how to make a mixtape :: mgc (fin.)

32. girlfriends & costa

"Ashton, we have to be quick," I say while unbuttoning his shirt. His hands are up my nightshirt, and mine are splayed across his warm chest. I curl my fingers when he kissed my neck. "My brother's coming home at around three."

"It's two thirty now," he mumbles. He whips off my nightshirt and drops it down the side of the bed. The windows are open, letting in the early morning air. I shiver, and he licks his lips. "I missed touching you."

I hum, looping my fingers through his belt buckle and undoing it. It's cold, and slips along my bare legs as I leave it with the rest of our clothes. Just before the day broke out from the darkness, Ashton left, leaving me half asleep and tucked safely under the covers.

+++

Scout hasn't visited in a long time -- almost two weeks. The shop is slowly getting back to normal, but we don't have customers anymore. There's the regular person who passes by and takes a photo, or two, sometimes even entering the shop to ask us whether we're where the notorious Sherbrook Road robbery happened. Alejandro and I have began to take down all the CDs from the shelves, since nobody's going to buy them, anyway. The storage room is going to have a lot more boxes, I think, carrying one down the spiral staircase.

"Doesn't your shift at Costa start, in like, half an hour?" Alejandro says from behind me. It's still dark along the landing, but he flicks on one of the lights. It's a wash of ugly yellow, and he continues, "you're going to be late."

"I can get ready in half of that," I retort, leaving the box on the landing and jogging up the stairs. "You can put that down there."

He mutters something under his breath, something along the lines of people who don't finish what they start. I ignore him, finally reaching the kitchen and taking one of my amphetamines. Tugging on my hoodie, I pull my drawstring bag of clothes onto my shoulders and walk over to the bus stand a couple feet away from the shop. Ashton's sitting on the bench there, as we both agreed to meet up. He's already in his red polo shirt and black trousers, his hair covering his face as he looks down at his phone.

"Hey, Maricruz," he says when he sees me. It's not as cold as it was this morning, but my name still draws out a cloud of white from his lips. "So, I'm your manager now?"

I play with my fingers, fussing with my itchy scarf and fixing my hair. The woman standing next to us has a mouth painted with lipstick, her hair pinned up into an awfully tight bun with a cigarette between her bright lips. I try to hold my breath, as to not breathe in the smoke. Ashton does the same, taking my hand and pressing it to his cheek.

"You're so cold," he remarks quietly. "Do you not have any gloves?"

I shake my head. They keep falling out of my pockets.

He slips our entwined fingers into his tweed pocket, pulling my into his side. I feel his nametag dig into my chest, and he bends down to kiss through my hair. My stomach does a flip -- and not a good one. I snatch my hand away from his hastily, cramming it into my own pocket. He gives me a puzzled look, and I tug up my hood.

"I'm not that cold, anymore," I say around my hood. "Plus, it's Halloween eve. If that's a thing. I can survive the cold."

He leans over, probably to kiss me, but I duck my head, coughing into my hand. I feel a bit bad, but honestly, I deserve the award for the sickest curve.

"Are you going trick or treating tomorrow?" He sinks further beneath the collar of his coat.

I almost forgot about trick or treating. It's always been a tradition for me, Ashton, and Mara to go trick or treating every Halloween. Now, with my therapy sessions, Ashton's job, and Mara's -- well, Mara is as free as last year -- I'm sure we can't go, tomorrow. Anyway, with Michael gone and the schizophrenia scare, I don't think I want to go anymore.