To Love What Draws Your Blood-5

Wednesday had come. Usually, Angli was prepping and posturing, getting ready to go to the WLTL meetings but we all know who she’d been prepping and posturing for. This Wednesday, she’d gotten out of school and just started walking—walking down streets and sidewalks, through lawns and most probably sprinklers but if she had, she didn’t notice. She’d nearly been hit by a car about five times in the first thirty minutes she’d began her futile journey. Back to zombie-mode, my friends.1

She’d started around three-fifteen in the afternoon and suddenly stopped walking around three hours later, just to see where she was. And could you guess where she was? That’s right, the good ole café/bookstore/concert hall she’d ended up every Wednesday for the past few months. Could it be destiny? Either way, she was about seven miles from home now and she just realized ... she was human and her feet hurt like hell. She wondered, if she hadn’t have stopped walking, would she have noticed her feet aching or the exhaustion that was suddenly plaguing her?2

Angli crossed the street and went into the café/bookstore/concert hall, heading straight to the bathrooms where she stuck her face under the running water in the perfectly white sink. She stood there, hunched over the sink as the water drained the three-day-old mascara she’d left on from that marvelously joyous Slap Happy Sunday. She even had some of the upside-down crosses and 666s on her body—she’d just been standing in the shower every day, letting the water run over the body she’d hated since she controlled her own mind, which in a way had never actually happened.3

Five minutes had passed by the time she stood up straight, staring blankly into her reflection, the leftover make up exaggerating the dark circles around her eyes. Everyone who walked in and out of the bathroom figured she was either high or sleeping with her eyes open, standing over a sink in a restroom for some unknown reason.4

She’d been in there ten minutes now, not even staring at herself, her eyes only locked on her reflection without consciousness. That’s what staring is, looking at something, taking in some sort of detail rather than simply having your eyes on it. She couldn’t stare anymore; her eyes wondered but taking nothing in, like a ceramic doll. Except they had more of a glow in their eyes than she did.5

Finally, she stepped away from the mirror, not even thinking to wipe off the make up. Not even thinking at all. She wandered out of the restroom and down the long, tan hall of the short building, focusing on the black and white floor tiles pass as she walked, stopping at the tall front door. She just gazed out the glass door, not thinking, hardly feeling until a person stepped up to the opposite side of the door, just staring at her. Her eyes didn’t move until he put his hand on her shoulder—gently, not like Craig had. “You okay?” he asked, leaning closer to get some sort of eye contact but she looked like a zombie.6

That was the first time anybody had ever asked if she was “okay” rather than asking what was “up” with her.7

He kept asking until Angli finally returned from her foggy mind and actually looked at who was standing in front of her, who had his hand on her shoulder, causing at least some sort of spark inside. “Huh?” she said dully, trying to shake her head awake.8

“I said, are you all right?”9

Damn he was beautiful and she smirked and nodded slowly but didn’t say anything; she couldn’t get any noise to come from her mouth other than those variable grumbles: “Huh” “Uh” and “Uh-huh.”10

Chrissake, the girl looks like fucking a rape victim, Caleb thought as he welcomed her into the circle of four chairs she’d usually seen him sitting in. He got a napkin from the café and wetted it under the stubby water fountain, custom made for the life-long coffee consumers. He sat back down sort of in front of her and sort of beside her where he took the damp napkin and wiped away the lines of make up caked under her eyes. She still looked out of it but at least she was partially present. “What happened to you?” he asked, as he finished wiping the junk off her face. She wished he had wiped her entire face off along with the damn make up.11

Angli finally returned to the world 75% and was able to speak English rather than caveman. “I walked,” she said quietly, wiping her palm against her numbed cheek, still damp from the sink and napkin. That’s all he got out of her for a while until she continued a few minutes later. “I’ve been walking....”12

“Walking?” he said with a confused frown. “Were you hit by a semi?” He stared at her, hoping for some sort of smile for his lame joke but she just kept her hand on her cheek in silence. “How long were you walking?”13

Angli kept wiping her face, even after it was dry. “Since school,” she said, taking the wet napkin, putting it to her mouth. Her lips were on burning up and it wasn’t because of him, surprisingly enough.14

“It’s six-thirty,” he said, staring down at his cell phone, all shiny and red, just like Craig’s face. She looked at the phone, the napkin still bearing down on her lips. She fucking hated cell phones. “You’ve been walking for three hours ... are you on the track team?”15

She heard him this time and chuckled, still cooling her lips. It’s definitely the apocalypse—Angli Kauferman just chuckled.16

“You want something to drink?” he said suddenly, standing up and pulling a few dollars from his pocket—he wasn’t the wallet kind of guy. “I can get you some water, coffee, pop ... juice, do you want juice? I can get you juice. Do you like juice? Or tea? They have tea.” A determined guy, this one.17

Angli shook her head and actually formed something that resembled a smile—not a smirk, a smile. Now that’s progress. “I’m okay,” she said, a blatant lie, obviously. She was as hydrated as the damned in hell—and as lucky, too. “I’ll be okay.”18

He started nodding, trying to figure out a way to make her more comfortable. You’d have to search the globe to find someone who nodded while they were thinking, nervous or angry as much as Caleb Schumacher did. Let the search begin, friends.19

He smiled and went to the bar, returning with a mug, filled with milk. “They say milk is a ‘calming substance,’” he said, placing the mug down on the table in front of her.20

