I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at me, her light-brown eyes showing me how tired she really was. I wished I could’ve told her things would be okay, but the truth was nothing was ever okay in the world we lived in.
I wished I could have helped her with the money aspect, but I was barely making enough to support myself and save up to leave. I was struggling just as badly as she was, and that wasn't even counting the shitstorm of my past that would catch up with me eventually.
Laura didn’t even know who I really was.
What I didn’t spend on food and necessities, I squirreled away. Desolation certainly wasn’t my endgame. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life here. I wanted to be able to go somewhere that was full of life. Because maybe then I would actually feel like I had one.
But the cherry on the shit sundae that was my life story was that they’d found a body just down the street from where I worked. Although finding corpses in this city wasn’t exactly breaking headliner news, there was a prickling on my skin that told me this wasn’t just any death.
“So that body they found?”
“Yeah?” I waited to see if she’d give more information or if I’d have to press a little harder. I didn’t watch the news and didn't want to be any more depressed than I was. And the news that tended to be throughout Desolation was always the same. Warring criminal factions, gang wars, deaths from either murder or drug addiction. And of course there was rape and sexual assault.
She leaned in close and looked around as if she was afraid someone would hear, although nobody that frequented cared. In fact, they probably had a hand in many of the news stories that had come out over the years.
“This isn’t public knowledge, not yet anyways, but I have a friend who works at the local paper who has connections with a guy who works at the police station. Apparently the body they found not only had his hand cut off, but he also had a wound on his…” She pointed down to her crotch region. “The wound was so substantial that he bled out from the groin before he could from the missing hand.”
My heart jumped in my throat at the brutality of his death.
The front door opened, and we both looked toward the entrance. My heart, that had been beating fast and erratic from Laura’s story, stilled in my chest at the sight of the man who stepped in. The same man who consumed my thoughts and made me question what was going on with my body for the last two months.
He took his usual seat, but I didn’t miss how he kept his gaze locked on mine.
“Why is he watching you so—”
“Yeah,” I said before she could finish. “It’s intense.” I glanced away, because his eyes on me were heavy, so heavy it was like a cloak over me.
But I found myself looking back at him. I didn’t miss how his gaze moved down to my throat, didn't miss the way his jaw tightened as he no doubt saw the marks. I forced myself not to touch my neck, feeling bared even from across the restaurant.
“Yeah, he screams, ‘Stay the hell away.’”
I snapped my attention toward Laura and saw that she was staring at him, but she quickly looked away. I didn’t miss how she shivered and then shook her head, her focus on her hands.
“He looks at you like he wants to eat you up until there’s nothing left,” she whispered before clearing her throat and pushing away from the counter. “There’s just something about him that scares the hell out of me.” Her voice was soft, and she finally looked up at me before slapping on a smile, which I could tell was forced. “But the men I’ve been around and this shitty city have kind of ruined it for all others.”
This would’ve been a good time for us to bond, for me to tell her she wasn’t alone, that I, too, knew all about bad men. But she was gone before I could say anything. I didn’t even know if I would have been able to say anything. Connecting with people wasn’t a strong suit of mine.
I looked back at him and gathered my strength. I made my way over to him, his eyes never leaving me, as if he were the negative end of a magnet and I the positive. I was drawn to him, this invisible thread that was winding tighter the closer I got.
When I was right in front of his table, I held the pad in one hand and a pen in the other. My fingers shook, and I tightened them around the objects. His gaze flickered down, and I knew he saw my physical nervousness. I had a feeling he could read me better than I could read myself.
When he was looking back at me, I felt my tongue swell, my throat tighten, that pain from being strangled last night making itself known once more. As if he knew the latter, his focus once more lingered on my neck. Although his outward appearance seemed stoic, almost uncaring, I noticed a slight, subtle clench of his jaw, the same thing when he first looked at the bruising.
I found myself fidgeting with my hair, pulling it over my shoulders to hide the marks. There was nothing I could do about them, but I certainly didn’t want anyone paying attention to the marks either. “The usual?” I hated that my voice was so low, slightly shaky. And it didn’t have anything to do with anxiety.
Why was I so on edge around him right now? All the other times, I’d been able to at least pretend like his presence didn’t rattle me. Maybe it was the way he stared at me, his dark eyes so intent and prying, as if he could sift through my darkest secrets and find out exactly who I was without me uttering a word.
“Lina, right?” He looked down at my name tag, and I nodded, licking my lips. He was staring at my mouth now, and I felt an intense flush cover my face at the fact that he watched me so hard. There was something behind his gaze, something that wasn’t apathetic. Something that was… heated.
And I felt an answering call from my body. It was uncomfortable and unusual.
It was exhilarating.
It was the first time I felt anything but the lonely despair that had always been crushing me.
“Yes,” I said with a stronger voice this time. “That’s what the name tag says,” I teased and offered him a smile, but he didn’t give me one in return. Which then had mine dying a slow, embarrassing death. “So.” I cleared my throat again. “The usual?”
He was silent for so long I wondered if he’d heard me. Had I said the words out loud or thought them? I certainly didn’t want to ask again and further embarrass myself. Maybe I should just turn and give him the space he clearly needed.
“I’m Arlo,” he finally said, and I felt my eyes widen at the piece of information he gave me. Because for some reason he seemed like a man who didn’t give anyone any part of himself. “Arlo Malkovich.”
I nodded slowly, not sure what to say, but then common sense kicked in, and I replied, “Lina Michaels.”
He leaned back in the chair and regarded me. “Lina Michaels.”
The way he said it made me feel as if I’d been caught evading the truth. Of course it was a lie, but if he was calling me out, he didn’t blatantly do it. I licked my lips again and nodded, not trusting my voice.
He tipped his chin in my direction. “What happened to your neck?”
There was this weird tone in his voice, as if he knew the answer to that question already. But clearly he couldn't have known the truth. I’d left while he’d still been finishing his meal, and my assailant had taken me into an alley. It had just been him and me until I left him clutching his family jewels and ran.