The Girl Who Would Be King(72)

“Depends what you mean by ‘this’,” I say, and pounce on him, wrapping my hands around his throat before he even knows what’s happened.

It’s fast and once he’s dead, I feel surprisingly sated. I climb off of him and go to the filthy bathroom and splash cold water on my face.

Walking away from the scene I’m not sure if I’ve killed him because it’s who I am and because I can, or because I don’t have a choice, or because I’m afraid and embarrassed that I wasn’t able to sleep with him. I shake my head and try to forget all of it while driving home, trying to pretend that my muscles aren’t humming higher and harder than ever. It’s like a drug, like the best fucking drug on Earth.



°

I pack up my things the following day at noon. It takes roughly three minutes.

I don’t want to seem overly anxious, but I head out anyway, taking my duffel bag, suitcase, and a frying pan I’ve never used before. I don’t know why I bought it. It just seemed like a thing that normal people would buy, I guess. By 12:30, I’m standing outside my new apartment building, excited and nervous, feeling like this is a whole new chapter of my life, sure that things are changing.

And I’m right.

Because just at that moment, standing on the sidewalk, looking down the alley, I see a woman do a back flip off the second floor fire escape. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the fire escape out my new window. She dives off of it as if it’s nothing. Her muscles glint in the afternoon sun and her mane of raven colored hair is too ethereal and black at the same time to seem real. I’m standing there, just off the alley way, with my bags and frying pan, my mouth hanging open awestruck as she hits the ground, soft as a cat, and takes off out the other side of the alleyway in a light run. I’m in such shock for a moment it doesn’t occur to me to chase her down. And when I snap out of it, she’s gone. Like I imagined her in the first place.

When Liesel opens the door for me with her wide grin, I should open with something normal like “Hi.” But instead I go for insane with, “I’m pretty sure I just saw some girl do a back flip off my fire escape…is that a normal thing?” Liesel blinks, takes in a breath and I think maybe she’s contemplating lying, but then she sighs heavily and moves to the side to let me in.

“That’s just Bryce,” she says. “She’s…a friend…sort of an ex-girlfriend…kinda,” Liesel says chewing on her lip a bit and then screwing her mouth up. “She stays over every once in a while.”

“She have something against the front door?” I joke, hyper-aware that I’m planning to use the fire escape in a similar way, maybe even for similar reasons. Liesel sighs a little and takes my frying pan from me as she closes the door.

“Bryce is…unusual. Yeah, let’s go with unusual,” she pauses. “Not that unusual is bad of course.”

I set my bags down and raise my hands. “No judgment here,” I say. “Mostly just curiosity.” Liesel takes the frying pan to the kitchen and sets it down. She seems heavy with thought, and when she looks back at me I think she’s going to say something major but a look of confusion crosses over her face.

“Is that all you brought?” she asks. I look down at my duffle and suitcase.

“Yeah,” I blush. “I travel light.” Liesel’s expression is still heavy and I look back at her concerned.

“Is everything okay?”

Liesel nods and chews her lip anxiously. She gestures me to the living room couch. “Maybe you better sit down before you unpack, Bonnie.”

Uh-oh, I knew this was too good to be true. My mind races, realizing how attached I’ve become to the idea of living here in the last 18 hours.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…” she pauses a little and fidgets on the couch. “Ben said I shouldn’t say anything to you about this…that I should wait until we knew you better, but I just…I don’t think it’s fair to keep it from you. I’m a really direct person…I find anything but honesty clouds things…” She trails off and then begins again. “So I’m just going to tell you something, and if you want to leave afterwards, no hard feelings, okay?” she looks up at me sweetly and I just nod my head. She pops her giraffe print slippers off and curls her tiny feet under her on the couch and chews her lip again, clearly agonizing on how to start the sentence. In the end she goes for blunt, which isn’t surprising, I suppose.

“So, I just got out of a mental institute about three months ago,” she says and I admit it surprises me, though not necessarily in a bad way. “There’s…there’s nothing really wrong with me…” she says getting quiet for a long time before starting again. “I mean, I’m not dangerous or anything,” and then under her breath she says, “I don’t think…or…not anymore.” The stress of this is taking its toll, her eyes are softening sadly and her lip is quivering a little. I’ve never met someone that I’ve felt was less likely to be dangerous in my entire life, and I have good instincts about these things, so I just take her hand until she looks up at me.