Accounts of Dominic. October 2017.
"I heard about more missing persons in the woods. I worry about you when you go out there," Layla lays her concerns in the open about my job again as I walk her home.
I proceed with the routine reassurance, "Someone's got to figure out if one of the animals has become a man-eater, and if it has, take it out."
"It's just so dangerous, the contract isn't worth your life," she clutches my sleeve, resting her head on my shoulder and looking at me with her lovely almond eyes. The steam of her breath rises and floats away in the cold.
I close my eyes so I'm not tempted to rudely roll them out of fading patience.
I've lost count of how many times she's brought this very thing up. I know she means well, this is her way of showing she cares, but it just affirms that she'll never get it. I don't do it for the money, I do it because it's what I was made to do.
I love the openness of the woods, the peace of mind, the solitude and even the thrill of danger from the uncharted forest itself.
"It's what I know, Layla. It's just what I do."
"Yeah, but it makes me nervous, you know?"
"Yeah, I know."
We reach the door to her lavish duplex. The walkway is always swept, not one stray crack in the cement. The suburban lawn doesn't have a blade of grass out of place, like they go out and pluck stray ones with tweezers.
It's clean, dare I say, too clean. There's no personality to it like some of the older, roughed up places in this town. I prefer the mildly rundown and worn to upscale areas like this.
Layla pulls her keys out from her bag. Fidgeting with them as she tucks a piece of her carefully styled hair behind her ear. She shuffles her foot against the edge of the welcome mat, I think she's unconsciously straightening it in her coy fidgeting.
She's stalling, she wants me to come inside and stay the night.
I take a moment to admire her. She looks beautiful as always, well dressed, well groomed and has that lovely sweet pea perfume on.
She glances up at me with her smoking amber bedroom eyes. A dream girl, gorgeous in every regard but I don't feel the spark anymore.
I don't know if I ever really did.
We're not together, but I need to break this off sooner than later. This isn't right of me.
"What are your plans for the rest of the night?" she hints as if her physical hints aren't obvious enough.
My thoughts wander back to that mystery woman. I haven't been able to get her off my mind. She's been silently consuming my thoughts to the point of Josh questioning me over it.
I don't get how that guy catches on to the most unusual things. I didn't tell him about her but he somehow knew, it's like he could smell another woman on me. Although, his reaction was notably odd.
He told me to "be careful". Probably because of this 'kind-of-a-thing-kind-of-not-a-thing' with Layla.
'You're being an Asshole. Tell her things have changed.'
"Layla, Um," I reach for the back of my neck, rubbing the crick out of it, "You know this thing with us… Do you see it going anywhere?"
She tilts her head, wetting her bottom lip. She looks anxious and somewhat hopeful, "Do you want it to go somewhere, Dominic?"
Damn, why is she looking at me like that. It shouldn't be this hard.
"I don't know. You know how I am about all that. I ask because I don't think it's fair… To you."
She looks down disappointed, still fiddling with her keys. One finger sliding one key after another in an endless loop.
"I know," she shifts her weight, playing with her hair again, "I'm willing to wait until you're comfortable with the idea. I don't want to push you."
Why? Why are you doing this, Layla? You could easily get anyone. Why am I such a dick?
"What if," I pause, I shoving my hands in my pockets, squinting at her fancy heels, "I never feel comfortable with the idea."
She's searching my eyes with big, worried amber ones. My stomach starts to knot. I scratch at the lint in one pocket compulsively. 'Please, no tears.' I have no idea what to do with myself when people start crying.
She lowers her gaze, digging a foot into the welcome mat, "I'm a patient person."
"Very, a little too patient."
She chuckles softly, glancing up with that warm tenderness that I can't help but adore, "Yeah, I probably am but I like being around you Dominic. You're honest and thoughtful," she looks away biting her lip shyly, "And cute. I'm willing to be patient… With you."
"I like being with you too."
'No, don't say that, idiot! This is not a way to distance yourself.'
Am I honest? Maybe. Thoughtful? Not so much.
A kittenish smile forms on her lips, "Would you like to come inside. I found an old western flick I thought you'd like," she grins a little wider, "I've got popcorn. It's the good stuff, extra butter. And I have leftovers if you're hungry."
