Chapter 20
Ophelia. Now.
I’m doing fine, actually. Without Phantom.
Really.
I mean, yeah, I’m skipping laundry days, skipping meals, not drinking as much water as I should, sleeping more than I should, can’t remember the last time I got off, and I completely bombed my last audition because it’s impossible to exude bright, bubbly confidence when you’re feeling anything but, but…
Otherwise? I’m doing fine.
Dove’s boyfriend, Dorian, owns a bookstore called The Paper Cut.
It mostly for horror books and gruesome reads, but he has more traditional sections, too.
He’s having a family drag-reading at his bookstore, so I invite Aleena and Dove and I pencil it in.
The queen in question is Cinnamon, who plays at the club sometimes, so it only feels right to show my support.
Besides. I can use any distraction to get my mind off of Phantom.
A bell above the door chimes as I enter.
The Paper Cut is a gloomy place, but in a curated way; dim lights, dark colors, that earthy, ink-on-paper scent.
I step inside, rocking a bomber jacket over a pair of tight jeans, and large hoop earrings that bounce against my shoulders.
The front desk is empty, save for a black cat that’s lounged across the top of the desk.
I approach and she tilts her head, yellow eyes on me.
“Do you take cash or card?” I ask.
She rolls onto her back, showing me her belly. I’m a dog person, but even I know this is a trap. I give her belly a single tickle and I retract my hand just in time before she reaches out to swipe at me.
“Wow. One star. Poor customer service.”
I leave Dorian’s cat, Behemoth, and she follows me with her eyes, tail swishing.
I can hear Cinnamon’s voice carrying through the stacks, followed by a great burst of laughter.
I follow the sound to the back of the bookstore.
Cinnamon sits in a throne-like chair. She’s dressed her voluptuous body in a forest fairy outfit, shimmery wings and all.
About ten or fifteen kids sit cross legged on the rug, entranced as she reads out loud.
I spot two kids I know in the crowd. Kira looks enthralled by the story. Squeaky is taking his shoe off and investigating his sock. Aleena’s eyes meet mine and I wave to her before coming to sit down on the rug beside her.
“Hey,” I whisper. Squeaky rolls backwards into my lap and I play with his hair.
But Aleena frowns at me. “The kids told me a funny story about Auntie Ruby drawing on cars. With her keys.”
I wince. “Sorry. I saw Brody and I got a little…carried away.”
Aleena’s mouth turns downward. “Ruby,” she says, “Your emotions are what’s beautiful about you. Truly. But you have anger. Trapped in here.” She places her hand against my heart. “You need to let it out. Not for anyone. For you. You don’t need to carry that.”
His concern is touching. She’s not angry with me…she’s worried about me. I put my hand over hers, lace our fingers, and give her hand a squeeze. “I’ll work on it,” I promise.
She gives a small nod, the tense muscles in her face relaxing. The kids burst into laughter at the story, and I use the opportunity to slip away from the crowd.
Dove is standing on the outskirts of the event, leaning against the shelves. She spots me and breaks into a grin, ushering me over.
“I’m glad your sister came!” Her voice is a hushed whisper. “Isn’t this great?”
I nestle in beside her. “It’s adorable.”
But I’m distracted over Aleena’s advice. I’ve always been a passionate person, ready to literally ride or die for my friends and family, but…have I gone too far? Have I let my rage take the wheel?
Dove frowns. “I feel kind of bad, though. Look.”
She tilts her chin to direct my attention to one of the children in the group. The kid is sobbing, his eyes at a mural on the wall—a mural Dove painted. It’s a creepy, shadow-like monster with bookmarks for fingers.
Dove is a rock star at painting weird, creepy things. It’s one of the reasons she and Dorian go so well together—they both have the same Edward Gorian vibes. But she looks genuinely unhappy that her painting is causing the kid so much distress.
“Dorian,” she hisses. She kicks her foot out, nudging the man sitting on the floor in front of her. Dorian lifts his head, his dark hair flopping back. Dove motions to the child. “Your customer is crying.”
