I rub my hands together in anticipation. He must be ugly. Maybe fat. Maybe bald. Maybe he’s missing some teeth. Whoever he is, whatever he might be hiding, I want to see it.
I click on the attachment to open the picture and tilt my head in confusion at what appears before me.
Mack is . . .
Attractive. Huh.
I don’t know what I was expecting. The picture is of a man, maybe in his early twenties, which would mean I’m a little older than him, which also surprises me. His hair is a sandy blond verging on ginger, and his eyes are a deep-set gray-green. Striking, but there’s also a surprising amount of darkness behind them. They’re larger and a little far apart. His jaw is wide and square. And his body is that of a man who goes to the gym. Wide shoulders and thick biceps covered with a light gray-green shirt that’s almost an exact match to his eyes.
For some reason, this surprises me as well. Maybe I just assumed he was like me. Maybe I’m a little let down at the thought that he’s not a shut-in. A hermit. An Emily Dickinson type. But no . . . he looks really normal. Hot, actually. Like a guy who goes for a run out in the city, and when he stops at a traffic light, a woman might tap on his broad shoulder and ask for his number.
Why am I so disappointed? God, I’m such a fucking weirdo. As if I didn’t need more reasons to feel like a freak. What was I expecting? A fucking fish monster?
Mack: So, what do you think?
Jules: Hm. You’re beautiful too.
Mack: Now you’re the one who sounds disappointed.
Jules: You look like a movie star or something.
Mack: And you look like a model.
Jules: Don’t worry, like I said, on the inside, I’m nothing but a black hole.
Mack: Well, I don’t think you’re a black hole. I think you’re funny. And smart. And a great conversationalist.
Jules: You wouldn’t feel that way about me if you met me.
Mack: I think I would.
Warmth trickles into my belly at his words. The thing about Mack is that he’s liked me even before seeing me. I don’t think I’ve ever had a relationship like that.
But the more I stare at his picture, the more it looks off to me, a little distorted and glassy, actually. Like it’s a reflection of something. A picture of a picture.
Until I realize it is.
I scroll through my old messages and open the picture of Mack’s tank. The one with the weird creature in it. Next to the tank is a framed picture.
The general shape and color are familiar.
I toggle back to the picture of Mack and then back to the framed picture. The color scheme is the same until I’m positive that, for some reason, Mack took a picture of the picture.
Why wouldn’t he just take a selfie and send it?
Why would he take a picture of a picture? It’s so weird, and it doesn’t add up.
And then in the very corner of the reflection on the glass in the alleged picture of Mack’s face, almost completely camouflaged against Mack’s sea-green T-shirt . . . I see another face. That same face from before.
This time I see the whole thing.
The creature in the reflection isn’t Mack’s fish.
The creature in the reflection is the one taking the picture.
Chapter 4
“You should ask him to do a video call.” Kate’s face is shoved in the crack of the door between the chain and the lock.
It rattles as I pull the chain and release the door.
Kate walks in and toes her shoes off, handing off a cup of rocket fuel coffee from the shop downstairs. I haven’t gone in over two weeks now.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I say and sip the liquid, letting it scald my throat. It’s painful. I love it. “You didn’t see Jason out there, did you?”
I flip the lock on my door.
Kate narrows her eyes and plops down on the couch. She pulls out a small takeaway box that I recognize from the coffee shop from her purse and pops it open to reveal a trio of Makrouta cookies. “No, not today. You know last time I saw him he grabbed my ass? But that was years ago. I let it slide. But now . . . Now I’d punch him in his fucking face if he tried that again.”
“Don’t try it. He’ll have you arrested. There’s no winning with cops. And why didn’t you tell me about that?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. But look . . .” She gestures at me in the robe she gave me, hair in a messy top knot. “You’re already worried about everything, so at this point, I don’t really think I could make you worse.”
I scurry to the couch and sit next to her, crisscross applesauce with the sacred sludge between my hands.
Kate reaches into the box and offers me a cookie. I accept and shove it in my mouth. I haven’t even eaten breakfast today, and it’s already one p.m. I know because that’s the time Kate said she’d be over.
“So, what was such a big deal that I had to come over in person? You know you can come to me as well. When’s the last time you left your neighborhood?”
