Chapter 8 Purgatory
Chapter eight
Purgatory
Quin
The next several weeks passed in fits and bursts of happiness amidst lifeless grayscale.
The mundane work moments faded into the background, but in between were moments of sharp, vibrant color.
Glyma texting Quin a picture of the receipt of her filing to incorporate.
A list of possible cafe names, Glyma’s favorites marked with a star.
A desperate FaceTime with Glyma panicking that she’d filled out all the loan applications wrong, and Quin talking her down and helping her through it.
That, in turn, led to more phone calls on Quin’s lunch break and in between meetings. In the evenings, after Marci went home, and Quin was stuck working late. Under the cover of night in her room, hushed secrets and vulnerable confessions kept safe beneath the sheets.
It wasn’t sexual. Not exactly. They flirted, of course, and sometimes, Glyma towed the line of innuendo and invitation.
But they didn’t cross it. Quin could have; she knew that.
Waryn didn’t care, and her parents would never know.
Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to take that last step, because if she did, she would be ruined.
Nothing would be the same again, and she didn’t think she could go back after experiencing what fulfillment and happiness actually tasted like. Returning to this life, this stone prison, this titanium coffin, after that? No, she really wouldn’t survive it.
She knew what she wanted, but did she actually have the courage to fight for it? She wasn't sure she was ready to find out.
So they kept things more or less platonic. When Glyma dropped by Quin’s office unannounced with another baked item she wanted Quin to test. When Quin swung by Glyma’s flat to drop off paperwork that could have been sent via email. When Quin accompanied Glyma to visit her mother on Thursdays.
Just friends. Just gal pals.
Waryn joined them sometimes, and he even met Ms. Aryti. Those two got on like two seeds in a koca pod, and it was nice. It was warm and colorful and tasted something like family. Not a family Quin had ever known. A better one. A kinder one. And it was good. So very good.
“What are you doing this weekend?” Glyma asked as Quin stared blankly at her accounting books. Quarterly taxes were approaching, and she needed to calculate the payment. But talking with Glyma was much more enjoyable.
“I think it might be the first weekend I don’t have concrete plans,” Quin said after mentally reviewing her calendar. “My parents are in the human dimension for some political fundraiser, and my attendance is not deemed a necessity. I think I’m going to take a long, hot bath and read a book.”
“That sounds amazing. I haven’t had a bathtub since I was a kid.”
“You can borrow mine anytime.”
Glyma’s voice turned husky. “Ooh, communal bath?”
“Don’t push your luck,” Quin teased back. “What about you? Any Friday night street orgies?”
Trilling laughter came through the phone, and Quin couldn’t stop her responding smile. “Not that I got invited to. Krul is stopping by for dinner and The Bachelor, and we always go out for breakfast in the morning. He loves pancakes.”
A pang of jealousy shot through her, but she banished it. It was her own fault that Krul was the one keeping Glyma fed instead of her. She could be the one going over for dinner and The Bachelor—whatever that was—and pancakes the next morning. It was her own cowardly fault.
“Sounds fun,” Quin said, and Glyma hummed.
“Saturday afternoon I scheduled a viewing of the location in Purgatory.”
Quin dropped her pen. “What? Why didn’t you lead with that? That’s wonderful.”
“I’m nervous. I have the list Waryn sent, so I know I’m prepared.” Glyma paused and Quin heard the shuffle of puzzle pieces as she poured more out onto the table. “Will you and Waryn come with me? I can pay his fee if he wants to be there in a professional capacity, but—”
“Of course, we’ll come. Well, I will definitely be there, at least. I need to check with Waryn, but I’m sure he would love to. Half the time, it feels like he is more invested in Purgatory than we are—you are. Sorry.”
Glyma laughed softly. “You can claim a bit of investment. You’ve done so much to make it a reality.”
“It’s your dream,” Quin said.
“And you’re helping me make it happen. Even now.”
“I just want you to be successful.”
A beat of silence passed.
“I know you called the bank for me, Quin,” Glyma said, not angrily, but there was an edge to her voice, and Quin’s stomach dropped. “When Geryld called to set up my interview appointment, he said he spoke with you.”
“I wasn’t meddling,” Quin lied, but it was only a white lie! “I had to speak to Geryld about several other matters. I simply asked if he’d reviewed your application. That’s all.”
More silence.
