Page 70 of Below the Shadow of the City

“Then what’s there to freak out about?”

“His name is Maddox.”

“Ok, hot.”

“And he is…” the decision has been made for me. The bathroom door swings open and Maddox sheepishly sticks his head out, Margo’s mouth forms into a scream and I quickly run over and cover her face from behind.

“I told you not to freak out,” I say.

“Hi,” Maddox stiffly waves as he exits the bathroom and lifts his arm behind his head. “I’m Maddox. Also, Sigrid I, uh, broke your soap dispenser.” He offers a half smile in hopes of easing the situation, at present a broken thrifted soap dispenser is the least of my worries.

I lower my hand from Margo’s mouth, her eyes are wide and dart between him and I.

“You’re a…”

“Monster, beast, creature of the night, et cetera. Yes. And you’re the Margo I’ve heard so much about,” he grins widely and extends his hand. She just stares at it. I see the wheels turning in her head. Maybe this mystery made at least a little sense in the end.

“Margo?” I ask cautiously. Her eyes have nearly glazed over from staring in disbelief.

She gestures to him. “What the fuck, this is the mystery guy? The one that you’ve been sneaking around with?”

“Well, yeah, it’s a delicate situation,” I walk to Maddox and he wraps his arm around me.

“No, shit!” She exclaims.

My brows furrow. “Are you going to be cool about this or do I have to ask you to leave?”

“Sorry, right, where are my manners?” She reaches her hand out to recoup the shirked handshake from before, “Margo Savine, it’s a…pleasure.” She twitches a bit when his hand meets hers, Maddox pretends to not notice.

I turn to Maddox, “are your friends going to be this weird?”

“Weirder, probably,” he chuckles and pulls me in a little closer.

“Sorry!” Margo waves her hands and stammers to defend herself. “I’m obviously a little baffled, and are you always this…shirtless?”

He and I both look down at his bare chest and I part from him to scramble to find his shirt. After searching through the tangled mess of sheets in my room I return with his balled up white tee. I toss it to him and he nervously fumbles it over himself. It’s wrinkled from drying balled up on my floor, but it’s certainly a better alternative to his very bare chest. Not that I’d minded that view.

Just like everything with Maddox, it only takes a few minutes for it to become comfortable. Any unease that Margo had before washes away as she talks to Maddox more. The two of them are similar in their mannerisms. He loves Taylor Swift almost as much as she does. “Green flag!” She exclaims when she finds this out.

Margo asks if him and his realm being real means ghosts are real. Which Maddox and I respond to at the same time with a resounding “no.”

I watch her fall in love with him. Not in the same way I have, of course. It’s obvious that she sees him for who he is, and for what he’s done to me.

More bricks have been removed from the imaginary tower I used to hide in. Daylight has broken through and I think I’m fully feeling the sun again.

“Upon closer inspection, you’re right, he is strangely hot,” Margo says when he’s stepped out of the room, “and he’s really good for you, I can tell that much.” I watch him move about in the kitchen, another quiet glimpse of a domestic life I can’t wait for he and I to share.

“Good doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

CHAPTER 28

Ipad across the laundry room, now a well worn path to get to Maddox’s place. Quickly we have formed this rhythm, and the laundry room serves us better as a bridge between our two worlds as opposed to a utilitarian space for chores.

There’s a romantic nostalgia in the space now. Tromping down the stairs makes me think of the hurried love confession I’d given him when the weight of keeping my emotions buried was too much to bear. When I pass the third washer from the right I can only think of how he lifted me on top of it and parted my legs with his tongue with such tact I thought he was a trained professional. As I approach the doorframe I envision his silhouette casually leaning against it. It’s stupid that checkered linoleum and rusting appliances in a mildew infested room make me swell with warmth in a way that cobblestone streets and waterfront parks never have. Maybe that’s what it is to be in love, you can find big romantic emotions tucked away into the smallest, most mundane things.

I smooth out the wrinkles in the vintage velvet dress I’ve picked for the night. He’s taking me to dinner at one of his alleged favorite places, right down the street from his apartment. I’ve gotten the grand tour of his neighborhood by way of restaurants. Our outings are always in his realm. Something about dating someone who lives in an underground society built for monsters and fae makes it tough to casually get dinner at New York’s hottest restaurants. I’ve promised to bring him takeout from all of them, if anything just to prove to him I’m right about most of them being vastly overrated.

I walk through the dark and damp corridor towards the elevator to his building. It’s a labyrinth of dark cinder blocks, and I’d gotten lost entirely the first few times I visited without him leading the way. My boots echo in the hall as I count the doorways until I reach the correct entrance.