𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐈 𝐃𝐢𝐞, 𝐛𝐲 𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃.
I woke up with the sheets still warm next to me. There wasn't a pile of cigarettes on his drawer, but a tiny note, in which it said:
"I'll be back soon, princess."
Asher had drawn a heart on a paper just once, when we were ten. The boy said, "These are actually Siamese pears with black skin, a rare type... It represents... fortune. Soo, I wish you a lot of money. Yeah. H-Happy Birthday."
I looked at the Siamese pears and kissed his note. "I'll be waiting," I whispered.
It was a beautiful day. A calm, warm summer fantasy, yellowish and pale. I perched on the window-after checking for spiders- and swung my legs, looking at the road. I could picture him rushing to the car, muttering something like, "What am I even going to buy her... Purple knee pads?" I chuckled at the thought and sighed. I already missed him.
---------♡---------
Asher screened around the convenience store, juggling the coins in his hand. It had to be something useful and cheap, but not trivial. Something she could wear in front of him. His eyes roamed over the hangers of pajamas standing next to the aisle of dairies. It was a mess. Alcoholic beverages next to panties and plastic cars, kitchen utensils next to sex toys. Asher passed by the dicks really quickly and picked a stuffed bunny. It was pink, with small eyes, teeth too long even for a rodent, and dark paws for absolutely no reason. That was ugly as hell. Around it, more stuffed animals, each with a serious malady that deformed their features. They weren't as ugly as dad's stuffed animals, though. Asher picked a whale. Something strange sank in his stomach. A grueling feeling of guilt and nostalgia.
Was he all right? Did he know mom was dead?
Asher left the whale and stared hopelessly at the shelf of CDs. That would cost him weeks of tips and extra coins. No way. He ruefully headed towards the ugly bunny again, when something stopped him.
A jukebox.
Standing in the vast nothingness, near the milk bottles, abandoned by the circumstantial environment. That was utterly depressing. Items like these should be where kids and waitresses walked around, that smell of junk food and beer, loud fathers laughing at their own jokes, and good music overlapping the hours. The picture of Gwen jumping towards the jukebox with a fairy star on her hair and ketchup on her cheeks had entertained him for years.
Asher stopped in front of the jukebox and noticed he was smiling. She'd love to dance to some of those eighties tracks. Joan Jett, definitely. Gwen was the type of woman who was born to sway along the riffs.
"It's broken," a cross voice spoke from behind.
Asher turned around.
A dude with a green apron. "It's broken," he repeated.
"I can see that it's not."
"Yeah, but you can't touch it."
Asher faced him straight. "Is that so? And why?"
"It belongs to the manager."
"Then tell your manager that this should be in a better place. With better people."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Asher turned around. "Nothing, if you don't understand."
"Wait a minute."
"No, thanks. I'm busy trying to find, in this chaos, a present for my girlfriend. But it's a pointless search-"
"You, you're the assassin!"
YOU ARE READING
BEING ANITA
Romance'I love you,' Asher told me while the police man handcuffed him. The night glimmered in his green eyes. His dark hair was tousled, strands like conductors of the energy in his chest. "I fucking love you." In other circumstances, a few years ago, I w...
