Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
“Kiss me, out of the bearded barley…” I sang quietly as I walked around the grocery store.
I was mentally picturing Laney Boggs descending the stairs in her stunning, little red dress.
As I walked down the fresh produce aisle, forcing myself to pick up various vegetables for health, I imagined what it would be like to have someone look at me like that—stunned to silence and utterly enthralled by me.
And even though it had been Jude who had shown any actual interest in me, the more I thought about it, the more I considered what it would be like to have Thallor look at me like that.
Instead of him looking at me like he wanted to kill me…
I imagined the way his red eyes would darken as they settled over the exposed bits of my skin and the way the dress hugged my figure in all the right places.
It would be predatory and intense, but I wouldn’t mind because I was his.
I pictured the way he would take a step closer, struggling to restrain himself as I smirked at him.
He would hate it and love it. Hate the way I never failed to frustrate him but love the way I knew I was his.
His gaze would narrow on every detail, the ringlets in my hair and the beauty mark on my neck.
Maybe in the haze of my own cynicism, I’d forgotten what it was like to feel desired.
What it felt like to have someone study me.
Want me. Despite having just stepped down a refrigerated aisle, I could feel myself getting hotter.
I didn’t dare step closer toward the cartons of milk in case I ended up curdling them as I passed.
As quickly as they had come, I was shaking the thoughts from my head.
As much as he was attractive, daydreaming about Thallor and casting him as my very own Freddie Prince Jr was a sure-fire way to mess up the already tumultuous situation we found ourselves in.
Not to mention the fact that he hates you.
That evening, I had found it increasingly difficult to be in Thallor’s presence.
My mind had run amok, and now I was reaping the consequences of my own lustful actions.
I continued to focus on pulling items of food out of carrier bags and placing them on the counter.
Mort meowed softly at my side; his eyes laser-focused on the cans of tuna I had just placed next to a box of Pizza Bites.
Thallor inspected everything I put down with a strange sort of attention that I hadn’t expected.
When I thought about it, though, his interest and lingering confusion made sense given that I’d somehow managed to combine my inability to “properly” adult with an uncanny talent at solely shopping for processed foods.
With my own humiliation woven into the box of Uncrustables and three boxes of Froot Loops that sat behind me on the counter, I turned to look up at Thallor.
“So, I wasn’t sure what type of jam you liked,” I mused as I moved over to my third shopping bag. “Stupid of me for not asking…but… Um…I grabbed raspberry, blueberry, strawberry without bits, and marmalade.”
Thallor interrogated each jar as I handed them to him.
“I’ll let you be the judge for yourself, but I thought I’d warn you anyway…
Marmalade is pretty gross, so maybe steer clear of that one,” I said as I proceeded to place each of the jars he had put down in the cupboard along with several packs of Oreos, a sharing bag of Robertsons Tropical Flavoured Jellied Snakes, and a multipack of instant ramen for whenever I felt like cooking.
“You carried all this by yourself?” He looked at the food that I’d yet to put away with an incredulous look on his face before giving my body a once-over as if I were some pathetic, underfed animal.
“Why? Trying to come up with some insult about me being weak—hey, don’t look at me like that,” I moaned as I caught his eyes lingering on me.
“And the four types of jam?”
“What about them?”
“I’m surprised you bought me anything at all,” he stated. “Your attempt at being civil?”
I didn’t have a response that didn’t sound utterly ridiculous.
“I also got croissants, sourdough bread, brioche, and scones,” I said, pulling the rest of the produce out of the bag before pointing toward my wooden bread bin.
“I figured, if I’m willing to feed a stray cat, I should be willing to feed you, right?
” I taunted before turning to stroke Mort.
I leaned into nuzzle him, but he pulled away, opting to meow and paw at the can of fish still sitting on the counter.
“Are you comparing me to a stray cat?”
“Hmm, I’m not not comparing you to a stray cat,” I said, pressing a finger to my lips and turning to Thallor, who was settling me with an unimpressed look.
Despite his stoic expression, something else lingered behind his eyes, too.
