Fruitbat

7. 7

7

Si

12:13 am

Rickety wood stairs creak and whine as I descend into the basement. Concrete block walls narrow into the shadows at the bottom. The cold air of open space, to my left, triggers goosebumps up my arm and the open door to a small bathroom is straight ahead, barely visible in the darkness. I pull the string—tickling my ear—dangling from the raftered ceiling. A bare bulb flickers and chases back the dark, exposing piles of boxes and clutter, draped in cobwebs. The room reeks of damp and mildew.

I poke my head into the toilet closet, search the wall with my fingers, and flip a switch, igniting a frame of lights surrounding an old dressing-room-style mirror above the sink .

I close myself in, twist the faucet on, and study my ghoulish face in the reflection, scoffing at having forgotten I was dressed as the undead. That must have been a frightening sight to wake to. —Poor Danny. No wonder he freaked out.

I fold over the sink and splash my face, using the pads of my fingers to scrub the Halloween makeup away. The best I manage is smearing it into a muddy mess. I peek out to the hoarded storage area, looking for something to help, and spot an open box of paper towels.

I collect a fresh roll, then notice a rack of hung clothes in a far corner. I squeeze past stacked boxes, to peek at the selection, hoping I can replace my tattered costume. There just happens to be a purple button-down, my best color. It’s slightly large but I can work with that.

I slip back into the toilet, wash my face, change my shirt and reconfigure my dampened curls.

The button-down sags on my frame but I roll the sleeves and leave my ragged crop-top in a pile on the clutter, before switching all the lights off and race the shadows, chasing me up the stairs.

Danny is still perched on the stool, swigging his coffee and gazing out the window at the quiet street. His pale cheeks are softly flushed in peachy hues and the artery in his thick neck pulses under his skin.

He turns toward me as I round the shelves and cross the store, heading back to the counter, giving him a slow spin along the way .

One dimple forms at the edge of his half-smile. His gleaming eyes scan me from head to toe and back, lingering on my chest for a moment.

I puff up, to give him a little show.