Page 28 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

The prospects might be grim,

but you don’t have to be so lonely.

There’s a wound deep within—

can’t you just let me in to see it?

How can you ever get better

if you won’t let me sew the stitches, my love?

But you never seem to bear it,

you’re so fucking uncertain,

and all we are is conflict.

I know you’re doing your best—

it’s the thing you always tell me,

but I’m tired of begging

for something you won’t ever reveal.

Her voice is so soft and dulcet, I don’t dare make her aware of my presence as I hover in the kitchen doorway. She looks so fucking cute. Her sweats hug the swell of her hips and her cami rides up a little bit, showing the little dips of dimples on her lower back. Her white hair is tied in a little knot and I’m lucky to catch a glimpse of some of the tattoos on her shoulders: a garland of fine-line florals and moths and the same nightingale from the shop sign.

I lean on the doorframe and take her in. I can’t believe how much I like her already. Yeah, I fall for girls pretty fast, but something about Lillith is so different. I don’t know how to describe it. I can just tell that this is the start of something that’s going to lead to either utter ruination or devotional bliss.

I’m so distracted by how into her I am that I don’t realize she’s zoned out until she panics about a smoking waffle and burns herself in the process of trying to save it.

“Ah, shit,” I say under my breath, approaching from behind. She holds her burned finger in her hand as she dances from one foot to another. Without thinking, I close the distance between us and grasp her wrist.

“Damien!” she cries as I pull her over to the sink and turn on some lukewarm water, testing it before plunging her fingers under the faucet. “You’re awake?”

“You alright?” I ask her.

“Y-yeah—” she says, her pale face pinkening. Her gaze glues to mine, her eyes reminding me of an owl’s in their size and watchfulness. It’s the first time I’m seeing it since I last checked on her while she slept. She’s washed her face. Somehow her eyes look even bigger without the mascara and black winged liner extending her lash line. And apparently she wasn’t wearing falsies last night either. Her eyelashes are just naturally, ridiculously long.

“Any auras? I know a few people who seize when they hurt themselves,” I say.

She chuckles. “It’s me. I’m people,” she says. “But no. No aura. I have to hurt myself quite a bit more than this to trigger a seizure.”

I nod, something tight untangling in my chest. “Well, that’s good.”

She smiles up at me and her voice softens a little. “You stayed last night,” she says. “And you slept on the couch.”

“I asked you if I could. You said it was alright,” I say.

“Mnn, well even if I didn’t... It’s sweet. Not to be rude, but... you don’t seem like the kind of guy who would sleep on the couch when you can sleep in bed with a woman.”

I hold her gaze for a long moment before I say it. “If I’m going to be with you in your bed, it’s going to be because you invite me there, little bird. I have no interest in forcing myself on anyone. Least of all you.”

“Least of all me?” she says. “Why do you say that? You barely know me.” She doesn’t say it like she’s offended or put off. She seems genuinely curious as to why she might be different. And to be honest, I don’t have an answer for her.

“I don’t know. There’s something different about you. It makes me want to stay close,” I say.

Her large grey eyes flicker between mine and I hope she’ll tell me she feels it too. But just as I think she might, her expression dims and she looks at her fingertips. It’s not new for me to be the more eager party with a girl, but for some reason it stings to see her shrink away from it.