What that age was, though, Avia wasn’t sure. When she was eighteen, he had followed her back from the aether, appearing the same age. He told her on one occasion that he had been twenty-four the day he became a spirit, but neglected to mention how long ago that was. There were days it felt like she was living with a five-year-old, and at other times, someone wise and ancient.
She glanced up at the pointed ears and stifled a giggle. He was a cat. No further explanation needed.
“Know what?”
“Hm?” He looked down, seemingly jarred from thought himself.
Avia grinned. “You’re right. I will go wi—” Her ringtone blared from somewhere inside.
“Hang on,” she yelled over her shoulder as she ran back into the apartment.
“Make sure to bring your phone out when you’re done!” He pushed himself onto the railing and swung his feet. “I want that confession on tape!”
Ignoring him, Avia plunged her hands into the couch cushions until her fingers landed on the phone. She glanced at the screen and didn’t recognize the number, but pressed Accept anyway. “Hello?”
“Hey, sweetie,” a woman’s voice answered. There was a sickening familiarity to it.
Avia’s breath caught in her throat. “This is the fourth call in two weeks.” Annoyance threatened to tip to a torrent of rage, but she kept it in check. “What do you want?”
“We, ah, we just wanted to check in and see how you were doing.” A man’s voice this time. “You hung up the last time before we could really—”
“The only reason you have this number is because the landlord needed to bill you for that window.”
Her mother coughed and cleared her throat. “He- he says you’ve been drinking a lot, Avia—I’m sorry, that’s not why we called.”
Avia sneered. “Do we need to talk about why I drink, Madre? I don’t think anyone wants to go down that road.”
“Listen,” her father pleaded. “We just want to have a relationship with our daughter. Is that so wro—”
“Shut up.” She paced to the kitchen then back, angrily crushing a beer can underfoot. “You don’t get to decide whether you can have a relationship with me or not. You gave that up years ago.”
“Avia,” he implored. “You’re our daughter, and we love you! I know what we did was unforgivable but there must be something. It’s been six years! Your mother has been inconsolable since you left! She’s given you the car and the condo, and who do you think has covered all the damages from your drunken escapades? What else do you want us to do?!”
“You think six years is enough to erase what you guys did? What he did!” She smashed her fist into the granite as her face flushed with burning coals.
Her mother spoke. “Honey, that’s not what your father meant, it’s just—”
“It’s been taken care of.” Avia’s voice chilled to ice. “If I give his daughter cello lessons for the next year, the damages will be waived. You don’t need to stress over my ‘drunken escapades’ anymore. “
“Avi—”
“Call me in another six years. And another, and another, then keep going and when you are as dead as I am, then we can talk about reconciliation, and family chats, and that forgiveness you’re so desperate to earn.”
“Avia—”
“You’re pathetic,” she growled, face morphing into a cold scowl. “Don’t bother calling again. This number will be changed within the hour.”
“Sweetheart, please—”
Avia threw her phone across the room and swiped all the counter’s contents to the floor.
“Oh my god! What the actual hell? Carajo! Hijo de puta! That fucking perra! Mierda! ‘Mamá, nunca vuelvas a llamar aquí!’ ‘Ok, cariño.’ Qué hace ella? Calls! I cannot fucking believe this, puta madre cono!”
A panic attack was already in the works; her breath shortened and her heart thundered inside her chest. She lowered herself to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest.
Avia tried to control her breathing by whispering the lyrics of “Va, Pensiero” in its original Italian as she exhaled. She sang faster and louder, squeezing her eyes closed as she rocked, but no matter how loudly she sang, she couldn’t stop the memories.
“Come on, you know you want to,” Julian purred. Warm breath against her neck sent a chill as arms snaked around her waist.
“I’m not in the mood, Julian.” She turned around and firmly placed his arms at his sides.
“Come on,” he said, embracing her again.
“Julian, seriously. Not. Now.” She moved to get away from him, but his grip tightened. His hands wandered downwards as he placed his mouth against her ear.
