The urge to vomit presses up into my throat. It was bad enough that I had to hear it. I don't need to visualize as well.
I set the paper down and sigh again, but it’s softer this time.
“Do you need me to call you a ride?”
Some of the girls admit to me they can’t afford to get back to the city, so I foot the bill. I’m not psyched about it, but no girl will end up stranded on my watch. Especially not in my house.
Turns out I can be selfish and selfless at the same time.
She plasters on an indifferent smile despite watery eyes and flushed cheeks. “No, thank you.” She starts to leave the table, but I sense her hesitance as she glances at her coffee mug.
“Take your time with the coffee. I’ll be on the back porch if you need anything.”
Yet again, I pick up my mug and newspapers, stepping out of the kitchen and onto the expansive deck I built two years ago, right after my brothers moved out. I’d practically raised them in this house, but the minute they left, I started making it my own. Except I made the mistake of leaving their bedrooms as is.
Maybe if I refurbished those spaces with spikes sticking out of walls and floors, they’d think twice about visiting.
It wouldn’t be hard. For witchtitting sake, I’m a contractor with my own business. It would take me a mere weekend to transform their rooms.
Damn pack bond. Despite my desire for distance, we need each other. Weres need their pack to survive, literally. Too much time apart and something inside us begins to disintegrate and we waste away. Though right now, death by separation sounds like absolute bliss.
I breathe in the pollen and heavy spring scents. There’s something even sweeter in the air than usual. It sends pleasurable tingles of heat spiraling through me.
Birds chirp happily from the feeder I always keep full in a tree nearby. Plants and flowers I got at the beginning of the month cover the railings. My bare feet pad along the sun-warmed wooden boards as I lower myself into one of the handmade Adirondack chairs. The sturdy yet comfortable oak chairs are positioned so I can fully enjoy the beauty of the massive New England trees.
Some of the tension melts away from my body as I bask in the rare spring sunshine. My face turns to soak it up while I can. The afternoon will likely bring pouring rain again.
Out here is where I find my peace, my solitude, my—
“Hi there, new neighbor,” a feminine voice calls from a distance
My eyes snap open.
Instantly my sight zeros in across the way, up the hill, to my neighbor’s dilapidated Victorian house. A busty, voluptuous blonde adorned in hot pinks and black is waving at me from the front porch.
New neighbor?
My fingers clench around the ceramic handle. The ‘something sweeter’ in the air is five yards away and it bypasses my nose and slaps my tongue with the jolt of a sugar rush.
Oh no. Oh faefucks no.
She waves again, more earnest this time.
Like I could miss her in a pink outfit that burns my corneas even from a distance. On that depressing, crumbling porch, she looks as out of place as a hyper puppy wanting to play fetch in a graveyard.
Or maybe I just feel like I’m suddenly at a funeral. One that commemorates the death of my peace and quiet.
Holding my breath to keep from inhaling more of this newcomer, I consider staying out here or going back inside and facing the teary-eyed, and now-likely pissed off woman inside.
They tend to start at heartbreak but quickly graduate to anger. And wonder of wonders, I get to be the one nearby to take it out on.
“My name is Goldie,” the girl calls out again, her voice a musical lilt.
A beat passes, then I get to my feet, turn on my heel and go back inside, my mood turning incredibly foul. Even from a distance, I catch her arm falter from my periphery.
Don’t worry Ted, she won’t last.
Astrid lives up there and she may go off traveling the world, but she always comes back. Usually, every seven months before traipsing off again. Just don’t let this renter, or tenant, or whoever the hell this sugary sweet blonde chick think we are going to start any of that neighborly shit.
