Neanderthal Seeks Human(17)

I stepped abruptly away from him and stopped walking; we were approximately ten feet from the entrance.

His words felt like a snowball to the face. “Someone like me?” I asked, squaring my shoulders, even as I felt an irritating blush spread up my neck and over my cheeks. I briefly looked around at the perfectly formed animated mannequins and knew exactly what he meant.

I was used to remarks about my strangeness and I’d long ago resolved to rejoice in the awkwardness of my appearance, but the offhanded comment, coming from him, from the knighted source of my weeks long stalkerish fantasies, chaffed against a wound I thought healed into a concealed scar long ago.

His attention followed my movements as I pulled away; a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and confusion apparent in his features. He took a step to close the distance between us, reaching for my hand, but I crossed my arms over my chest in order to avoid further contact.

I wondered at my see-saw of emotions, hot then cold; I didn’t enjoy how unbalanced I felt, especially when he touched me. I didn’t like that I’d given him, simply because he was beautiful, some strange power over my inner mechanics and chemistry. I didn’t like how my body seemed to be intent on sabotaging my brain, especially since my brain was so good at sabotaging itself. The burning in the pit of my stomach was replaced with a cold ache. I felt seasick and truly absurd.

“I think I can navigate the last few feet just fine without an escort. I do know how to walk.”

I tried not to notice how very nice he looked in his black suit and gave him what I hoped was a withering glare, but I suspected it was merely a stiff stare, and I pointedly walked around him. I didn’t look back as I exited the club and welcomed the windy Chicago city air.

Elizabeth must have been a significant distance behind me because she didn’t exit for what felt like several minutes; this gave me ample time to work myself into a tornado of heated annoyance and embarrassment.

When she finally arrived she was on her cell phone, obviously talking to the hospital; she gave me a huge smile, nudged my elbow with hers and mouthed Oh My God. I frowned at her elated expression and shook my head. Elizabeth covered the receiver of her phone to block our conversation from whoever was on the other end; a questioning crease appearing between her eyebrows, her smile replaced with meditative concern.

“I thought you’d be over the moon, he was flirting with you.” She loud-whispered and indicated with her head toward the club.

I sighed, turned away from her, “No, he wasn’t.”

“What, are you crazy? He’s completely into you. Did he- Yes-” I listened as Elizabeth turned her attention back to the headless voice emanating from her cell, “Yes, I’m still here.”

I ignored the rest of her phone conversation, my own thoughts a black cloud of grumpiness at my maladroit personality disorder and gargantuan features. There were very few times in my life I truly wished I looked different, was different than I was. I was the middle child in a family of three girls and I was universally acknowledged as the plain Jane of the bunch.

We were the Morris girls; my older sister, June Morris, was the pretty one, I was the smart one, and my youngest sister, Jem Morris, was the crazy one. Jem’s first arrest came when she was nine, shortly after my mother’s death. She stabbed one of her teachers in the hand with a cafeteria knife then told the police she had a bomb hidden in the school.

Even from an early age I was at peace with my family and my place in it. In recent years both June and Jem had become known, collectively, as the ‘criminal ones’. June had just been found not-guilty in California for her part in an organized escort service, which was my dad’s way of politely talking about her prostitution business.

The last time I heard from Jem she was calling the shots at a chop shop in Massachusetts just outside of Boston. To their credit, they were both leaders in their respective fields, masterminds at their craft. I, meanwhile, went to college to become an architect and the closest I’d come to realizing my dream was securing a job, bought by my at-the-time-boyfriend’s dad, as a staff accountant at a mediocre firm. And, I wasn’t sure it was even my dream anymore.

Elizabeth pulled me back into the present with a tug on my arm as she led me toward a waiting taxi, “Here-” she shoved cash in my hand, “-just go to the apartment. I’ll take a different cab to the hospital as it’s in the opposite direction.” She gave me a quick hug as I looked from her to the money in my hand. “We’ll talk tomorrow, I won’t be home till the afternoon.”

I nodded dumbly as she shoved me into the open door, closed it, waved through the window then turned to hail another taxi.