I squeeze myself for comfort. “Then no, I’m not scared of you.”
I search deep within every nook and cranny of my body to evaluate whether or not what I’m saying is true. I think my body is still in shock. I can’t feel my hands or my feet. I can’t stop staring. My mind is quite literally blown at the creature in front of me. Creature?
Is he a creature though?
He seems like a human.
“Jules.”
“Yes?”
“I need you to leave now.”
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious. I need you to leave and never come back. I need you to leave and forget you ever saw me. Do you understand?”
I scrunch my face. “Excuse me. That’s a very rude way to talk to your guest. The least you could do is offer me some coffee.”
He gestures around his barren apartment. There’s not much in it except for a white couch and his large tank. Next to the tank on the side that was out of the frame of the picture is a tall desk that comes all the way to the top of the tank.
On the surface of the desk is a laptop.
“Does this place look like it has coffee?”
“You don’t drink coffee? Weirdo,” I scoff. Then my eyes go big when I realize the implications of my words. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m going to ask you one more time, politely, to leave. And if you don’t listen, then I’ll have to physically remove you.”
I glare. “I came all the way to your apartment just to be treated like a criminal?”
“You said you lived just down the street.” Because he has no idea the strength it took me to get here. “And you quite literally are a criminal. You broke into my house.”
“I used a key.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
“And we’re friends.”
“Then I’m sorry, we aren’t anymore.”
Well, that just pisses me off. How could he treat me this way? First of all, he’s a liar. He doesn’t have a fish in his apartment. Second of all, he’s denying our friendship, and I think that’s the part that hurts most. And third of all, now that I’m here, I don’t want to go.
I know it’s weird. Normally, I’ll do anything to return to the safety of my apartment. But now . . .
Tears nip at the corners of my eyes. I feel betrayed.
I wipe away the feeling. “I can’t believe you’d say that to me,” I say and swing around, my hand on the doorknob. “I thought I knew you. Guess I was wrong.”
Then I turn around one more time, throwing the key as hard as I can. It splats against his scaly abdomen, where I notice the outline of abdominal muscles, like a six-pack. What a strange combination.
The key falls to the ground with a sad little clink in the middle of a wet spot.
“Fuck you, Mack! You’re an asshole.”
And I slam the door.
***
I don’t remember coming home. I don’t remember walking back into my apartment. I don’t remember slinking into my robe and then fully submerging myself into the bathtub. I don’t remember any of it.
Until I wake up. My eyes pop open, and I’m in the water.
I emerge, breath heaving.
When did I fall asleep in here?
What the hell have I been doing?
But then the memories of the day fall back into my consciousness, and a familiar sick feeling trickles over me. I step out of the tub, my wet feet slapping against the floor, and peel off my robe, hastily throwing it onto my drying rack and wrapping myself in a warm towel.
I scrub myself down. And then I notice a small little green dot on my forearm. I scratch at it with my fingernail.
A mole?
It doesn’t look like a mole; it kind of flicks back and forth. I clasp it between two fingernails.
“Ouch! Fuck!”
