Page 54 of Melancholia

But that’s just something I’ll have to get over.

Picking up my phone from the nearby table, I point it at the mirror, trying not to look like I’m attempting to put more effort into this than required. If Amir thinks for one moment that I like this, or that I care what he thinks, then my life is officially over. As it is right now, it’s only slightly over.

Before I can make this harder than I should, I take the picture and send it with nothing attached to it. I refuse to save his name in my phone, so all I have is the number he’s texted and called me from before. Unlabeled. Unwanted.

Un-asked for.

Almost instantly, my phone shows a reply is being typed out, and my stomach does a little flutter when I get the message.

Gorgeous. Have a good day, my pretty mortician.

“You do not care,” I whisper to myself. My phone goes into the pocket of my skirt, and I snatch my keys up from the bowl on the side table by the door. “You don’t care because he’s a murderer. And we should not want the murderer to like us.” It feels like I’m explaining ethics to a child when I have to say it out loud, but if that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes.

Hestia is downstairs, as usual around this time, but when she offers me coffee, I shake my head with a soft smile. “No, I really can’t. I don’t get paid for another week and I had to spend extra on my meds this month. I really appreciate you running a tab for me and giving me discounts, but seriously, Hestia, it’s starting to feel like I’m taking advantage of you.”

The way Hestia looks at me makes me wonder if I’ve grown a second head. She gives me an expression of befuddlement and snorts softly before going on and making my coffee. “Look. I’m not supposed to tell you this. Because I don’t know, a man’s ego is as fragile as his balls or whatever.”

That has me snorting, and I nearly choke on my spit.

“But everything you order is covered for life. I’m not allowed to make you pay for it.”

“What? Why in the world would you—” my words break off at the obvious answer. Especially with Hestia bringing up a man’s ego. “Is someone paying for my coffee?” I ask finally, not having the confidence to actually say the name I’m thinking.

The owner of Coffee Crest, and one of my few friends in Still Pines, hands me my coffee and gives me a look that tells me she knows what I was going to say. “He can afford it, you know,” she promises kindly, hopping up to sit on the edge of the counter. “If he wants to do this for you, why not let him?”

Because he’s a murderer.

“Because he makes me a little nervous,” I reply, and honestly, it isn’t even a lie. Amir makes me incredibly nervous, for all the wrong reasons.

And a few of the right ones, but I can’t let that distract me.

“Valid,” Hestia agrees instantly. “He tell you he’s a risk manager? Doesn’t look like it, does he? But yeah, he travels around the country whenever he wants. Being hired by these big companies to do whatever risk assessment entails.” She makes herself a cup of espresso as I watch, her hands practiced and quick as she presses down the grounds before putting it in the machine. “I never thought he’d end up doing something like that.”

“Why?” I shouldn’t be as curious as I am, unless I’m going to try to resurrect my mental defense of ‘research.’ “Was he not like that as a kid?” But I’m dying to know, and Hestia seems like the only way I’ll get those answers.

She sips the small cup of espresso and watches me from behind the rim, her gaze somehow reminding me of Amir’s in more than a family resemblance sort of way. “Because he never cared that much about anyone other than his family. And I find it hard to believe he cares about so many people now,” she explains at last. “Strange, isn’t it? How someone can change so much before you realize it?”

The statement throws a series of memories up in my skull, all fighting for my attention.

My mother, holding my and Elaina’s hands as she walked us up to see the tigers in the zoo. Laughing, telling us it’ll be okay. She’ll protect us from anything.

My mother, staring at me dispassionately, while I beg and plead for her to stay home with me. Just one more time. Just this once. Because without Elaina, I’m so lonely.

My mother hitting me hard across the face, her wedding set scoring a line into my cheek that bleeds and scabs and takes a week to heal.

My mother’s body on the ground outside our apartment, looking so small from the balcony where I’m still standing, frozen and horrified. How could she do this? Even after the many years of abuse, all I wanted was for her to love me again, for her to⁠—

My hand comes up and I brush the spot on my cheek where my mother’s ring cut me so long ago. The skin throbs under my touch, though I know it’s just something my brain is making up, and not something that’s really happening.

“Yeah,” I murmur finally when I realize Hestia is studying me like I might be unwell.

I am, though I don’t need her to know just how much.

“Strange.” The word is a whisper on my lips and I sigh. “So he changed?” I really can’t let this one go, though I don’t know why. “Nothing happened?”

When I glance up, I find Hestia is still watching me, and I wonder if maybe I went too far. If my questions are becoming less playfully curious and more like an interrogation.

God, I don’t need her getting suspicious. I don’t want to pull her farther into this. I don’t want her or anyone else to get hurt because Amir decided I wasn’t playing by his stupid rules.