Dead Pretty

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 …” I sigh and shake my head. “Basically, long story short, you’re better off elsewhere.”
And now, I’m explaining myself to a cat.
This is what solitude will do to a person.
I keep walking, and when I reach my door, the cat is next to my feet, brushing up against my leg.
“I don’t have kitty food, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I sigh down at the cat, who is just looking up at me. “The last cat I liked … well, let me just say, it didn’t work out so well for him.”
The little stray meows up at me.
I sigh again and put my key in the door, unlocking it. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I open the door, and the cat trots on in.
I close the door behind us and lock it. Slide the upper and lower dead bolts into place and put on the chain.
I put my bag down and then do a sweep of the apartment, like I always do. A routine I have to do every time I come home.
Checking all the rooms, every place a person could possibly hide in my small apartment. I make sure the windows are still locked. And I turn on all the lights. Even though it’s still light outside, it will be dark soon, and I don’t like walking into any room when it’s dark.
When my search is done, I come back to the living room. The cat has made itself at home on the sofa.
I shrug off my coat, hanging it up, and kick off my shoes.
“You hungry, huh?” I walk into the kitchen. “Well, I don’t have cat food. But I think I have some canned tuna.”
I reach into the cupboard and get a can of tuna, hidden behind the soup.
I get a clean saucer from the dishwasher and open up the can.
The cat is up and jumping onto the counter straightaway. I probably should tell her to get down—hygiene reasons and all—but she’s so lovely that I can’t bring myself to.
“You hungry, cutie?” I murmur, giving the cat a stroke.
I open the can and empty it out onto the saucer. The cat is on