Forever Yours, Abel
a Folie á Deux novella by
Cynthia A. Rodriguez
Contents
1. Adam
2. Adam—Abel?
3. Abel
4. Abelia
5. Abel
About the Author
Also by Cynthia A. Rodriguez
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Forever Yours, Abel
Copyright © 2020 by Cynthia A. Rodriguez.
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed in the United States of America.
Once you fall madly in love, you’ll only ever love madly again.
1
Adam
I’m not used to the silence. It’s fucking torment.
In my head, there’s nothing but silence. All around me, kids yell and laugh and bump into me as I try to make my way through this shithole.
Blacklights make this place look a hell of a lot different than it does with the harsh fluorescent lights on. You can’t see the dingy walls from the ceiling leaks, the cracked linoleum that I watch a kid trip over, or the ancient mechanisms that I have to run and fix to stop some kid from screaming about.
I never bowled with Rose. Never experienced the sound of a bowling ball smacking pins and the cheer or groan that came next. I wouldn’t find her in such a shitty place. I close my eyes as I walk, and I can almost smell her. But it’s all wrong. It’s been so long since I’ve smelled her.
I don’t deserve companionship. Not after what she made me do in the past; her jealousy twisting lust into something morbid and decaying.
I wonder if those two women were ever found.
I’d run too far to hear anything each time and counted my days until someone showed up, ready to cuff me and summon me back to hell.
I still dream of their screams.
Am I sane now? Because I don’t fucking feel like I am. And the people in this town have no problem staying away from me.
Good. Fuck ‘em.
But Rose…Rose leaving me alone here is the ultimate betrayal.
I don’t function the same without her. And while it’s been ten years since I’ve physically touched her, since we wreaked our havoc on the lives that dared to harm her, it’s been nearly three hundred and sixty-five days since I heard her voice in my head. One whole year without waking up drenched in sweat, full of adrenaline and a dick that ached to be inside her.
I hid something from her, and she went away forever.
“Watch it, freak,” I hear someone say as they shove into me. Some lanky kid who might match me in height but is nowhere near me in strength.
I could snap his fucking neck in the next breath. But I ignore him and keep walking.
I’ve been here six months and I can already feel my neighbors’ curiosity boring into my back as I unlock my apartment door each night. They probably hear the sounds I make as I dream.
But these dreams are fucking nightmares. Because maybe I fucking took lives like it was easy, but I pay for my sins each night in my sleep.
I don’t speak much outside of my nightly screams.
Prison taught me to keep my head down and be quiet. The number of scars I wear from the ass beatings I took makes my skin look patterned.
So, I walk through these annoying ass kids and their tired ass parents like it’s nothing, not making eye contact, not bothering to look up anymore.
As I make my way toward the back of the bowling alley, where only the employees are allowed, I hear a laugh. Familiar, but a little huskier than I remember.
It’s like ice down my back but lust to my goddamn loins. I damn near shiver at the sound.
Rose?
When I look toward the sound, scanning the crowd, I see a crown of blonde hair—so blonde, it’s almost white. She stands off where the blacklight ends, toward the entrance where the fluorescent lights shine.
And it’s not her but…I’m silently begging for her to turn around so I can see her.
The back of her is covered in some sort of draped black fabric. Is it a cape? I can’t fucking tell.
She finally turns, and my eyes squint to take her in through the darkness as she walks toward where I stand.
The closer she gets, the faster my heart pounds.
Goddamn, it’s almost like seeing Rose living and breathing before me. But this version of her…I can tell she isn’t like Rose.
She doesn’t stand on edge the way Rose did. Doesn’t scan the crowd, doesn’t keep her lips pressed together like she can’t trust people to receive a smile.
No, this Rose smiles like someone pays her to. She’s fucking beautiful.
But her eyes are all wrong. Too dark to be Rose’s. Her long hair is lighter, as if that were possible. She’s a little shorter and her tits are larger. Yeah, under that cape is a scarlet and black witch’s costume that shows off her cleavage and I can feel that animal-like desire to rip fabric and touch skin. To hear moans and have tight wetness surround me.
“You okay?”
One of my coworkers—Ryan—stands next to me, dirty bowling shoes in his arms.
I grunt in reply and turn to walk into the backroom.
He follows me, much to my annoyance. “It’s gonna be shitty, cleaning up once this is done. These kids fucking suck.”
He isn’t telling me something I don’t already know. And I’ve relished in the hard work, loving how fatigued it’s made me, looking forward to falling into an exhausted sleep.
I’ve noticed that my coworkers are content to let me work, sitting on their asses as I labor. I don’t give a shit. I’d work for free if it meant keeping my thoughts at bay. Hard work and keeping secrets from demons I’d fallen madly in love with are my life now.
But sometimes, I ache to throw the pills away.
And that was what kept Rose from coming back to me.
I blamed her, but it was me. I couldn’t handle her anymore. Couldn’t love her past her insanity; couldn’t take on the task of seeing her beauty through her sheer fucking madness.
No more mishegas.
So I had to stay back here, because seeing the girl who looks so much like my Rose could trigger my goddamn relapse.