She blinked up and looked at him. “Who?” He was bordering familiar territory.21

He shrugged with a smile, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Daria Morgendorfer.” His pearly white teeth disappeared as he let out his closemouthed chuckle. Oh, he was just marvelous! If he watched Daria he had to be heaven sent! “You look a bit ... upset. It might help....” He smiled and shrugged and inched the mug closer to her. “Wanna try it ... maybe?”22

Angli looked at his hand that had slightly pushed the mug to her and finally took the mug and took a sip, it tasted more like creamer than milk but either way, it did calm her senses down in a way. Not that they necessarily needed calming in the first place—more like awakening but he tried and that’s what counts. She kept staring at his hand, wondering if that hand would be slapping her sometime in the future. Probably. She’d probably deserve it, too. “Thank you,” she said nearly inaudibly as she set the mug down.23

Caleb nodded, he wished he could do more for her. She really did look like a rape victim, which she was; her personality had been raped, which is still under the same category, I suppose. “I would have given you a horsemeat steak but ... you’re not Siberian. Well, not that I know of. Are you Siberian?”24

Horsemeat steak? she thought, as she shook her head no. Finally, some sort of actual mental spark. Also progress. “I’m not Siberian ... I’m cursed,” she said, surprising both of them—she hadn’t said anything remotely emotionally in touch with herself in days.25

“Is there a difference?” After he said that, he ventured on trying to figure out what was funny about that ... but he decided to tend to the emotionally raped girl instead. “Why are you cursed?”26

“Whining again, I see,” Craig said, stepping up to them with his annoyingly egotistic grin that tried to cover the fact that he got shut down the night before. His “goods” were still swollen from her nut cracking legs. He should at least enjoy it—it wouldn’t be swollen without help from some sort of enlarging device or drug ... until he got reincarnated into a horse that is. Aww, poor little Craigy. “Are you stalking me, Angli, you fucking—”27

“She’s here with me,” Caleb cut in, startling Angli. She looked at him and then turned back at Craig as Caleb continued. “But do feel free to finish that sentence ... just finish it and see if you’ll be able to have kids after I’m done with you. Try it.” He stood up in front of Craig—he was at least six inches taller than the little twerp and they all knew he’d crush him like a Sumo wrestler on a piece of shrimp. If only it were Caleb who had showed up in her room the night before—Angli probably wouldn’t have been able to ride a horse for days!28

Craig tried to hide how petrified he actually was by walking off, glaring at Angli as his only defense. She knew he was thinking she was a bitchy, whore wetback but CALEB SCHUMACHER had just defended her! If that didn’t make her smile, she’d be hopeless. Either way, she did smile.29

After Caleb had bought her a club sandwich and more milk, he offered to take her home, which, as zombie-like as she might have been, she would never ignore. He walked her out, one hand touching her right arm to guide her and the other flipping Craig off behind them. She wouldn’t be washing that arm for a while. He’d touched it. Angli hadn’t been led anywhere in a long time—she’d always followed people to the destination, but never guided lightly like a Shepard did his flock. I suppose being led like a sheep was better than trailing behind like a lost dog—one included care from the leader.30

Caleb drove his dad’s gargantuan black pickup truck seven miles away from that café/bookstore/concert hall and to Angli’s house. He had had to stop at an abandoned parking lot just to get her to speak—she’d returned to her trance as soon as she got into the truck. She’d been mute the entire drive, besides those few moments it took for her to explain where she lived.31

Angli partially tuned in when they got to her neighborhood. She silently pointed to her house where he parked in the driveway—not the curb. The Driveway. Yes, he was a different one. He even walked with her and warned her about the Mother Hole as they walked to the door—perceptive, too.32

At that point, Angli was still emerging from her trance and finally enjoying that moment with Caleb’s hand on the small of her back and his questions to make sure she’d be all right. It was all a beautiful moment, even though their shoes were muddied from that mud pie lawn and they were both feeling that sandwich after riding down that bumpy road, which led to her house. Through it all, Angli would never give that moment up ... until the front door rushed open and her mother dashed out, screaming her daughter’s name at the top of her lungs along with the very praising words of “You ugly slut.”33

As much as you might think Angli would have snapped out of her trance and into reality, alert to see what her mother was so upset over, she did the opposite and disappeared back into her android-like behavior.34

“I will not have some tramp living in my house, Angli!” her mother went on, holding up (with Angli’s tweezers, of course) the empty condom Judie had found beside the trash in the bathroom. Stupid Craig couldn’t even throw the damn thing away properly.35

Her mother took her arm and yanked her away from the safety of Caleb’s grip, holding her so close Angli could smell both the woman’s pungent deodorant and bitter breath, which would set the gag reflexes on overload to anyone besides Angli who was fairly unaware of what was going on. “You little skank, you will not corrupt my family anymore. You’re just like your father—a slut.”36

She flung away Angli’s arm, pushing her back onto the lawn where she fell into Caleb who’d been planning on catching her, both slipping and landing hard and sodden in the mud of the yard.37

“Leave! I don’t want to see your face,” she said as Caleb helped her daughter to her feet. She looked Angli over, detesting her mere existence with every muddy inch she saw. “You look like a pig, Angli ... It suits you.”38

Caleb took Angli back to the truck and drove ... just drove. The entire time, Angli said not a word and simply stared straight ahead. She was gone somewhere, not thinking, not feeling, not wanting, not needing—hardly being. It was nice for a change but Caleb brought her out of that world, which would lead to more destruction than anyone had ever anticipated.39