“And?”
“And…can’t you do something?”
Dorian presses his lips into a line, but I know as well as anyone that he’ll do whatever Dove tells him. Dove and I watch as Dorian gets up, then sits down on the floor next to the sobbing child. He nods to the painting on the wall. “Scary monster, huh?”
The child sniffles. Nods.
“I get it.” Dorian sighs. “I thought he was scary too, until I realized all he wanted was children’s tears.”
“W-what…?”
“Oh, yeah. He can’t get enough of the criers. He follows them home, waits until it’s dark, and then climbs into bed to lick their tears right off their cheeks—”
Dove picks a book and chucks it at Dorian. He “ow”s and rubs the back of his head. But the child stops crying. Immediately.
Mission accomplished, I guess?
“You picked that man,” I remind Dove.
“I know. He’s the worst.” She frowns at him, but then crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her hip. “And yet, all I want to do is like…breed him.”
I shake my head. “There’s something wrong with both of you.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Dove and Dorian both check their phones at the same time.
It’s the Seekers Club. They’ve sent a notification.
[Message: Seekers Club]
[Event Invite] Seeking: A Kinky Connection for Valentine.
Join us for a Valentine’s Day themed matchmaking event this Friday at the Seekers Club.
We’ll start the night off with a speed-matching event for those seeking a partner(s) for the night.
Once a connection has been made, we’ll spend the rest of the night playing with our chosen Valentine’s.
Bring your bruised hearts. Leave with a bruised ass. RVSP to participate.
Dove snorts. “He must be getting desperate if he’s throwing a party. I bet Sub Club really rattled him. Should we do a competing event? Oh! How about…Switches and Bitches?”
I tuck my phone back away. “Yeah…I don’t know.”
Dove senses the change in my voice. Her eyes flicker over me. “What’s wrong?”
“Phantom and I have our own issues. But I’m not trying to tear the Seeker family apart. I’m putting Sub Club on hiatus. You should go to the party. You and Dorian. You can represent.”
Dove links her arm in mine. “We’re not going without you,” she tells me. “We can do something just the three of us. I’ll make a charcuterie board, Dorian will bring the wine, and we can watch a bunch of rom coms.”
“So like every other Friday?”
“Exactly.”
I chuckle. “We’ll see.”
I appreciate Dove’s unshakeable loyalty, but I don’t want my friend to have a boring Valentine’s Day because of me. And that’s the hard part about break ups: they don’t just affect the two people in it. There’s a ripple effect that touches friends, family, and everyone around them.
A deep rumble of thunder cracks in the air. The children let out a single, shrill scream. I glance out the long windows to see gray storm clouds rolling in.
And it hits me like a lightning bolt.
“Oh, shit! Phantom’s stuff!”
“What?”
I grip Dove’s arms and give her a squeeze. “Gotta run home. See you there!”
“Stay dry!” Her parting plea chases me as I rush out the bookstore.
I barely make it home before the sky opens up.
Sheets of rain come pouring down, making small rivers along the streets and dumping waterfalls off the awnings above businesses and restaurants. For once, I’m grateful for the tunnels of metal rods and wooden planks that hold up the construction sites and I weave through them to stay dry.
I get inside, race upstairs, and go immediately to the fire escape, where I expected to see a bag full of wet, wilted clothes.
But there’s nothing there.
He took it. The realization leaves a weird, hollowed-out feeling in my chest.
He’s gone. Really, actually gone.
I shut the window. The rain makes muffled clinking sounds against the fire escape.
Spud doesn’t greet me. He’s too busy in his dog bed, chewing the heck out of a plastic bone. A plastic bone that looks…brand new.
Wait a second.
I cross my apartment, go to the coat closet, and yank it open.
Phantom’s stuff is there. Right where it was, lodged in the back of the closet. There’s a folded paper sign on the bag, written in Phantom’s handwriting:
Do not move. This belongs here.