Page 28 of Below the Shadow of the City

Fuck the pizza, fuck grabbing sodas at the bodega, I need to be thrown atop his mattress, and soon.

What I need to get this lust out of my system so we can go our separate ways and I can spend the next few months pretending none of this happened.

We don’t skip the bodega. A gray tabby weaving through the aisles jumps up and turns into a middle-aged portly woman who greets us warmly. Every nerve in my body leaps from my skin at the surprise, but Maddox tugs at my sleeve with his free hand not holding the pizza and directs me towards the goods he’s after. We wind up and down the aisles, most of the shelves carry brands I recognize, but there’s a few I don’t.

I read over a few unique bags of chips while he openly deliberates between Sweet Chili or Cool Ranch Doritos.

“You really don’t have a preference?” He asks. I shake my head. I’m ready to get a move on back to his place and satiate my hunger, both literal and figurative.

He stands up and walks closer to me, I tilt my head up to meet his eyeline.

“I’m just trying to make sure you get exactly what you want tonight, Sigrid.” His voice is a low growl and his eyes track my body as if he knows exactly how needy I am for him.

I swallow. Hard. Heat rushes to my cheeks. I want you ravishing me atop your mattress, I think. The register is within earshot, and I’m not entirely positive I want the shop owner hearing me beg.

I hold up a bag that’s completely unfamiliar to me instead, the label is non-descript save for a few buzzwords that tell me whatever's inside is a “taste sensation.”

“What’s the deal with these ones?” I ask.

“The ‘taste sensation’ they’re advertising is vague meat flavoring to appeal to the more carnivorous types down here.” I gently place the bag back on the shelf and give it a pat and Maddox bursts out laughing. He ultimately selects Cool Ranch, but not until he’d asked over and over if I had a preference. To which I’d insisted over and over that I didn’t.

The coolers near the front hold sodas, iced teas, juices, and thick red liquid with A’s and B’s and O’s on the label. Next to the prepackaged foods there’s raw meat cut into chunks, neatly placed in a plastic cup with a lid like they’re slices of mango or pineapple. It looks so natural in the fluorescent-lit case that I forget what I’m actually looking at.

He clutches two lemonades with unfamiliar branding in one hand while the bag of chips balances atop the pizza box. I look at him, clearly unsure if these are similar to the bottles of blood in the cooler or meat flavored chips. “Locally made,” he says. “Nothing magical, or made for carnivores, or poisonous, just really good.”

In a whirlwind we return to his apartment. I was still taking in his neighborhood and its residents and his apartment building. He flips the pizza box open and waggles his fingers a bit before pulling out a slice. He folds it in half and eats the piece before I even have time to grab one for myself.

“More wine?” He asks. I nod, the tingling buzz that was at the back of my head before we left on our excursion has faded. I need to recoup my liquid courage. He eats another piece in a few bites as he walks across the kitchen and pulls a different bottle from the pantry, “I know this one is really expensive, but fuck it, I haven’t drank it yet, and there’s no time like the present.”

Our glasses are topped off, and he tosses two more slices of pizza onto a plate before settling back onto the couch.

“Okay, so like, what exactly do you call this place?” I inch back into baseline small talk since climbing across the cushions and straddling his hips is off the table for now.

“…An apartment?” Maddox says slowly, his eyes meet mine with a look that’s a mix of concern and amusement.

“I know what an apartment is, I mean like, this city, this whole underground place. There’s gotta be some cool name for it or something?”

“Metro Underground is usually thrown around, the Below Realm is used by some older people, or weirdos who like to make it sound more mysterious than it is. I usually just say Williamsburg,” he shrugs.

I slump onto the couch. “How on earth do you live in a magical underground society that is somehow boring?”

“I don’t think I ever said it was magical⁠—”

“No, no, it’s a nice place, I just assumed that there would be more, you know? Like some enchanted castle, wrought iron gates, mysterious voices, hidden caverns. Instead you’re in what looks like a nice loft in a good, walkable neighborhood.”

He laughs and shakes his head at my comment.

We continue talking about nothing in particular. He points out the art on his walls, the tchotchkes and books on his shelves, and the vinyls in his cabinets. The kinds of conversations we had on the phone are seamlessly replicated in real life, which makes it all the more difficult to know that it’s going to have come to an end after tonight. It doesn’t have to, you know, a quiet voice tells me in the back of my mind. I brush it off, I can’t let naivety take over right now. I’ll focus on the present and the beast of a man sitting across from me.

There’s a silent standoff between the two of us to initiate something physical. A hand wandering closer, a body shifting towards the other. Subtle movements that would be hardly perceptible to someone on the outside, but are just enough to make the other notice. It’s been so long since I’ve tried to make the first move with someone that I don’t remember exactly how it all falls into place. The casual hookups of my early twenties were far quicker and sloppier than what’s happening right now.

As badly as I want to rush through things so they can be cleanly severed, just being in someone’s presence like this is really, really nice. It's a fact that I truly hate admitting to myself.

CHAPTER 13

His head drunkenly lolls back and he stares at the ceiling for a second. “Well, guess I’m going to have to eat you now.” He says it so casually I have to replay the sentence in my head.

The happy buzz pinging around in my brain abruptly stops. “Wait, what?” My fingers curl around the stem of the wine glass so tightly I could practically shatter it. Two bottles had turned into three now, Maddox was able to far outpace me in drinking them empty.