23. Madd
TWENTY-THREE
MADD
“We're going out,” I announced after lunch.
Conrad looked up from the thriller that he'd picked up at the secondhand store downstairs. He'd been frowning at it for two hours and mumbling, “That’s not right,” and “That would never work,” and “Ridiculous. I could write a better book than this.”
“Out where?”
"The movies."
He closed the book and marked the page with a scrap of paper. “A cinema.” He said it as if going to a movie theater was a unique experience, which gave me a hint that he’d never been to one.
“Let me guess. This would be your first time.”
“And you would be right.”
I was enjoying experiencing all his firsts, though they came with a tinge of sadness because my mate hadn’t participated in so many activities that I thought of as everyday experiences.
“Get your shoes on.”
He didn't move immediately, and I didn’t need to ask what he was thinking. Pinging in his head would be the enclosed space, limited exits, and a dark room full of strangers.
Ranger would do it and scoff that we weren’t putting ourselves in danger. Hunter would go without thinking, and Flint would shrug and say, “Go at your own risk.”
“What's showing?”
“I have no idea, but that’s part of the experience. You get there, look at what's on, and pick one.”
Conrad tilted his head. “It’d be more efficient to check what’s on before we go.”
I tugged at my pockets. “If we go out and grab a ‘what’s on around town’ leaflet, we may as well go to the movie theater.”
The cinema was six blocks away, and we weren’t in a hurry to get there as we had no idea of the screening times. We peered in a clothing shop window because while Conrad was happy to wash and wear the same clothes, I needed a change. But I left that for another day.
When we reached the corner, I made to walk across the road, but my mate pulled me back, saying I didn’t check both ways. Both of us had shifter reflexes, so I was certain I could have jumped out of the way of a car that was fifty yards away.
When we reached the movie theater, I experienced a thrill. Going to the movies in the middle of the day was something people like me did if they took a sick day. And I liked it.
There was a yawning teenager behind the ticket counter. There were two screens, neither of them showing anything I recognized. One was a subtitled drama about a fisherman and the other was an action film with a poster featuring a man holding a gun sideways.
Conrad studied the poster. “That grip is wrong. He'd break his wrist.”
“We're seeing the fisherman movie because if we watch the action film you'll spend two hours pointing out errors and I'll lose my mind.”
He made a face but eventually nodded which I guessed meant I was right.
I bought the tickets and steered him to the concessions counter where a woman was scrolling on her phone. The popcorn machine was churning behind her, and the smell of it reminded me of when Grandpa visited us when I was a kid. He loved the cinema, and he’d take me and Treyton on the weekend.
My wolf wasn’t fussed about buttery popped corn kernels, but Conrad's dragon must have been intrigued because my mate’s nostrils flared and a tiny wisp of smoke escaped. I hustled him away before going back for the popcorn, otherwise the fire alarm would go off and our movie date would be ruined.
I asked for two medium-sized popcorn, but Conrad mouthed, “One large because we can share.”
Those words slammed into me, and I didn’t understand why. I was getting sentimental over shared popcorn, and I blinked away tears while ordering drinks.
The theater was almost empty which wasn’t surprising because it was a weekday afternoon.
There was a couple near the front, an older man on his own near the middle, and us.
Conrad chose seats at the back against the wall.
We needed to be able to see the exits. I looked at the other people and wondered what it would be like not having to do that, just going where and when we wanted.
The seats creaked when we sat down as the screen showed ads for a local dentist, car wash, and a pizza place.
“The laundromat should advertise and say something like, ‘Offer me pots of money and I’ll get out of your way for an hour. You can fold laundry to your heart's desire.’” There was nothing about Conrad’s tone that suggested he was joking, but he was smirking.
I sniggered, and the older man turned around and shushed us.
My mate leaned toward me and placed his lips on my ear. “The dentist that’s advertising appears to have a very aggressive approach to whitening.”
Oh my gods. I muffled my giggles against his shoulder and didn’t look up in case the man’s angry face was angled toward me again.
The previews started, and when an explosion filled the frame in one trailer, my mate made a small dismissive sound. I didn’t question him because something was probably inconsistent with something else.
I put the popcorn between us and his hand found it without looking. Our method of eating it was so different. I ate fistfuls because that was what you did, while my mate chewed one piece at a time.
The fisherman film started. It was shot in a gray light that made everything look cold and intriguing.
The fisherman was alone on his boat, and once he’d caught enough fish, he returned home.
The splashing of the oars was meditative, and I could have fallen asleep to the sound.
There was no need to read the subtitles yet because there wasn't much dialogue.
Fifteen minutes in, I glanced at Conrad hoping he wasn’t bored. But he was completely still. His eyes were on the screen and his hand had stopped moving in the popcorn. He was mesmerized, watching this fisherman haul nets in the angry gray sea.
The fisherman was alone, as he had been for most of his life.
He had his boat, the sea, and little else.
But had a routine that he followed every day.
He was disciplined even when he was tired or it was cold and raining.
There was nobody waiting for him on the shore, so his existence was a solitary one.
And that was how my mate had lived. He was watching a version of his own life.
I clasped Conrad’s hand and kept my eyes on the screen.
Midway through the film the fisherman rescued a dog from the water.
The animal was struggling, and the fisherman pulled it into the boat.
He steered toward the shore and left the dog, as he had no other option, but the dog swam after him.
This happened twice until the fisherman gave up and kept the dog.
He talked to it sometimes, but the animal ignored him.
They ate together and slept in the same small cabin, and the fisherman's routine didn’t change, except it looked different because now there were two bowls, and if the dog stayed home, there was someone waiting when he came back from hauling nets.
My eyes were no longer on the screen but on my mate. He was absorbed in a story about a dog who wouldn’t leave. My eyes grew misty again as I ran my mind over why I was so emotional about this.
I loved this man, and even if we weren’t fated, I would have chosen this omega dragon shifter. If all the drama over me being captured by his father’s men never happened and we’d met somehow, maybe during a negotiation, I would have fallen for him.
I knew he was the one before you did. My wolf was so smug, and he’d hold it over me for the rest of our existence.
You picked up that we were fated, but would you have told me this man was the one for me if you didn’t scent the connection?
He told me he’d have to think about that.
The film ended with the fisherman sitting on the shore with the dog beside him, watching the sea.
“That was a good film. We should do it again.” My mate wiped a tear from his cheek.
I agreed and took his hand as we walked out.
“The dog kept swimming after the boat. He didn’t accept his fate, and by doing so, he changed his life.” Conrad was rubbing his chin with his free hand and his brow furrowed.
“Sounds like someone I know.” I kissed his cheek.
“Oh really? Who?”
“Some guy I share popcorn with.” I squeezed his hand.