Chapter 3

Chapter Three:
The next morning was my day off. So naturally, I slept until noon and took my time getting dressed. I was painfully slow in the shower and choosing my clothes, and by the time I was done, I was pretty proud of myself. Today I was sporting my same favorite pair of jeans paired with a black spaghetti strap top sprinkled with neat rows of little green stars. More important than the stars was the fact that this shirt showed off no small amount of boobage. It was clothes like these that made me proud of the lumps o' lard that made me a shapely female. Naturally, I wasn't quite as gifted as girls like Kennedy, but I wasn't hopeless, either.
With a few embellishments where they really mattered, like a cutesy green bracelet that jingled a little when I moved, my classic old sneakers, and a black tiered necklace that attracted attention in just the right places, I was ready to go.
Now was the hard part. I had known ever since yesterday that I was going back to that house one way or another, this time with my camera (and my pepper spray), and no crazies were going to stand in my way. Not any real fake vampires, not any smokin' hot redheads... although a good cup of coffee from the shop might.
I set out at a motivated pace, my small leather backpack of a purse slung over one shoulder. In one spacious pocket of my jeans was my little monster of a digital camera that really only seemed to work when it wanted to (which I prayed was today), and in the other pocket was my pepper spray, ready for attack. I wasn't planning on seeing the dressed up wacko again, but, well, just in case...
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in front of the house, engaged in a staring contest with the boarded up windows that flanked the door on the wraparound porch. I was losing. The place still gave me the heebie jeebies, but this time there was merit behind it. There was potentially a well costumed psychopath living inside. That was good reason to be freaked out, wasn't it?
With a sigh of determination, I stepped forward and crossed the distance to the front door. As I put my hand on the cold door handle, I vaguely hoped that it would be locked. But again, I was wrong. The door swung open easily, and I found myself facing the big, scary house.
Once again caught and intrigued by the many treasures that lined the walls and decorated the foyer, I stepped inside and powered up my camera. Luckily, it looked like it was going to cooperate today. I immediately started snapping away, with one pleasant little beep following right after another. Pictures of the pictures, pictures of the dried flowers and beautiful wooden tables, pictures of the piano that stood silent in the corner. And it wasn't until it popped up on my little LCD screen that I realized one of my pictures had caught none other than the psychopath I had encountered on my last visit. This time he had come from a doorway a few feet from the front door, opposite the staircase. I stared at his picture on the LCD for several heartbeats before I dared to look up at him. When we made eye contact, my stomach writhed with fear.
“You again,” he said quietly, in the same deep, rich voice I remembered from last time.
What could I say? Sure, I'm just a magnet for trouble?
“Yeah.” It was lame, but it would work.
He started to advance on me, running his hand along the wall as he went. Glancing toward the hand, I noticed gaunt, long fingers that ended in pointed, yellow fingernails. The kind that could really make you cringe if they got near a chalkboard. An involuntary shudder ran down my spine with the mental image, and suddenly I realized that he was only a couple of feet away. Far too close. I caught the vague scent of rich spices on him, but it wasn't something I was going to dwell on.
Instead, my mind finally shifted into gear and I brought my pepper spray out of my pocket, putting my camera in the other pocket in the same quick motion. “Stay back!” I threatened, shoving the nozzle at his face. I needed to make sure he got a good view of it. Maybe where he came from they didn't have fangled things like pepper spray.
When I registered the expression on his face, I felt confused. Even with the scarf over his face, I could see that he was smiling at the self-defense spray can. Why was he smiling at it? I dared to glance at the can, and realized with horror that the leather cover was still buttoned over the top. I couldn't even press the nozzle without the cover unbuttoned. It was like waving a gun in a hardened criminal's face without turning the safety off.
Furrowing my brow, I quickly snapped the cover off. There, that would show him. But he was still just smiling. I watched his amused gaze wander from the canister to my face, where it lingered, before straying lower to the rest of my body. I suddenly regretted wearing my cleavage shirt today.
“My name is Djibaaji. And your name is Cleo, am I correct?”
I shuffled slightly backwards from him. That just took the amount of creepy this was to a whole new level. “How do you know that?”
He glanced away from me as I waited for an answer, as though he didn't want to tell me. I understood his point of view. I probably wouldn't want to tell me either. But that didn't mean I was sympathetic toward him.
It was then, watching his face and expecting his reply, that I noticed for the first time the color of his eyes. As the leaves on one of the trees outside shifted and sunlight filtered through the open doorway, it struck his irises and gave off a tiny glint of gold. I leaned forward, trying to catch the sight again, and his eyes flicked back to me, watching as I stared into his eyes with a newfound fascination.
“Djibaaji, what's going on?” I heard someone say from behind me. I started with the unexpected intrusion, turned, and my finger clenched down on the nozzle. Unfortunately, it had drenched my hand and permeated the air around us before I realized that I was holding the canister backwards. Coughing and gagging as the gas filled my lungs and burned the inside of my body, I collapsed to the ground. Only a few moments later, I passed out entirely.