A confusion? A lack of understanding? “Ugh, listen, I figured it was the least I could do, okay? Don’t read too much into it.
Better to be civil than have you hate me the whole time. ”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t?”
“I just don't think about you very much.”
Ouch. Him admitting that twice was not on my bingo card for today.
“Right,” I responded, trying not to sound as dejected as I felt.
I don’t know why I bothered trying. I should have known better than to expect anything from him.
But I just couldn’t help myself. I knew this was an exchange, an arrangement, a transaction dressed up as a soul-bonded contract, but a part of me felt linked to Thallor.
Like we were in this, whatever this was, together.
Between the jams and the book I’d given him before unpacking the groceries (I had Netflix on the television too, but I figured a 473 demon might be more interested in analog forms of entertainment), I figured I might just break through that ice-cold exterior.
I didn’t hate him. Not really. I disliked his behaviour and some of the things he said, sure, but him? I didn’t even know him. So, his apathy, his unwillingness to put in the same effort that I was… Well, it hurt. More than I thought it would.
You’re a chore, Quincey.
A burden.
Something to check off the list.
I realised then and there that I didn’t matter beyond whatever small role I played in his life.
And I suppose I’d always understood that deep down.
But the notion still left me feeling hollow.
Still left me feeling so painfully alone.
And that? Well, that made me feel angry.
Because choosing to be alone was one thing.
That was my autonomy. My agency. Being made to feel alone?
Being made to feel like I was just another stop along the way to somewhere else, someone else?
That hurt more than I’d felt in a long time, and I wasn’t sure what to do with that.
“Here you are, one Ultimate Sandi, one double-stacked cheeseburger with a fried egg, and one stack of strawberry and whipped cream waffles,” the waitress said with a hint of trepidation woven into her cheery words as she set the food down in front of Isaac and me.
In the flurry of hunger-induced excitement, we barely registered the fact that she was still standing there.
And we couldn’t really blame her, she wanted to bear witness to a miracle and be granted to the age-old question of how much food is too much?
We smiled at her as she hesitated before finally walking away, the question still plain as day across her face. Little did she know that Isaac was captain of the collegiate lacrosse team and could genuinely devour this meal and still have room to suggest we get ice cream afterward.
“Thank you!” I exclaimed as she walked away.
A wave of intense nostalgia hit me as I bit into the beautifully layered breakfast sandwich.
The crisp, salty bacon mixed perfectly with molten, gooey cheese had my eyes rolling back in my head like that one scene in When Harry Met Sally.
By the time I’d returned to my surroundings, Isaac had already finished half his burger and completely demolished his fries.
“Tell me why we don’t come here more often?
” I asked Isaac, stealing one of the last remaining fries from his plate.
He tried, a little half-heartedly, to bat me off, but in the duel of deep-fried potato, I came out victorious.
His defences weakened by complacency and lack of regular visits to Sandi’s.
“Because we never have any time? Because university is slowly sucking the life out of us? I don’t know about you but I feel like I never have any time, money, or energy to do anything,” he said with an exasperated sigh.
“Okay, captain obvious. But that never stopped us before.”
Isaac rolled his eyes at me as I set the remaining half of my sandwich down in silent defeat. I internally cursed myself for failing to prove our waitress wrong. God, it had been much easier to eat at Sandi’s when I’d been a teenager with nothing but time and a bottomless pit for a stomach.
“You doing okay though? How are things going, balancing lacrosse and studying?” I smiled as I picked at the sheer number of crumbs that had found their way into my lap.
Isaac shrugged as he reached over for his milkshake.
“Still pretty hard,” he said, as his gaze momentarily shifted out of focus.
I watched him for a beat or two, wondering if he was having a completely different conversation in his own head.
“But I’m managing okay. I mean, it’s totally worth it.
Options are good. Semi-pros’s still on the table. Business school, too.”
I watched him closely. A gnawing sense of concern itched at me below the skin before he looked up at me and smiled. Something bright and cheery and warm. Something I knew was far more forced than he was willing to let on.
“You know you can take a break if you need one, right, Isaac?”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with one,” he laughed as he bit into a strawberry covered in whipped cream.