8. Morning Snack
CHAPTER EIGHT
Morning Snack
She’d been crying. I felt her trying to push it down, over and over, but she hadn’t managed it. The sadness had overflowed until exhaustion claimed her.
It had been horrible, like white-hot knives cutting into my ribs and heart. I’d gone to her door, thought about knocking, but what would I say? Sorry I ruined your ritual? Sorry that I have no idea how I’m going to help you fix this?
Despite our bond, I could feel her guarding herself.
I could feel her emotions, but only if she let herself feel them too.
I didn’t know who had cursed her, but they had left a deep hurt that I didn’t think she knew how to heal.
She’d healed my forehead and hand like they were scratches, but some wounds ran deeper than even her magic could reach.
I wanted to help her because I didn’t want her to feel like that again if I could help it. I couldn’t stand to see her light being snuffed out over and over again. But I wasn’t a magic or research guy. I was a guy who drove packages.
I went back to my room and flopped onto the bed just as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Motthew had sent a selfie of him and a cute girl cheesing at the camera.
Me:
Shouldn’t you be studying?
Three dots popped up.
Motthew:
Ok grandpa. It’s a Friday. Besides I thought you liked Sheila
Me:
I do like Sheila, but I also like you getting good grades.
Motthew:
My grades are just fine. Maybe you need to find a lady of your own so you can worry more about her than my grades.
My stomach lurched. Oh, I’d found a lady all right, and she was certainly giving me something to worry about.
On the road—or maybe just in general—dating had felt like a chore.
I had to make the meetup. I had to decide where to go.
I had to make the first move. It was just more things I had to do, another item on the never-ending checklist, and sometimes…
most times…it was easier to just not. Even if it meant me and my hand had spent more nights together than I liked.
Besides, I hadn’t really found someone I was compatible with—sexually especially.
They took one look at the piercings and tattoos and expected something I just wasn’t.
Maybe that was on me, but I hadn’t gotten them to attract a mate.
I’d gotten them because…well, I liked the pain.
It gave my mind something to focus on instead of running the list in my head, at least for a little while.
I hadn’t gotten them because I wanted to be “Daddy” or whatever these women wanted.
I already had to parent enough people in my life.
I’d been the man of the house since I was little.
Dad being the Mothman meant he wasn’t around much, too busy lurking on bridges.
He’d swoop in occasionally, pat me on the head, and nine months later, I usually had a new baby brother.
Mom…well, Mom did her best, but with seven of us, that best barely cut it most days.
It was barely enough to hold us together.
So I’d held us together.
I remembered when Mothigan was eight and miserable as his wings came in. When a young mothman molts for the first time, you don’t understand why every part of you hurts, and the itch gets so bad you think about just chopping your wings off to be done with it.
I understood.
I’d been through mine two years before, alone on the bathroom floor at three in the morning because Dad wasn’t around and Mom had been asleep, and I hadn’t wanted to wake her.
I’d helped him how I could. I’d iced the new skin.
I’d driven Mom’s car to the closest store—barely able to see over the dashboard—to pick up honey, which had the best nutrients for the molt.
They’d had one tiny jar, so I’d also picked up a couple of two-liter bottles of soda. Not great, but he needed the sugar.
I’d done the same for all my brothers.
I’d started doing deliveries as soon as I could legally drive. Deliveries paid well because being out at night in some supernatural parts of the country was dangerous. I was already nocturnal, and the danger never outweighed the money.
Every extra dollar went somewhere. Some to Motthew’s books, some to Motholemew’s doctors and medicines, some to the small account I kept for Mom that she didn’t know about but knew she would need eventually.
My phone buzzed again.
Motthew:
Speaking of you still on that midnight witch route?
Me:
Something like that
Motthew:
Dude it’s like 3am. You ok?
I stared at the ceiling.
Me:
Yeah. Long night. Delivery got weird
Motthew:
Weird how
If you got in an accident on the bike I swear to god
Me:
Not an accident. Sort of an accident. I’m fine. no ER
Motthew:
Wow that makes me feel so much better
not
Me:
I’m FINE. Staying at the delivery address tonight. Maybe a couple nights. Long story.
Those three dots danced for a very long time.
Motthew:
You’re staying at the witch’s house?
Me:
Yes
Motthew:
Is she hot?
I did not answer that.
Motthew:
Oh shit she’s hot
Me:
Go to bed.