When I woke up, I was at home in bed, and I could have sworn that it was all a dream. It had to be. After all, how else would I have gotten home? However, when I pulled myself out of bed, I saw myself in the mirror and the realization that it had to have been real struck me like a pile of bricks. My hair was relatively unscathed, but my eyes were red and felt tired, my makeup was a complete disaster, and my face was covered in dried tears and snot. The hand that had taken most of the spray, my left, was red and itchy, and burned when I touched most things. Note to self- pepper spray equals ouch. Next time I plan on using it, I should probably make sure I'm pointing it the right direction first.
Disgusted with the sight of myself, I washed off my face and reapplied my make up. It was a quick job, but it did the trick and hid most of the irritation in my eyes. There wasn't much I could do about my hand, but I figured it would be better overnight. I adjusted everything else; bra, boob shirt, necklace, bracelet, hair, shoes. Okay. Most mortifying moment of my life successfully recovered from.
I timidly went downstairs, knowing that today was also my mom's day off and she was probably home. In fact, she probably had some idea of what happened.
“Mom?” I asked, coming into the living room. I was completely unprepared for what I found.
Sitting across from my mom drinking iced tea from one of our small green glasses was the guy who had walked in on me and Djibaaji. He looked like a punk teenager, hardly older than me, with the baggy jeans and chains and t shirt, but the shirt was white instead of black, and the jeans were a light blue instead of dark. Even his high tops were white. He was wearing a chain necklace and wore studs in his ears. His face seemed very pleasant and friendly, and if I weren't so inclined to dislike him simply for the fact that he made me spray that stupid pepper spray, I'd probably want to get to know him. His hair was bleach blond and worn in gel spikes, completing the punk-lite look. As I stopped dumbfounded in the doorway and my mom gave me a smile in greeting, he turned and waved. “Hello, Cleo. How are you feeling?”
I couldn't find words, so I just shook my head. Of all the things to see after waking up from that nightmare, this was the weirdest.
“Do you want some tea?” my mom asked. I shook my head, and she continued. “Felix was just telling me about how your can of pepper spray malfunctioned down by the shop. That's too bad, we'll have to see if we can get you another one.” I didn't have to look at Felix to see that it was taking all his effort to hold back a chuckle.
“I'm, uh, going to stop by work. I think I left my lipstick there yesterday.” Without waiting for an answer, I ran up the stairs to grab my purse and bolted out the door. Ugh. Way too awkward.
Twenty minutes later, with the sun low in the afternoon sky, I was pulling the door open to the shop and walking toward my regular table. However, I saw Dante and his friend sitting in the same corner they had claimed yesterday and turned right back around toward the door.
Well, shoot. If I sat down alone, Dante would know I was fibbing about having a boyfriend. But if I went home, there was the weird Dracula's friend Punky McPunkster waiting for me. Great.
I turned back around and chewed on my lip as I looked over the current crowd. Pickings were slim. Everyone was too old, too young, too skinny, too fat, or just plain the wrong gender. There was really only one possible candidate, a guy who had started coming into the shop a few weeks ago and who, as far as I could see, mostly kept to himself.
Inwardly cringing, but highly aware of Dante's eyes following my every move, I sauntered over to the stranger's table and sat down. “Hi,” I greeted with a friendly smile.
He was at the stage of life where he had developed a well structured body at a pleasant height with plenty of muscle to spare. His face was chiseled and strong, punctuated by a firm jawline and framing smart eyes. Those eyes were a beautiful dark blue, the color of an old pair of jeans. His hair was cut at a medium length, not quite heavy enough to lay down flat on his head; instead it stood free, stylishly tousled, but not as deliberately so as Dante's Mediterranean friend. As I sat down and greeted him, he looked up from his book with a furrowed brow and puzzled expression. “What are you-?”
“Just go with it,”I pleaded, my smile fading. “It's sort of... um, well. I just need you to pretend you're my boyfriend, okay?”
His hard brow line softened to a blank stare. “Are you insane?”
“Yeah, kinda.” Biting my lip, I remembered the ridiculous tip Dante had left me the day before. “If you do it, I'll pay you fifty bucks.”
His eyes dropped back down to his book. “I'm not an escort.”
I felt like stomping my feet and having a hissy fit. It sort of matched the mood I had been in ever since waking up. “Believe me, whatever you want, as long as it's reasonable, I'll give it to you.”
His gaze slid back up toward my face, where it lingered for a long moment. Then he looked away, out the window, considering his options. Under the table, I crossed my fingers.
“Alright,” he said, finally looking back at me. “I want a date.”
I straightened myself out in my chair. “What?”
