While she walks inside, we finally have enough space for Gabby to remember she’s my friend, too. “But why not come back?”
I tap my dented steering wheel, embarrassed to be honest with my friend. My eyes keep flicking between the rooms in front of me and her watching gray eyes behind. The low hum of the engine just isn’t loud enough to fill the silence as it grows into an embarrassing roar about to swallow me.
“It’s okay.” Gabby cuts the silence, sensing my anxiety. “It’s not like you really need one, I guess. I just want you to remember you are always welcome back. We do miss you, like, a lot.”
A soft smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, I know, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now trying to make me feel better.”
My eyes look through the driver-side window at the girl causing a ruckus for whatever passes for a concierge at a motel. “Even V.”
Gabby smiles softly, the smile never quite reaching her eyes, but the sentiment is there, a reminder of exactly why I’ve been friends with her and V for so many decades, even as so many other friends have come and gone. And yet, how do I tell her that her offer rings hollow? How do I tell her that, after all these years, I was tired of being the only miserable person in that place? That I’d rather chase Chad into the Hell that is Florida than stay safe with them for one more day?
My chest grows tight, the compounding pain of so many losses from too long a life. Even as I keep a brave smirk, I’m wilting at the thought she might be right. That after this weekend of puttering along as her and V’s third wheel, I’ll give up, and finally move back.
A loud thud comes from the roof of the car. V’s face appears, nose touching the glass, key in her hand. “Let’s go already! I wanna drop our shit off and go get a drink.”
Chapter two
Shot Glass
Idon’t know what it is about monster motels, but there’s always a dive bar not too far away. This one happened to be called theShot Glass. They’re usually never good, but they are cheap, and that’s probably the only thing I or anyone else likes about them. It’s a lazy, distracting thought that makes my Highball that much more palatable as Gabby continues about our plans for the weekend.
“So, I’m thinking we can do both Universal Parks tomorrow, MGM the day after, and end on Magic Kingdom!” Her bubbly words pair well with the little handwritten sheet she shows us.
“You do know it’s June?” V huffs. “And it’s the sunshine state. Not great for vampires.”
I swirl my whiskey soda mix before adding, “Also, I’m guessing ghouls don’t sweat that much, but there’s not enough perfume, moisturizer, sunscreen, and deodorant in the state to keep me together in the sun that long.”
I run my thumb across the scarred stitch line by my lip to punctuate my point.
“That’s why I wanted to go this weekend!” Gabby’s answer sounds more like a rehearsed speech than a response. “It’s usually cloudy in the afternoons, and it’s supposed to be extra cloudy, but not too rainy, the next few days. That and all the parks have great evening hours, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Besides, our days barely start till mid-afternoon anyway, and it’s not like we can’t sneak around after closing.”
That last bit earns a smirk out of V. “You should have led with that. And here I thought you actually wanted to do souvenir shopping.”
They share a giggle mixed with googoo eyes, and I’m met with another exhausting moment where my gratefulness that my two best friends dropped everything to see me slams up against my need to see anything other than a happy couple right now.
“Okay, well, while you two plot the best trespassing destinations in the most closely guarded spaces in the state, I’m gonna hit the head.”
I really don’t mean to sound so gruff and dismissive, but every look and smile and kiss cuts so deep, reminding me of what I lost, of the awful way I lost it, making me wonder if I ever even had it. I could say something, could be a bitchabout it, but speaking up like that just isn’t me. Or maybe that’s just a typical monster stereotype?
I walk by the short line for the restroom, and even though my creator did pick a bladder two sizes too small for the rest of me, I give a small exhale of thanks that I don’t actually need to go. Oh yeah, my creator. Great, now I’m lamenting two assholes.
That tightness in my chest returns, that agonizing, suffocating, trapped feeling. It’s a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time, not until Chad, and almost every day since what he did. My breathing gets harder, chest tighter, and before I know it, I am stumbling out the back exit of the bar, gasping for anything other than the smell of stale beer.
My lungs fill with the thick, humid summer night air, making me feel like I’m drowning in a totally different way. I practice my breathing, one deep breath in, one long breath out, trying to get a hold of myself. I know the feelings, the actual moments haunting me are far behind me, but the scars, like so many places on and in my body, just won’t go away.
“Hey, you okay?” A voice from behind me cuts through everything.
I go stiff, my spine straightening in that awkward way I always do when I’m surprised. “Oh, uh, yeah.”
I turn to see a guy with a thick beard and thicker hair squatting on the curb, cigarette in hand. He eyes me upand down, not leering or ogling as most people do, but more observing. “You sure?”
“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask, trying to turn the accusations back on him.
“Well, I mean, the panting, and you just stumbled out of the employee entrance.”
Shit, that’s a pretty good point. “Well, what are you doing here?”
“Smoke break.” He pulls a pack from his back pocket and offers it to me. “Though it looks like I’m not the one who needs a smoke.”
