Page 71 of Miserable Marionette

The bells on the door jingle, and suddenly Mr. Johnson's colossal frame is blocking hers, crowding in on her as she starts yelling at me. I back up, bumping my wet paint, smearing it across the window and staining the back of my coat. An ugly choked sound leaves me as Mr. Johnson ushers me into the warm shop, the smell of coffee brewing while he worked the books today.

“Hey, Auds, enough of that. God, are you okay?” His loud, boisterous voice is far from light or joyful, and it grates on my frayed nerves.

Gideon isn’t leaving.

He’s not.

Nothing has changed.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

He won’t leave.

My own reassurances barely make a dent in my panic, my hand clutching my chest as I hyperventilate.

“Shit,” I hear him mutter as he leaves me to head behind the desk. The second he finishes out the number and lifts the receiver to his ear, I nearly jump out of my skin to slam my finger on the base, ending the call. “I’m alright,” I gasp. “Don’t call Gideon.”

His grayed brow furrows, both of us staring at each other in confusion for a moment.

I want Gideon, of course, more than anything. He’d fix this. I know that, but…

He can’t go.

God, if he leaves me again, I won’t survive it.

I won’t.

If he thinks things are bad enough here, he might leave.

I couldn’t—

No, Gideon is all I have.

My lungs tighten again, making me pant, my finger still on the button, damn near holding it hostage.

Mr. Johnson finally rights himself. “Head home for the day, Auds. Make sure—"

I clear my throat, forcing my shaking hand away from the phone. “I’d like to finish up, actually.”

“I don’t think—"

“I’m good,” I offer him a watery smile. “She just… I just—"

“She won’t come here again, not unless she wants to forcibly sober up in the detox tank at jail.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

My legs are numb and off-kilter as I head to the bathroom to splash some water on my face, wiping away where it smears my makeup. By the time I’m back in the cold, picking up my brush, I barely feel the weight of it between my fingers. Barely move as I stare at the smeared snowmen. Their happy faces muddy and lost.

Later that night, dinner is tense… a thousand questions battering around in my mind as Gideon lifts a spoonful of chicken dumplings to his lips, taking a bite. I ignore the tantalizing bob of his throat as he swallows. I’d never thought swallowing could be sexy, but here we are. Thankfully, my panic attack and the pungent embarrassment that followed it earlier have made my vagina a little braindead—er… clitdead?

But he’s staring.

That stare.

The one where he knows something is up, and he won’t give me a second to breathe until I spill it.