“I don’t want your family name anywhere near this,” Glyma said firmly, and Quin flinched. “I know that sounds harsh, but I can’t owe them anything, not with who they are and what they do.”
“I know—”
“They cause harm. They do real damage in the community. In my communities. Sometimes, people die, and just because they didn’t pull the trigger doesn’t mean they aren’t responsible.”
“I know,” Quin whispered.
“Please tell me you didn’t… sway him.”
Quin shifted the phone to her other ear and shook her head. “I didn’t. I knew saying you were my friend would speed the process along, but I didn’t do or say anything to compel him to approve your loan or anything. Nothing like that. I simply mentioned your name, I swear.
“I would never put you on my family’s radar like that.
I would never risk your livelihood or your dream.
Not to mention, my parents knowing about you means they would know about me.
” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “And if you can’t trust my loyalty to you, at least trust my cowardly self-preservation. ”
Glyma’s exhale turned to static in Quin’s ear. “I do trust you, Quin. But, please, don’t call any more banks.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you.” Glyma sighed heavily. “But if you come Saturday, don’t mention your last name. Maybe the realtor won’t recognize you.”
“I will be on my best behavior,” Quin promised, and Glyma snorted.
“That’s the problem, half the time.”
Quin tutted. “Well, one of us has to be well-behaved.”
“Misbehaving is much more fun,” Glyma sing-songed.
“You would know,” Quin sang back.
Glyma laughed throatily before ringing off. “Go home, Quin. You work too much.”
“Have a good night. See you Saturday,” Quin said, ignoring the jab.
“See you Saturday.”
Since Waryn was more than elated to join their little viewing party, he and Quin teleported to Purgatory Station Saturday afternoon, landing in the designated teleportation corner.
Teleporting anywhere else in the station was strictly forbidden to ensure no one missed a platform and fell in front of a train.
Or teleported into the body of someone else by accident, killing them both instantly.
They waited on Platform L for Glyma’s train to arrive, and Quin gawked at all the humans. She was familiar with the species, of course, and she’d even been in the human dimension a time or two with her mother for work. But in recent years, she’d had less contact with the blunt-toothed creatures.
She tried not to stare and failed, but to her credit, she wasn’t the only one. Humans and Hellians alike were staring at each other, studying the differences and, in some cases, the similarities. They didn’t have horns or claws or sharp teeth. Their skin looked thin and easily torn.
Honestly, they looked like evolution had failed them in terms of survival, yet they’d still become the dominant species of their world. She didn’t understand how, but maybe they had secret abilities they kept hidden except under threat of death. She would have to look it up.
“She is pretty, isn’t she,” Waryn said, and Quin tore her gaze away from a human man picking his nose.
“Sorry, what?”
Waryn nodded across the platform to where Glyma was waving through the window of the slowing train. “She’s pretty, Quin.”
“Oh, shut it,” Quin grumbled.
“I’m just saying—”
“Keep it to yourself.”
“You like her,” he whispered near her horn. “It’s okay to like her.”
And Quin did like her, didn’t she? She liked her sundresses and her flipflops, her wavy, purple hair and her glittery purses. She liked her laughter and her tears and her unwavering dedication. Quin just liked her so very much.
“Would it make a difference?” she asked cynically, and Waryn rolled his eyes.
“So dour. It could make a difference if you pulled your head out of your—” He wheezed when Quin jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow, and he glared down at her in betrayal.
She jutted her chin and wordlessly dared him to continue.
Unfortunately, he was never someone she could intimidate, so he sneered smugly and said, “Cooch.”
Her jaw dropped, and she smacked him again, between his legs this time. He tried to dodge, but she managed to hit the edge of his sac. He yelped like krimpi and leaned against the wall for support.
“My giblets.”
“Oh my,” Glyma said, distracting Quin from extracting more revenge. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Spousal abuse,” Waryn whined.
“His castration,” Quin snarled.
“You see? She’s so mean to me.”
Glyma pressed her lips together to smother a smile before she gave in and laughed. “You probably deserved it. What did you say to her?”
“Nothing,” Quin seethed. “He said nothing.”
Straightening his suit jacket, he sniffed haughtily and mumbled, “I’d smack you in the boob, but they’re so small I couldn’t find them if I tried.”
And yeah, Quin was a bit sensitive on that front, and he knew it! “Get anywhere near my boobs, and I will rip off your balls and feed them to you.”
“As if you could reach them. You’re too short,” he slapped back.
“Trust me, I’d find a way!”