Leftovers, is it her lasagna? She's a damn good cook. That alone is a temptation.
"Thanks but I can't tonight. Maybe another time."
'Dom, you are a coward and an asshole.'
"I'll save it for later then," she leans forward, planting a lingering peck on my cheek. It's the confident kiss of a woman who knows what she wants. Slow, seductive but light. A kiss that leaves the receiver wanting more.
She bats her lids, making eye contact, a glance that has pull. She briskly breaks connection, taking her keys and unlatching her front entrance. It's all intentional, and I'll be damned if she didn't come close to getting me inside to "watch a movie" with her.
Failure, distancing myself has been an utter bust. I think I made it worse. I'm not even properly dating this girl… And yet…
"Thanks for walking me home," she slips her bag on the coat rack, baiting me with the curve of her hip and an inviting glance over her shoulder that tells all what I'll be missing.
She flutters her downcast eyelashes, turning to me one last time with that hidden kiss on her pouty lip.
"Goodnight Dominic," she says huskily.
I manage to stupidly smile back at her, "Night, Layla."
She lowers her chin with a soft upward tilt of her mouth and lets the front door whisper shut.
I groan, pushing up my glasses with one calloused palm, roughly scrubbing it over my face, "Damn…"
I scuttle off, heading in the direction of home. I'm glad to see the sidewalk deteriorate as I leave the ritz of the Otter Line suburbs. I kick a loose pebble across the walk and sigh heartily.
The buildings seem to go through a time machine as I scale the sidewalk, slowly winding back to the early millennia to the seventies and even pushing past the fifties.
The fog is getting very thick, descending from the sky like some giant silver sheep. The fluffy clouds swallow tree tops and roofs, then dip even lower, eating the parked cars and pooling at my sneaker soles. Lamp posts are ominous balls of yellow suspended in the grey nothing.
I run a hand along the old limestone of a weathered structure, lumpy and beaten. It leaves sandy grit in the creases of my fingers as I reach the end.
I cross a deserted intersection, the traffic light is hanging on a lopsided wire, blurry red circles rhythmically flashing to signify a four-way stop. The clouds slither around the black cable. It's the halfway point back to my place.
I come to the dim clearing of overgrown weeds attacking the chipping walkway and stop.
I squint, turning round in the dark haze. It's that feeling, I don't think I'm alone.
I dig into my pockets for my knife and curse realizing I left it in my truck. I'm starting to wonder if these lone walks at night are a bad idea.
Being active on the job keeps me in good physical shape, at least I thought it did, but being jumped the other day by that scrawny doped up lady has me questioning it.
Hell, maybe I should start lifting or take a defense class. Yeah, right. Like I'd stick with something like that. A boxy depressing gym with four bland walls and too many perspiring bodies crammed in. I'd be out of place as a weed in the flower patch. And what good would that do if someone decides to point a gun in my face?
I'll stick to what I know, the wilderness and how to shoot. A hand gun, maybe. I'll consider that.
Something in me wonders, 'What if it's her?' I swallow and spin a second time, trying to see through the deep grey fog. I'm anxious, I'm admittedly half hoping it's her.
"Are you here?" I ask the empty air and it feels stupid. Though, there are times you just know. You know something is there before you see it or hear it.
I'm more bold as I announce, "You don't have to hide. I know you're here."
Not a cricket chirping. 'Don't mind me, I'm just your neighborhood idiot talking to no one.' But if that is the case that I'm alone, I'll have no witnesses. Nothing to lose.
I catch the wave of fabric flipping about in the breeze. I turn, seeing her materialize from the mist. That woman. I knew I wasn't completely crazy.
She's just as breathtaking as the first encounter, her electric eyes bright even in the dark. The spitting image of an angel but this time she wears a long coat over a thin dress that stops above the knee and, thankfully, *shoes*; laceless boots cutting off at the ankle.
A sea of straight hair sways, framing a luminescent face, like the white moon emerging from black clouds. I have an immediate desire to run my fingers over her milky skin.
I stare at her, afraid she'll vanish if I blink. I'm having a hard time believing she's actually here. The fact she's so motionless doesn't help, there's a peculiar stillness about her. Is it possible for any living thing to stand so still?
She breaks the silence with her exquisite voice, "I am here, Dominic."