“You know you want this,” he whispered. His hands trailed their way from the inside of her thighs to cup her breasts.
“You’re so warm,” he said again, clutching her against him. “And I’m so cold. Please, just once more.”
“Avia!”
Avia gasped for air. She was still crouched against her kitchen counter, but there was a pressure around her— something warm. Cheshire was knelt beside her, holding her shaking body against his own. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in his chest.
“Ches,” she attempted to speak, choking on tears.
He rubbed her back and gently pulled her tighter. “It’s okay, Avi. It’s okay.”
She didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Minutes? Hours? Crying was something she never did. It was a mark of shame and weakness— two things she couldn’t afford if she hoped to one day be happy.
When she had calmed down, Avia leaned back and nodded that he was okay to let go. Giving him a small smile, she stood, walked to the refrigerator, and opened the door.
Cheap beer. Leftover spaghetti. Milk. Apple juice.
With a huff of frustration, she crossed the room, grabbed her wallet, then disappeared down the hall. When she returned, she wore white jeans, a black leather jacket and was holding a pair of pumps.
“I’m going out,” she muttered, sitting down to fasten the shoes.
“What?” He stared back in confusion until his face shifted to understanding, then something unreadable. It only lasted a moment, because a second later, he was standing to his feet and cracking his back. “I suppose I could suffer turning up for a few hours.”
Avia’s hand went to her pocket, and she realized that she didn’t have her phone. She groaned before immediately turning to scavenge the apartment. Cheshire tried to say something, but she barely heard him. She needed to get out of there. She’d been an idiot and had run low on drugs, liquor, or anything else that could have been helpful. There was no way that she had enough of anything to cross into the aether. But leaving without her phone was not an option.
Cushions flew off the couch and she got to her hands and knees.
“Ah-hem!”
“Cheshire, not now. Why don’t you help me look for once—oh. Thanks.” Avia stood and reached for her phone. He swatted her hand away and continued to scroll, brows furrowed.
“Huh. They still haven’t got him yet.”
“Got ‘who’ yet?” Avia sighed, futilely attempting another grab at the device. “Come on, give it back!” Her skin was itching and she needed to get out of it. If she could send a text now, then Nico could probably meet her at the club, and she wouldn’t be stuck standing around waiting.
“That serial killer in New York.” His thumb swiped further down the article and he shook his head. “Another homeless guy got ripped into this morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Avia grunted, lunging up and successfully snatching back the phone. “But thankfully, we’re nowhere near NYC, so nothing to worry about.” She frowned when she saw the long crack down screen, but everything still seemed operational. Exiting the newsfeed, she sent the text and tucked the phone into her pocket.
“You ready or do you want to change?”
Cheshire looked down at his Converse, black jeans, and Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt. He shrugg
ed, took the house keys from her hand, and stepped out into the main hall. “I’m good. But you’re not going to be the one holding the keys. If I have to sleep in the hallway again because you locked us out, I promise that every curtain in that condo will be torn to shreds the next time you leave for work.”
Neon lights and booming EDM crashed the second the bouncer let them in. Avia grinned when she saw DJ Muskrat standing above the crowd like a king on his dais. His hands moved over countless knobs and buttons as he controlled the room.
Cheshire was standing a foot away, but she could physically feel him tense up. She didn’t know why he insisted on coming. He hated loud music. He hated dancing. He especially hated paying ridiculous prices for alcohol “just because it’s in a fancy glass.”
She reached into her bra and pulled out the tiny wallet containing her cash and credit cards. “Grab us some drinks? I’m going to hit the bathroom.”
“No!” Cheshire exclaimed, retreating back like it was poison. “I don’t want your boob money!”
Avia rolled her eyes and pressed it into his palm. “It’s boob money, or you can sit around sober.” His eyes went to the wallet, then to the stage where DJ Muskrat was now dancing shirtless—which should have been impossible, given the giant mascot-style rodent head.