He shrugged. “Maybe boyfriend is a little presumptuous at this point, but I could settle for dating.” A smile grew across his face and eased a bit of the tension I felt in the pit of my stomach.
I glanced toward Dante, who was still watching my every move and smirking smugly to himself. “Okay,” I agreed, looking back at my new fake boyfriend. “It's a deal.”
“I'm Vincent. You're Cleo, right?”
I jumped backward in my chair. “What? How do you know that?” I asked, my voice higher and more frantic than usual.
He gestured toward the counter where Kara was serving up coffee. “Your apron has a name tag when you're working.”
I felt my shoulders relax and slump a little. “Right.”
“So, tell me about it. Why are you so desperately in need of a boyfriend?”
I sighed and grimaced, not really wanting to divulge the story, but figuring I'd better.
“It's the redhead in the corner back there,” I said, caving against my better judgment. “Last night he... well, he made a move on me and I told him I had a boyfriend. And I know he didn't believe me, so now I'm just trying to back it up.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Right. Because that... makes perfect sense.”
I bit my lip. “Yeah, I know. Bad.”
“You must really dislike him.”
“Actually...”
“You like him.”
“Pretty much.”
He nodded. I could tell that my skewed logic was way beyond his power to comprehend. Funny, because it made perfect sense to me. In a weird, non-logical way.
“Well, first thing's first, then,” he said, standing up. I watched him, puzzled, as he walked around the table to stand behind me. I felt his hand slip onto my shoulders and he bent down to whisper in my ear. “We'd better make him jealous.”
I couldn't help but smile. Strange as it seemed, I felt like it was going to be very fun watching Dante fume across the shop. Vincent's hands dug into my shoulders to give me a fantastic, mind-numbing massage, while his mouth advanced from my ear to place a kiss on my cheek. Glancing over at Dante, he was no longer smirking. In fact, he looked thoroughly pissed.
“Excellent,” I muttered as Vincent migrated lower, tracing my skin down to my jawline and place a kiss on my neck. With that I gasped and my skin contracted into goosebumps. His massaging hands paused and he pulled away from my neck.
“Did I do something wrong?”
Blushing, I shook my head. “My neck's a very sensitive spot,” I confessed.
Vincent grinned and planted one more kiss, this time on my forehead. “I'll remember that for later.”
He straightened up to move back to his seat and, watching Dante across the room, I could tell that they exchanged a glance. Success! Dante was thoroughly fuming. I could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.
Someone cleared their throat behind me and I saw Vincent glance up at them. “Cleo?” the person asked. I turned, and lo and behold, it was none other than Felix the white-haired wonder.
I groaned. “Hi, Felix. Enjoy having tea with my mother?”
He grinned and moved to stand beside our table. “It was very good tea.”
In my aversion to looking him in the eye, I glanced in Dante's direction. Both he and his friend were at strict attention, watching my interaction with Felix. Maybe they knew each other?
When I didn't answer, Felix cleared his throat again and pulled something out of his pocket. “Anyway, I thought I'd return your pepper spray. You dropped it on the floor when you, uh...” he glanced at Vincent, then finished. “Passed out.”
I could feel the blood rushing to my head. “Don't remind me.”
Felix set the canister on the table, looked around the shop, and caught sight of Dante. “...Anyway... I should probably get going,” he said, still looking at Dante. Dante was giving him a heated glare. I probably wouldn't stick around either.
“Bye,” was all I offered.
Felix did his best to offer a smile, then turned and hurried out the door toward the house.
“Who was that?” Vincent asked with an eyebrow raised.
I winced, then once again gave into telling him about it. “He startled me today and I accidentally sprayed myself with the pepper spray. I think he took me home. All I really know is that I woke up in my own bed, and when I came downstairs, he was drinking iced tea with my mom.”
Vincent grinned and shook his head. “Who are you?”
I ran a hand through my hair, no longer caring what it looked like. “I wish I knew.”
It was then, only a couple of minutes after Felix left, that Dante and his groupie headed out the door, canes in hand, walking purposefully toward the house across the street. I watched them cross the street in the dim glow of the street light, then they disappeared into the house behind Felix. Great. They knew each other.
“Well, I should probably get going,” I told Vincent. “Nice meeting you.”
He smiled and watched me stand up. “You too. Need me to walk you home?”
I nearly cringed at the offer. “No thanks,” I responded as politely as possible. I'd decided that guys walking me home was too dangerous. You never knew when we might end up making out on the front porch.
I left Vincent reading his book once again, and I walked home in the fading sunlight of twilight. But I was in the middle of the city, and there were plenty of street lights, so it wasn't as though it was dark. Besides, I was armed with pepper spray once more, even if I would probably never dare pull the trigger again. The only thing I really hated on the walk home was how chilly it got in the evening; I even found myself wishing I had Dante's coat again. But I was too proud to admit that to myself, so I resolved that it really wasn't all that cold and set off at an even more brisk pace.