Affinity and Vice

Chapter 2

Humans are curious creatures, even if it kills the cat— especially when it kills the cat. I am no different. However, I think I take curiosity to another level. Because not only did I not stay safely hidden in the bushes, but I crawled the distance between me and the window just to hear the muffled voices of the people inside.

It is no easy feat, being a curious journalist.

I peer through the window from a corner to find Finley— tall, imposing, and undeniably terrifying— standing over the trembling man tied to the chair. Two tall men are standing on either side of the chair, though they aren't as tall as Finley. The warehouse is completely empty now. Chipped paint, broken tiles, and the now flickering light bulb are all that remain.

"Where is the witch?" Finley asks in a low, threatening voice.

The man sinks further into the chair. I can feel his fear as I start breathing rapidly. "Please," he begs.

"You know you have no choice. Tell me now or—"

"Fine!" the man shouts. "She's here, in this town."

"Where? Give me the location."

The man's panic grew. "I don't know the exact location. Please, you have to believe me."

Finley towers over him, snarling at the man. Unflinching, he gives the cold order. "You are of no use to me anymore. Take him away."

I watch the horrifying scene, my heart pounding at this point. Witches? In Hillsville? I knew there was something wrong! Take that, Ravi! Now all I have to do is find said witch before this handsome yet terrifying man does.

I am ecstatic to be right, though I am starting to realize the potential danger of this situation. Ravi's cautious voice looms over my head. Go home! Before you get yourself killed! So I do not stick around to see what happens next. I am a curious creature, but even I know my limits. I have no wish to replace that poor, frightened man in the chair. I am barely able to move my legs, though I somehow push and carefully retreat and crawl back to the bushes.

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I wake up the next morning with tired eyes, a heavy head, and an aching body. A small price to pay. I stay in bed, pull the blanket closer, and stare at the ceiling. My room is on the first floor, and it is as small as it can get, though I have made it liveable over the years. My aunt lives on the ground floor with her ever-changing string of boyfriends. I have a washroom outside my room and if there was a kitchen on this floor, I may never have to see my aunt. I would come and go through the window if I had to.

My room wouldn't seem as bad in that case. I am lying on a single bed with a study table and chair to my right, which also overlooks the window. My wardrobe is on the left side, and the door is next to it. There are no mirrors in my room. I grew up in this space. When I moved here, I was a little girl with pigtails and a purple stuffed toy. The world seemed enormous and unfathomable. Now that I'm grown, this room is too small for me. Sometimes it feels suffocating, like it's choking me to death.

I look out the window.

It's the same view I have looked at for years— the gray sky and the thick branches of my favourite tree. The giant tree outside has been here since as far as I can remember. I am sure it has seen things, heard things; whispers of secrets no one is supposed to know. A crow sits on the branch, watching the window. I stare at the black of its feathers, the black of its talons and beak; the depth of its glassy eye. The sound of rustling leaves, branches, crow, sage green, and black swirls in a dizzying whirlpool.

I rub my eyes. I need more sleep. But if I stay in bed any longer, I may never get out. Throwing the blanket off, I step on the creaking floorboard. Some things haven't changed at all over the years.

Twenty minutes later, I am ready to go to work. I look in the only mirror that is in the washroom as I apply my burgundy lipstick. It's the only makeup I wear because there's something about a dark lip that gives me the confidence to conquer the world. Though for now, I muster up the courage to go downstairs.

Here's what's in store for this morning— a disoriented Aunt Dottie passed out on the couch, empty bottles on the floor, ashes of joints and cigarettes sprinkled on the floor, centre table, entertainment unit, and every other surface except the fallen ashtray, and lastly, a half-naked man making coffee in my kitchen.

"Want some?" the nameless man asks, extending the coffee-pot toward me.

I shake my head.

"Suit yourself," he says before heading into Dottie's bedroom down the hall.

I feel an ache brewing in my head. I look at the scene I have seen a thousand times before. It's always the same. Dottie makes a mess, Harper cleans it up. I roll my eyes and enter the kitchen. After having a quick breakfast that consists of coffee and toast, I'm on my way out. I look at Dottie again, and the only thing I feel is pity. She wasn't always like this.

I go to the couch and try to shake her awake. "I'm off to work now. I'll see you later."

She groans stretching her body and rubs her eyes. I don't have much time to spare but I wait for her to be fully conscious. She blinks a few times before looking at the mess. "Clean this before going," she says in a grouchy voice.

"I am already late. I need to go now." It's the same story every day, and I'm too tired to deal with this right now.

She sits up straight. A few pieces of potato chips that were on her blanket fall to the floor. She runs her hand through the bird nest of her hair. I internally cringe. "You know, I let you live here rent-free. The least you could do is help around the house."

I am already walking to the front door when I say, "I'll clean it when I get back home." I leave no room for further discussion as I am out of the house. I release a sigh of relief because I can finally breathe air that isn't filled with smoke.

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