Avia smirked as he begrudgingly shoved the wallet in his pocket—a luxury she had forgone for years.
“You always have to choose between ass or storage space,” Danna had said once. If only it wasn’t true.
Avia turned to head towards the restrooms, then stopped. “You have your ID, right?” she asked, referring to the fake she had made for him in Miami several years before.
Cheshire gave a thumbs up and before she could say anything else, he started pushing his way towards the bar.
Immortel was boujee, but Avia still felt the bathrooms were far too nice for a nightclub. Did drunk millennials really need marble walls, waterfall sinks, or stalls separated into their own cubicles? Someone had told her once that, before it was a club, the building used to be a fancy banquet hall. If that were true, it was so long ago that even the employees weren’t sure about it.
The middle stall was occupied so she pretended to check her hair in the mirror until the other girl—a tipsy blonde with obviously fake implants—stumbled out and took off for the dance floor—without washing her hands.
Avia shook her head with a “tsk” and walked to the stall on the far left, now the only one occupied. She knocked twice, paused, then rapped her knuckles for exactly three seconds. The secret knock was a bit over the top, given she could just text “I’m here,” but he insisted on the precautions.
The lock slid free and Avia quickly stepped into the stall, shutting the door behind her. Her lips creased in a tight line. Instead of being met with Nico’s uniform round classes and preppy neon polo, Avia was face to face with a stranger. A black guy in a dress shirt, tie and a ridiculously nice watch sat cross-legged on the closed toilet, reading Cosmopolitan. He was cute, she’d give him that, but by no means justified the thirty-dollar Uber.
“Who the hell are you?”
He glanced up from the magazine and smiled. “Nico couldn’t make it. I’m Lorne.” He held out his hand. She left it.
“Well, Lorne,” she said, extending the ‘o’ in mockery. “Did Nico at least give you my stuff?” She brought a hand to her forehead and swore. “God, he always does this kind of shit. At least he had the decency to send somebody this time.”
Lorne set down his literature and unstrapped a tiny brown sack from his ankle. Sitting up, he tossed her the bag then proceeded to pull something up on his phone. “Chill pills, X, Molly, Hell Dust. He also threw in some extras because you’re ‘such a loyal customer.’”
Avia pulled the drawstring and peered into the sack. Nico really had hooked her up. She reached into her bra and took out the large bills she had set aside before they left.
Lorne took the money and counted. He did so without comment, she noted, thinking back to Cheshire’s aversion to boob money. “Gonna need fifty more,” the drug dealer said after a moment.
“What?!” Avia’s hand flew up and accidently smacked the air freshener. “Come on,” she demanded, wringing out her wrist. “I paid nearly half that two months ago!”
He shrugged. “Inflation’s a thing. Especially when Nico had to switch suppliers. You got a problem, take it up with the feds.”
Avia grumbled and retrieved another fifty. She threw the crumpled bill at his head then turned to leave. Almost unsurprisingly, Lorne rose to follow.
“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside her. The music was back and her body was already gliding into the beat. She just had to give the bag to Cheshire and she could dance the night away.
“Do you want to dance?”
She barely heard the question as she turned to see Lorne still there.
“Nope.”
She spotted Cheshire at the bar and turned to cut across the crowd.
“But wait!” Lorne reached for her arm but got bumped against the wall by a Hispanic guy who was really feeling the remix blasting from the stage. According to the man’s slurred apology, it was apparently his favorite song. Lorne straightened himself out and parted the crowd again to get back to Avia. “You’re beautiful.”
She glanced up at what he probably assumed was ‘woman-slaying charm and charisma’—subtle lip bite, eyes locked on hers with relatively limited detours to her chest. He was trying to do that thing where you’re casually dancing but are also totally cool with getting a drink or leaving. He’d been well rehearsed, so points there, but it was obvious he was just as awkward as Cheshire.
