Page 8 of Throwing Shade
I was a game and a not-even-entertaining one at that?
My ears filled with a loud whooshing sound and the hard black ball of rage that had been tamped down under years of pleasant smiles, shrugging off slights, and losing myself bit by bit, shattered. A churning, thrashing wave surged up from my depths, rushing out to fill every inch of me. It crackled the air, charging it with a dangerous sharpness.
This was my chance to take up space. Make a fuss.
Reclaim myself or risk disappearing altogether.
I stomped on Alex’s instep and yanked free. Grabbing the small aerosol can of maximum strength hair spray in my purse, I blasted him with the sharp citrus-smelling spray. Pity mace was illegal in Canada.
“Take thaaa—”
Alex swore. He made a circle with his index finger and thumb, then shot them out in pistol formation.
An unseen force pried my hand open and I dropped the bottle, which rolled into the shadows and under a dumpster that had been pushed away from the wall.
He—what—fuuuuuck….
Eyes red and watery, Alex caught me by the throat, slowly crushing my windpipe.
I gasped, losing precious breath, and frantically scrabbled for purchase on tiptoe while his shadow asphyxiated mine in a gross parody of the real thing, the bare bulb above a back door spotlighting this deadly pantomime.
My scream was barely a whisper.
Images rushed through my mind: Eli’s sweet smile the first time he asked me out, me holding a newborn Sadie against my chest… even work earlier took on a nostalgic air. A wave of dizziness rushed through me, my lungs straining for oxygen, while black dots danced at the edge of my vision.
Dying was not the new game plan.
I closed my eyes and returned to the door in my head. I’d run out of options. Gritting my teeth, I threw it wide open, a weight I’d carried for years lifting off my chest. The door slammed shut behind me with a startling finality, but for better or for worse, I’d stepped through to the other side.
My shadow rose up, independent of any contact with me. Suddenly, I was in two places at once: paralyzed in my physical body and inside my shadow, a bouncy, fluid entity that had weight and substance.
Seen through the shadow, the world took on a green overlay like some type of night vision, but all looked normal through my real eyes. It was vertiginous seeing two versions of the world simultaneously.
Alex froze, craning his head up to look at my shadow, which hovered above him. In his shock, he slackened his grip. “You’re not a sap.”
That was an oddly old-fashioned insult.
“Nope.” I made a weak fist, feeling my shadow do the same. Giddy, I hopped from one foot to the other. Punch him in his fat trouty mouth.
My shadow had a hell of a left cross.
Alex’s head snapped back. His faint stubble rasped my knuckles as if I’d hit him myself, and my physical hand stung.
Frowning, I flexed my fingers, gingerly touching a scraped knuckle.
My shadow skittered up a wall.
With another specific hand gesture, Alex pinned my arms against my sides, magically glued my feet to the dirty concrete, and sealed my mouth shut.
I thrashed against my invisible bindings, my heart thundering against my ribs.
The night vision flared stronger for a moment. My shadow. Right. A hysterical laugh burbled up.
It dropped down on Alex like a net. He punched his way out, every blow knocking me double, and the shadow jumped off him, spinning mid-air to land in a boxer’s crouch and launch a flurry of hits.
The magic binding on my feet disappeared, ratcheting down my panic a notch. If I got the upper hand, I could free myself.
Each meaty thwack shuddered through me, my actual knuckles split and aching. I was a bookworm, not a boxer, but my shadow was a warrior and through it, I hungered to make Alex pay.
