Page 75 of Vile Bastards
“Let me buy you some food, Widow.” I sit up a little straighter and shift in my seat so that I’ve got a better look at him. “Also, slow down a bit up here. We’re entering yuppie central. There are cops all the fuck over this place.” He does as I ask, but he’s still frowning, amber eyes lost in thought.
“I don’t want my woman to buy me anything. I’m the man. It’s my responsibility.”
“How old-fashioned of you,” I quip, grateful to be away from Alexis, from my mom, mostly just excited to drive around with Widow and do absolutely nothing at all. I’ve been doing a lot of somethings lately: wrangling fuckboys, winning races, dying and coming back to life. Maybe I’ll skip first period tomorrow, take Nisha and Basti with me over to Treasure’s place? We can get our fingers and toes done.
I take a look at my naked nails. The hospital removed whatever was left of my Halloween manicure. It’s definitely time to freshen them up a bit. When I died in the river, they got pretty banged up.
“There’s nothing old-fashioned about that; I’ll buy you whatever snacks you want.”
“You have money?” I ask, and he gives me this sideways glare that lights up the embers in my belly. He’s cute when he’s mean, you know.
“I have enough.” Just that. Worst case scenario, we’ll steal our snacks today. It’s easy as fuck to rob grocery stores. Oftentimes, there’s not even a security guard present. The law is weirdly skewed toward the shoplifter’s benefit anyway. At least around here it is. Employees can’t touch you. They can only ask nicely for you to accompany them to the office. And, since we’re now in Springfield’s sister city, Eugene, the cops don’t even respond to calls of theft under a thousand bucks.
The only reason I don’t rob Market of Cost more often is because I enjoy coming here, and I don’t want to be blacklisted and harassed by overzealous employees on my return visits.
Widow parks near the front doors, giving the store an odd look as we head inside together. He stares at the fancy beeswax candles, shaped like fruits and cats and owls, picking one up to look at the price on the bottom.
“Thirty bucks for a candle?” he chokes out, looking around the place the way I did when I first stopped in here. Actually, I came here originally on a dare from … Lemon. She bet me I couldn’t successfully steal a cart of groceries without getting caught. I did. I liked what I stole. I came back later with hard-earned track money.
“It’s another world, isn’t it?” I grab a basket and lead Widow—who attracts even more strange looks than I do—over to the cheese counter. Legit, a whole section of the store devoted to weird cheese with an employee who’s paid to just talk up cheddar all day. Get it? Cheddar is slang for money, in case you missed the memo.
I don’t expect to see Ash…pen standing there while the girl in the green apron gushes excitedly about a cheese called Humboldt Fog, gesturing wildly with her hands and batting her eyelashes.
He’s smiling absently, but his gaze is far away and broken, arms crossed over his chest. He knows I’m there before he even turns; I can see it in the way his entire body stiffens up under the pretentious designer suit he’s wearing.
“Did you fucking bring me here just so you could see him?” Widow asks, his voice a warning behind me. I shiver all over, the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing on end, and then I flick a quick look over my shoulder.
“How the hell was I supposed to know he was going to be here? He doesn’t text me, doesn’t call me, doesn’t talk to me at all anymore.” I look back at Ash, only to see him staring at me. His eyes shift to the side, as if he’s looking to ensure that nobody’s watching us.
I decide to ignore him, turning away and picking through a cooler full of pre-packaged cheeses and gourmet sausages. Widow remains where he is, facing Ash, shoulders back, gaze menacing.
“What are you doing here?” Ash asks me, his voice almost entirely free of that British accent. He’s getting better at holding his real self in, and that scares me. I don’t want him to become Aspen. I didn’t like Aspen. Fuck, I hated Aspen so much that I killed him.
“Shopping for snacks.” It’s Widow that says it. I continue to ignore Ash, picking up a round cheese and studying the label. It says Humboldt Fog, and I scoff, chucking it into my basket. That’s how it is with me and Ash, coincidence and meet-cutes galore. I know he’s actively trying to avoid me, so how is it that we keep running into one another? “Off you go on your merry way, Kelly. This has nothing to do with you.”
