Dead Pretty - Samantha Towle Page 0,1

is over, I walk back to my apartment. I take a leisurely stroll. I’m not in any particular rush. It’s not snowing at the moment, and it’s not like I have anything to get home for.

Although it might not be snowing, it’s still as cold as balls here in Jackson. Typical Wyoming weather for this time of year. Not that I’m from around here. But when I moved here, I quickly learned to keep myself well wrapped up, so I wouldn’t freeze to death.

It’s not a way I want to die.

It’s on my list, among a few other routes to death, of things I would rather avoid.

I meander down the sidewalk, and I people-watch as I go. I’m not really sure why I do it because all it does is make me feel envious of those people living their lives the way they want to. Out shopping with friends or loved ones. Couples hand in hand.

And now, all I’m reminded of is what my life used to be like before everything happened.

If you had asked me a couple of years ago where I saw myself, it sure as hell wouldn’t have been here.

I decide to stop at the coffee shop I pass daily and grab a takeout hot chocolate.

I push through the door and enter the warmth of the shop. My eyes do a quick scan of the place, and I stop in my tracks.

The stranger from the library is here.

My heart does a weird jolt in my chest. I don’t know why.

The stranger is sitting at a table in the back. He has a book in his hand.

My eyes travel down to the book he’s holding. It’s the one he checked out earlier.

I know that because I was seated at the computer near the checkout desk, looking up when a book was expected in. I surreptitiously watched while my manager, Margaret, checked his book out. They made small talk. I wasn’t close enough to hear.

It was the nearest I had been to him so far.

And, yes, it is weird that I’m cataloguing these facts.

I’m starting to think I have truly lost my mind.

Or that I left it back in Chicago before I moved here.

The stranger looks up from the book in his hand, and I quickly avert my eyes, acting as though I didn’t see him.

Not that he knows who I am.

You know, because I’m the weird library lurker.

My nerves are all over the place. I’m not sure why because it’s not like he knows me. Or that I have seen him at the library.

I’m relieved though when my drink is ready and I can leave.

I pick up my drink, but before I make for the exit, I give one quick look in the stranger’s direction.

He’s staring right at me. My eyes meet with his.

My stomach flips over.

His lips tip up into a friendly smile.

I quickly look away, turn, and walk out of the coffee shop.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Why am I so affected by this guy’s presence? I don’t even know him!

It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.

The only thing I can come up with is because he’s hot and I am physically attracted to him.

It has been a long time since I have felt any form of attraction to any man, so that’s why my hormones are overreacting.

That is all it can be.

It’s quiet outside when I let myself in my building.

I walk up the stairs to the second floor, where my apartment is.

As I turn down the hall, I see a cat sitting in the hallway.

A bad memory crawls over my skin. But I force it away.

The cat watches me approach.

It’s gray and white. Fluffy. Totally adorable.

I stop when I reach it. Bend down and give it a pet. “Hey, cutie.”

It meows, nuzzling its head against my hand.

“What are you doing out here, all by your lonesome?”

I look around to see if anyone else is in the hall, maybe its owner, but no sign of anyone.

I check for a collar, but it isn’t wearing one.

Maybe it’s a stray that got in the building.

Do I just leave it here?

It would be mean to just leave it, but my track record with cats is not good.

The last cat I liked was killed.

Because of me.

My spine stiffens. I stand abruptly and start to walk away toward my apartment.

Seconds later, guilt catches up with me, and I glance back over my shoulder.

The cat is following me.

“Oh, honey, no, you don’t want to follow me. Cats and me, well, we are …”