whole quiet broodiness is making me feel like shit, so I’ll be the bigger person and… try to… a—apolo—fuck. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that after you told me you wanted to off yourself. I was just tired and pissed because you didn’t have to shoot the boy, and you showed literally no remorse.”

I carefully put the third stitch in, remaining quiet.

My silence disturbed her; I could feel it each passing second her words hung in the air after her forced apology.