“Honey,” she soothed, patting his cheek. "I just dropped most of my paycheck in the ladies’ room so I can actually have a good time.” She opened the bag and dug around until she found some of the “extras.”
Lorne’s eyes widened in surprise. “Nico said you’re only supposed to take half a—”
She popped three gummies into her mouth and chewed spitefully. “Listen, kid,” she said, leaning onto his shoulder. “You got potential. There are tons of desperate women in here who’d love nothing more than to have you inside of them.” She motioned her hand across the dance floor like it was a sea of treasure.
“Really?” His eyes lit up and he followed her gaze, as if to an undiscovered continent.
“Yeah!” She slapped his chest and took a few steps back. “Lose the tie, shave the scruff when you get a chance. You look like you got money and you’re not hard to talk to, so you’re already ahead of most of these losers. Just be yourself. The less words, the better.”
She scanned the crowd until she found a brunette in something so short it might have once been a dress. She was flipping her hair and “wooing” entirely off rhythm, but still managed to be sexy about it.
“See the girl?”
Lorne looked where she was pointing and gulped. “Mmhm.”
“That was me last weekend. Go up, start dancing with her, and she’ll take the rest from there.”
He blinked twice as if in disbelief, then stared back at the girl, then to Avia. “Th- thank you so much!”
She playfully punched his arm then started dancing her way to the bar. “You got this, tiger! I believe in you!”
Millennials filled the space like water and Avia lost sight of him in seconds. She could already feel whatever was in the gummies starting to take effect and fought to get to Cheshire before she dropped the sack.
“Charlie!” she screamed—the fake name on his ID. Cheshire spun in his stool, breaking conversation with the bartender who looked slightly disappointed by the interruption. She flounced up beside him and leaned into his ear. Her hands found one of his zippered pockets and slid the bag securely in.
“Don’t look now,” she whispered, lingering above his shoulder. “The bartender thinks you’re cute.”
“What?” Cheshire flushed and looked back to see the man give a sly wink.
Avia la
ughed and pushed away from him. “I took a lot of shit! Find me if you wanna leave early, okay?”
He opened his mouth, but she’d already slipped into the crowd. The beat shook her bones, her heart, her lungs, and the strange drugs bled through her veins. The worlds began to splice, and she could almost make out two ghosts swing dancing overhead. The heavy strobes and neon lights passed through their translucent bodies so that they sparkled like sunbeams on water. A breeze cut through the sweaty air and the hard floor started to feel like soft earth. She tossed her head back and released a wild scream as the music took her away.
A loud knocking forcefully dragged Avia awake. She tried pulling the covers over her head but by the ninth unsuccessful attempt, she pried herself from the blankets.
Throwing the door open, she met an irritable looking Cheshire. He stood in the doorway, still in the wrinkled clothes from earlier that night.
“Ches,” she said sleepily, wiping her eyes. “We’ve been over this. People—human beings—need to sleep at night.”
“As do cats,” he replied. He cracked his neck and she noticed the tired haze that enveloped his movements. “Someone’s been at the front door for like half an hour.”
“Well, why didn’t you—” But he was already gone. She stepped out of the room to see him—this time in the form of a fluffy grey cat—padding down the hall into the living room. A growl sounded from here throat. There were rapists. Then murders. Then the bastards who woke you up at ungodly hours in the morning.
Not bothering to fix her hair, Avia shuffled after him and unlocked the front door. Her building string of profanities died on her lips.
“Rachel?”
The other girl was leaning against the opposite wall. She was dressed for the gym, which meant it was at least six in the morning.
“Avia.”
The word was short. Cold. With a curt nod, Rachel crossed the hall and entered the condo. Avia watched her take in the space. She’d obviously been there before, but it had been months since Avia had last invited guests over. Rachel stepped over the displaced cushions and glanced over the wreckage that Avia had sent to the floor. She sighed and finally turned to look her in the eyes.
When We Were Still Human Page 10