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As if he knew what was going through my head, Gravy Boat let out a judgy meow and then started aggressively licking his asshole.
I tossed a balled-up napkin at him, but it only made him get more intense.
Disgusted, I looked back to the guy and tried to tune out Gravy Boat's noise and my sister's clanging from the kitchen. She usually had no idea how loud she was being because she wore noise canceling headphones and blasted music to herself. I’d joked several times that she wouldn’t hear if someone broke in and decided to murder me, then I’d violently knocked on wood.
I pulled out a sheet of paper and started writing a letter to the guy. Yes, I knew it was incredibly dorky and also technically littering. But I figured the universe could cut me a little karmic slack considering the hand I'd been dealt. Sometimes I liked to write notes to people I saw on the street, fold them into paper airplanes, and then chuck them out the window. Just about every single time I did this, the airplane got sucked back against the building where it fell uselessly to the street, or it got pulled along with cars on the road and pulverized into oblivion by the tires.
So when I wrote the note, there wasn't any real part of me that expected Mr. Romance Hero on the street corner to ever see it.
Dear Stranger,
Your eyes are like fire and your lips are soft pillows I wish I could sink into. We'll never meet, but I'll dream of the day I could've got your name. Your smile. Your hand.
I'll keep wishing you were mine,
From the girl in the 3rd floor window, Apartment 12b.
I rolled my eyes at my own words as I folded up the paper airplane. A poet, I was not. Unfortunately, being a ravenous reader hadn't even given me access to any of the ability the writers I devoured had. But I still folded the little airplane, knowing it would never reach the hunk on the street.
I had to yank and grunt a little to get our paint-chipped, ancient apartment window open. When I did, the sounds of the street came rushing in more clearly, along with the musty wet smell of the fallen rain.
I stared at the man on the corner, aimed, and hesitated.
I'd never written my apartment number on one of my doomed love notes before. Why had I done that?
I'd been poised to throw the airplane, but I relaxed my arm and set it down on the windowsill, laughing at my own stupidity. Yeah, Sylvie. Unless my plan was to get murdered by some creep who intercepted the letter, I might want to-
Gravy Boat catwalked along the window sill, met my eyes with cold indifference, and then gave the plane a little punch on the back.
I lunged for it but was too late. The wind caught it, carrying it in two jolting upward jerks, and then I watched in horror as it sailed effortlessly away.
I followed the trajectory of the paper plane arcing and gliding down toward the guy on the corner. My heart was in my throat as I imagined what he'd do if it actually hit him.
Time seemed to slow down until I could practically trace the path of the plane and imagine it hitting him straight in the chest. Except a hunched over, balding man in a rain jacket walked directly in front of him before it did. It caught the man right in the ear, causing him to flinch his head to the side and frown.
I watched in horror as he read the note, then as if by magic, his gaze flicked straight up, to the side, and toward me.
I ducked down beneath the window, but it was too late.
When I hazarded another glance, I saw my airplane discarded on the ground and the man half-jogging across the crosswalk.
Right toward my building.
4
Riggs
The city pressed in on me like a cage. The tall buildings stretched up in every direction and cut off smells from the outside. The only scents reaching my nose were human and concrete with a touch of gasoline for good measure. Even with supernaturally good hearing, I couldn't even make out much above the din of noise, either.
For someone like me, the city was like wrapping yourself in a wet fucking blanket. It was suffocating, but it was better than the alternative, wasn't it? In here, I knew they'd leave me alone. They'd let me go on pretending that old life wasn't mine. Nobody was going to come yank me out of my self-destructive cycle, not so long as I was within this concrete hell.
I was doing a shitty job of clearing my mind when I saw the little paper airplane come drifting down from a window across the street. I frowned, following its path as it caught on a gust of wind and was lifted up just in time to avoid getting swept up by the traffic.
