Dahlia has lived in our universe as an immortal for centuries. She has a soft spot for this universe - all the good and all the bad - and has made the best of an admittedly bad situation. Her universe? It...went through some things, but who cares, w...
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He drove with the calm, quiet intensity of someone who had been driving for a long time. It got me wondering...
"Marcus, what is it that you do?"
"Many things," he answered.
"That tells me nothing," I told him, chugging down the remainder of my water bottle. "Absolutely nothing."
His eyes remained on the road. "Why are you pretending that you care?"
I tore my eyes from him and stared out the window at the suburban scenery. "You're right. I don't."
Silence reigned again. I took my phone out of my handbag, aimlessly checking my email. It wasn't like anyone was looking for me. My business pretty much ran itself, and my current friend group was made up of women who had busy lives. Starting families, mainly. If I got invited to yet another engagement party, bridal shower, or, worse, baby shower, I was going to happily skip into traffic.
Marcus pulled up in front of my apartment building and brought his Jeep to a stop. "I don't understand why – given everything I've told you – we're back here."
"Because," I told him, unbuckling my belt and opening the car door, "there are things I can't leave behind."
He opened his door and stepped out. "You can't be serious, Dahlia."
"As a heart attack." I threw him a scathing look over my shoulder. "You certainly don't need to come up."
"I do."
"Suit yourself," I muttered.
I tried not to think of him following me into the elevator – I even tried to get the doors to close before he could step in – but once we were confined in the car together to the fourth floor, it became harder to ignore the fact that this was happening.
The interior of the elevator had mirrors installed on the three walls. I could finally see how blood-soaked my green, silk blouse really was, and how my shoulder-length curls were unruly in a way that made me look like a prowling lion. A complete horror show. Marcus, on the other hand, looked like he'd just stepped out of a business meeting. Or a fucking GQ cover.
My door was unlocked. I glanced back at Marcus and scowled. The building was secure, but I still didn't like the idea that anyone could've tried my door and strolled inside.
It felt surreal being back here, given everything I'd just learned. Like nothing big was happening.
Your best friend is dead. You're about to meet your long-lost daughter. After hundreds of years away, you can finally return home. And fuckface here is sticking to you like glue.
He had turned the stove off. There was a massive puddle of congealed blood on the ceramic tiles that was sure to give my cleaning lady a heart attack if she were to come in on Monday.