I turned the screen off, then a beep had me picking it back up.
Me:
Hey make sure you pick up Motholemew’s medicine, in case I’m not back.
Motthew:
Already got it bro. See, you worry too much.
I let the phone drop onto my chest and closed my eyes. Through the wall, I could feel Lucia’s breathing, slow and heavy now. Finally asleep. Whatever she’d been holding back had emptied her out.
The phone buzzed one more time.
Motthew:
Hey
For real tho. You sure you’re ok?
I looked at the message for a while.
Me:
I’m ok. She’s going through some stuff. Wanted to make sure she was ok before I crashed.
Motthew:
…
You’re doing that thing where you take care of someone because you don’t know how to not, aren’t you?
Don’t forget to eat and sleep and shit ok? You always forget
Me:
Ok
Motthew:
Promise
Me:
Promise
Motthew:
Love you. Text me tomorrow
Me:
Love you too.
Motthew:
Don’t stay up too early with your new witch
I turned my head toward the wall. She was still sad, even in her sleep. It was quieter now, but it wound around her heart like thorny vines, and she’d been bleeding for a long time.
Yeah. I was doing that thing because I wanted to take care of her.
I wanted to make this right.
I’d done my best to sleep, despite my nocturnal nature. Moth hours didn’t work for most people. I woke in the late morning, but Lucia was apparently still asleep. Guess she was a little nocturnal too.
I wasn’t going to be much help with her research, that much was certain. I didn’t have any knowledge of ancient languages or counter-spells or undoing curses. But I had crashed through her greenhouse, and I could help with that. I was good at fixing things.
But first, I needed some food, and she probably did too.
I got out of bed, and a small, lacy scrap of fabric fell out with me. My eyes locked on it, but I already knew what it was. These pants were hers. Her panties must have stuck to them when she’d given them to me.
I stood at the edge of the bed and stared at them.
They stared back.
Black lace, and not a lot of it. Underwear that had been designed with an audience in mind. I did not pick them up. I did not move. I did not even a little bit permit my brain to construct a mental image of the last time they’d been worn.
The bond was quiet in my chest. She was still asleep. This was the only time I could handle this situation without her feeling every single one of my reactions to it.
The panties continued to sit on the floor, judging me as I weighed my options.
Leave them. She wakes up, comes to check on the stranger in her house, sees them on the floor, we both die of compounding embarrassment. Rejected.
Put them on the dresser. She wakes up, comes in, sees them, knows I put them there, assumes I did something weird with them overnight, we both die of embarrassment, and she thinks I’m a pervert. Rejected.
Kick them under the bed. Cowardly. Also, knowing the other demon with wings in this house, he’d drag them out again just to make me look bad. Rejected.
Pick them up, put them in my pocket, return them to her when she wakes up like a normal person handing back a normal object that fell out of some normal pants. The adult response.
I crouched. I picked them up between my thumb and forefinger like they were as poisonous as the flowers in her greenhouse.
The lace was soft, which I did not think about.
I folded them once and tucked them into my pocket.
I’d give them back to her…or toss them into the laundry downstairs before she woke up.
I opened my door as quietly as I could and snuck past her room.
At the stairs, the bond pulled painfully again, but I ran down and ducked back into the kitchen before it felt like someone was sticking a hot poker into my side.
Unfortunately, it seemed the laundry room was out of range for now.
The light fabric in my pocket weighed heavily on my mind, but my stomach also growled, so I decided to stay put in the in-bounds kitchen.
My senses were immediately assaulted by dried plants.
They were everywhere.
Every cabinet I opened was stuffed with either wrapped bundles or jars packed with, you guessed it, plants.
After looking through what felt like every single one, I came across a cabinet near the refrigerator that held mostly boxes of crackers, dry pasta, and instant ramen. Not exactly breakfast-worthy.
I closed the cupboard and opened the fridge. She had to have something in there.
The little light clicked on, and I couldn’t help but laugh at what I saw.
This woman clearly took girl dinner to be a lifestyle choice.
Her fridge was basically all Coke Zero, cheese, and butter.
A little digging revealed some expired tofu and a few sad pieces of fruit.
I took out an overly soft plum and bit into it, the sickly-sweet juice dripping down my chin.
Good, but not enough.
I kept searching.
I was rummaging through a low cabinet when a flare of heat shot through my stomach.
No—not my stomach.