The Bad Guy's Doctor

THIRTEEN

I dry my hands with a soft towel, as Sera turns to face me. "So, Althea," I glance up, raising an apathetic eyebrow. "What's your type?" I blink once, before sighing.

"Has everyone else already answered you?" She snickers, before setting her full attention at me. I set the towel down, tipping my head to the side, thinking for a quick second.

"Someone who doesn't get hurt nearly every day." Less work meant less hassle. Besides that... I didn't have a specific type, but I knew she wasn't going to let it go that easily. "Someone mean." Sera perks up, interest flashing in her eye.

"Mean?" Arsenio, appearing out of nowhere, echos. I glance at him, before shrugging. Sera laughs, before shifting so Arsenio can sit next to her along the counter seats.

"You've been choosing the wrong approach the entire time, Arsenio," she coos and Arsenio pressed his hands against the table.

"But what if you think that they're a nuis—"

"Someone who doesn't care about what I think of them." I cut through his words, and he swallows hard, glancing at the table.

"I don't care what you think of me." He says quickly, his words coming off a bit cold. Probably because I said someone mean. He looks up at me with honey-colored eyes, before looking away quickly. "But you," He swallows, "do think about me, right?"

I exhale, before patting his cheek. "I'm joking, pretty boy." Sera grins at me, clearly understanding. He looks relieved, before taking my hand gently.

"Then, what is your type?" Arsenio watches me like he was about to commit the next words that came from my mouth to his memory, to completely alter his entire personality to fit the criteria I would mutter.

"I don't know." The three words leave my lips and he pauses, before nodding. "I'll figure it out."

- - -

I move the mannequin aside, pushing it against the wall with a huff. "Velvet or silk?" Tangerine asks, holding the two fabrics up for me to see.

"For what?" I roll up my sleeves, raising an eyebrow.

"Gloves that go with the dress that you wore, duh." He turns, before picking up another scrap. "Or leather? No, that wouldn't look good," I glance out the window, the cloudy sky basking the room in dim light.

I've been in here trying on dresses and scarves, and everything you can think of for the past three hours. I glance at the beige wall, accented with sketches of ruffles and buckles, a homely feel to it. I swallow hard. "Do you know where they're buried?"

I can hear him stop moving. "Oak Creek. If you're going to visit, you should go now. You won't make it back in time though. But you already know that, don't you?" I look up sharply at him, pressing my lips together. My past was written in these walls, my connections evident within it. "I'll let you borrow Eve's contractor card. She won't be back for another week. Inn first, cemetery next."

He holds out a pulpy yellowed card, the distinct smell of cigars wafting from it. Distinctly familiar. I take it with a grateful glance at him. "Be careful." Oak Creek Cemetery was in the neighboring town.

Riddled with criminals and exiles, it was one that I had visited on a few occasions for my past job. There was only one inn in the town, murders occurring nearly once every two nights in at least one of the rooms. I tuck the card in my pocket. "I'll see you soon."

Stepping out of the building, I pull out my phone. Before pausing and gazing at my surroundings with intent. He should be off at this time, right?

I head toward the corner of the street, continuing calmly. The sidewalk was empty at this time of day, the sun setting, basking the sky in muted oranges and reds.