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She shook her head. “I wish I knew how to work my computer. Someone was supposed to come over and help me set it up.”
“Right. I remember. Sorry, been a little busy.”
She shrugged, obviously not too put out that she hadn’t been connected to the world wide web yet. “But the packages are from my son. He called me to tell me the packages should have already been delivered, and because I didn’t want any goblins or orcs stealing my things, I decided to check my box.”
“Uh-huh.” I had to tread lightly, most fae from Ms. Williams’s generation were prejudiced against other species—they basically hated all "outsiders". I knew from experience one small misstep could send her into a long-winded rant about how anyone who wasn’t fae was a threat to our community. We were both on the HOA committee and Ms. Williams had the special talent to turn a 15-minute meeting into an hour-long rant.
And I did not have time forthattonight.
Ms. Williams inserted her key into her door and continued, even though I had done a good job keeping my lips sealed. “Skye, have you heard of that new drug the kids are using? It’s bad. What’s it called again—”
“Black rock, I think.”
“Yes! I heard on the news the orcs are responsible for bringing it into the city.” She opened her door for me, and I stepped inside, overwhelmed by the smell of dust and potpourri. “Skye, promise me you’re careful when walking around, especially at night. I’ve seen a couple orc fellows walking around the neighborhood, probably looking for kids to sell to. It won’t be long until the drug is poisoning our streets too.”
I sighed, stopping in her living room that looked exactly like mine, just filled with furniture from the ’60s. “Ms. Williams . . . The CEO of my company is half-orc. Just because they’re orcs doesn’t mean they’re automatically drug dealers. There are good and bad in every group.” I groaned as I set the boxes on her coffee table. I noticed for the first time her TV was on and turned down to an inaudible level to the same news channel my parents watched. Not that I classified it as news, considering every other word that came out of their mouths was how orcs and goblins were ruining this country. This was probably where Ms. Williams learned about black rock in the first place.
Mental note to teach her how to change the channel as well.
“Actually dear,” she said, motioning to the packages I had set down, “can you put those in my sewing room? By the window?”
“Sure,” I murmured through gritted teeth.
“I hate the idea of you going out so late, especially without a man to protect you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said as I stumbled through her hallway to the spare bedroom.
“Just promise me you’ll bring pepper spray. And stay far away from downtown where their kind live. They are bad, Skye, I’m telling you.”
“I will.” I only agreed to get her off the topic entirely. I wasn’t about to bring up the fact that orcs and demons were slowly but surely integrating into our communities, and that we had nothing to fear. They were normal people, just like us.
Then again, even if I had all the time in the world, it wouldn’t be enough time to convince my neighbor otherwise. So, why bother trying?
When I pulled up to the grocery store, the lights were off and an employee wearing a blue vest was locking the front doors.
“Shit!” I hissed, banging my steering wheel with my fist. It slipped and I pressed onto the horn, my car blaring through the empty parking lot. The poor employee jumped, almost dropping his ring of keys, and disappeared into the darkness, probably to his car on the other side of the building.
You would think the conversation with Ms. Williams would squash any sexual feeling I had. But when I was horny, there was nothing—not even a cold shower in the middle of Antarctica—that could quell those feelings except the blessed release of an orgasm. Getting myself off with just my hands was out of the question. I was so neurotic, always too in my head—one of the many reasons Carter broke up with me—that I could never relax enough to reach my release. That was why I never particularly blamed Carter for always giving up after two minutes of going down on me. I knew how tough my body was.
Though there wasn’t an orgasm in my future, at least tonight, a dicking—even a mediocre one—was better than nothing.
Hey. I’m up. Want me to come over?
I ignored the sick feeling in my stomach after sending the text to Carter.
You are strong. You are powerful, I chanted, following the mantra I had learned on one of my empowerment retreats as I waited for his reply. There were the three blue blinking dots, indicating he was typing and then . . . nothing. Whatever shred of dignity I had left immediately disappeared with those blue dots.
What if someone beat me to the punch? What if he has another woman over?
I refused to ask him if there were others. I didn’t dare—my heart couldn’t bear the truth; it was hanging on by a thread at this point. There had been clues, though—thongs too small to fit me kicked under the bed so I wouldn’t see; a strip of fake eyelashes sitting on top of the garbage in the bathroom. The fact that Carter had more than one woman he called on in the middle of the night only sent me into a deeper despair than I thought was possible.
I stumbled into work the next morning, feeling like shit. I was hungover, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart—I had been rejected by Carter all over again. And just like the first time, it stung like a bitch. Instead of trying to get some sleep last night after my unsuccessful trip to the store, I went through Carter’s old messages trying to determine the exact day he stopped loving me.
The bleached-white walls of my office were extra blinding this morning, and I wasted no time heading towards the dungeon—what everyone called the IT office—because it was exactly that: dark and separated from the rest of the building with an impossibly heavy metal door. Just how us nerds liked it.
I sighed with relief as soon as I stepped into the darkness; my headache already waning. My relief didn’t last long as my coworker’s voice rose to a dangerous level.
“Well, did you actually turn the computer on and off? Because I swear to whatever god you believe in—goddess, Jesus, the flying spaghetti monster—if I come over there and fix your computer by pressing one button, there will be blood.” The desk rattled as Marcie slammed the phone back into the base. Marcie’s bloodthirsty expression relaxed into a friendly smile as I dropped my purse and took the seat next to her.
