Arrogance: Volume One of Ebb & Flow

Chapter 8 - Manipulation

In hindsight, working out for two and a half hours after not having solid food in weeks was a recipe for disaster. My breath reeks of vomit, and the workout has negated my earlier shower. Strands of sweat-soaked hair hang across my face; I should've brought a hair elastic. I'll have to clean myself up before I meet up with Aubrey. I want to appear determined, not disheveled.

After my second quick shower today, I change into jeans and a gray hoodie. I put my hair into a bun and check my phone. Aubrey texted me while I was working out. She's awake and available. Her mom's at work, so no one can eavesdrop on what we say. Maria is still fast asleep, so I leave her to slumber peacefully. Not waking her will be my first subtle sign that we are growing apart. Tiny little things will slowly widen the divide between us until she inevitably breaks up with me. It will be her idea, so she will be able to get over it quicker. The best part is I can feign depression and trauma from losing my good friend—the lovebirds who could not reconcile and get past a tragedy that rocked a small town.

I step outside and feel the warmer air against my face. Pretty soon, I'll trade in the hoodie and jeans for tank tops and shorts. I peek at my phone, and it shows the time as seven-fifteen. My drive over to her house goes smoothly. The town is normally quiet around this time, but it's even more lifeless. New Farford will forever have a cloud that hangs over it. A miasma of sadness that won't dissipate for years. A town with less than four thousand population lost a whole generation of kids in one evening. Signs hang in windows with the names of those who have passed. Rest in peace; spray painted against brick buildings, and the people out tread around like zombies.

There are so many emotions I have never been able to study—new facial expressions and gestures to learn. I can further tweak my mimicry because resting on my laurels now will only hurt me down the line. A professional who stops perfecting his craft is an idiot and an amateur, and I intend to be neither. Pretty soon, I might gather enough emotional pieces of people to make it genuine.

I pull into Aubrey's driveway and let her know I'm here. She gives me the go-ahead, and I head inside. The Iskan house is a pleasant two-bedroom. Aubrey's dad was never around, so her single mother raised her. The woman works double shifts as an ER nurse at St. Augustine. A thing Aubrey and I have in common is caring single parents who work endless hours to provide for their children. While my house is sterile, the Iskan house is the polar opposite: warm, inviting, and with a faint cinnamon scent. There are folded clean clothes on the couch, mail all over the kitchen table, and everything is slightly disorganized. It feels human in a way my home does not.

While her house might look human, Aubrey Iskan does not. She hasn't taken Marcus' death well. Her usually well-kept hair is greasy and tangled. Without any makeup, I can see how little she's been taking care of herself—a zombie wearing an oversized stained sweater and pajama pants. The look screams depression. I underestimated how far gone she would be. Am I going to have to give a pep talk? This might throw a wrench into my plan. Our eyes meet, and she starts ugly crying. I rush over and put my arms around her. She sobs into my chest while I hold her close. How many people will I be forced to comfort in the coming weeks?

"I'm sorry, Aubrey. I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

Unintelligible noises come out of her as she loudly sobs. She apologizes between breaths, hyperventilating as snot pours out of her. Her emotional outburst is messy, and at this rate, I'll be changing my clothes for the third time today.

"Shhhh. It's okay. I'm here. I'm back."

I pat her back, mimicking the action I've seen in movies. Rub counterclockwise, firm but gentle, like a parent comforting their baby. I slowly move her over to the couch and sit down. It's awkward standing here while she gets all my clothes wet. She pushes me back, and her eyes are bloodshot from crying.