“Bro,” my other coworker says as he comes in, his eyes wide, “so many hot chicks out there.”
Ryan drops the shoes in the corner, his gaze flickering to me for a moment. Because we both know I’ll be fucking cleaning them later.
“I know, man. Did you see Abelia out there?”
I roll my neck and stare at the wall to my right, where the employee lockers are lined up. There are only five of us who work here. Why so many lockers?
“My cousin’s friend said he fucked her.” The small guy pushes up his glasses as he smiles, ready to smear gossip all over this girl’s reputation.
“Yeah, right. Everyone knows Abelia doesn’t put out,” Ryan says, shoving the nerdy little asshole.
I’m reminded just how young these morons are.
“Adam, mind taking over the register?” Ryan pulls a joint from his front pocket and heads toward the back door with his little sidekick.
I have to remind myself that Adam is my name here.
And what the fuck am I gonna say? That I can’t because some girl out there looks like my dead soulmate who used to haunt me?
I get my ass up and head toward the register. Monster Mash is playing, and I have half a mind to shov
e the idiots crowding my way. I silently maneuver instead and make my way to the register where there’s thankfully no line.
Just as I breathe a sigh of relief, there she is. She’s saying something, but I can’t hear a goddamn word over the blood rushing in my head.
I snap out of it.
“What?” I ask, leaning away as she leans forward, her tits mashing against the countertop. I want to run away from this little demon who smiles pleasantly with no clue how she affects me.
“I think the last guy gave me the wrong shoes. These don’t fit.” She slides the pair onto the counter toward me, and I wait until she lets them go to grab them.
“What size?” I know I sound like an asshole, my voice brisk and my tone dead. It’s my only defense against her goddamn smile and her goddamn tits.
“Women’s five,” she replies.
Tiny fucking feet; she’s like a little pixie. I grab the nicest pair I can find while she brushes her long hair away from her face. As I set the shoes down, I catch a whiff of her scent—citrusy, yet sweet.
“Thank you.” She hesitates before she grabs them. “I’m Abelia.”
She offers her free hand and I stare at it. So this is Abelia. I’m immediately annoyed with my shithead coworkers.
Still, I don’t take her hand.
What the hell is this?
“Oh,” she says with a frown, pulling her hand back. “I’m sorry.”
But before it falls to her side, I grab it.
It’s soft and pliable, and I become the same.
“My name is Abel,” I tell her.
2
Adam—Abel?
Fuck.
I forgot my own fake name.
If my ma was in my head again, she’d tell me to walk—no run—away from this blonde devil. Nisht gut. But her eyes…they’re brown and wide and she smiles as our hands hold.
“Abel?” she asks, and I break out of my weird trance.
“Yeah. Well, no. Everyone calls me Adam here.” I try to cover up my mistake but her eyes squint a little, and I’m immediately taken by just how similar she is to my Rose when she looks at me like this.
Not quite distrust but fraying around the edges of confusion. No, Rose’s eyes were harder on others and inquisitive on me.
“Can’t get them to stop?” she asks and I wonder what the fuck she’s talking about. “Forget it,” she says after a moment. “My lame attempt at a joke.”
She grabs her bowling shoes and then she’s gone, leaving her citrus scent behind in her absence.
I’m still in a trance, my heart tripping over its own uneven rhythm when someone else walks up—some kid asking for change for the vending machine. As I trade the crumpled single for four quarters, I try not to look up. To scan the room. To find her golden crown of hair.
In the end, I knew better than to fight against my baser instincts.
You aren’t a bad person.
I hear my last conversation with Dr. Brown in my head, a recollection of this month’s meeting. He fills my prescription and requires me to check in monthly. If I fall off the face of the earth, he calls the authorities.
That’s our deal.
That’s the cost of my freedom.
So when my eyes meet hers from where she stands across the room with her girlfriends, I remind myself that nothing can derail me from the path of quasi-righteousness I’m on.
Still, I imagine if her pussy tastes like Rose’s.
I blink when Ryan’s hand claps over my shoulder. I’m taller than he is, so I don’t know why he does it. I bet he looks stupid as fuck, reaching up. But I let him. I don’t even shrug him off.
I couldn’t give less of a fuck.
Medicated Abel is numb.
Medicated Abel doesn’t look at beautiful Abelia for the rest of his shift.
My hands are rough and cracked from the cleaning chemicals we use for the shoes. Ryan always asks why I don’t use gloves but I stay quiet. Because I can’t find a polite way to inform him that I’m not a weak bitch.
I ignore the sting of my chapped hands as I grip the handlebars of my bike. My knuckles have been split too many times before.
I wonder if they felt sandpaper-rough in her hands. I tell my thoughts to shut the fuck up and almost wish my ma were in there instead so I wouldn’t have to think about that girl again.
The ride home isn’t too bad but the colder it gets, the longer it tends to take to warm up once I get home. I cut across the street and enter the cemetery.
It’s foggy and, sure, it looks a little creepy. But a cemetery looks different when you’ve sent people home to the dirt. I know what goes bump in the night. It used to be me.
Just because it’s Halloween doesn’t mean I have to subscribe to the notion that this night is unlike any of the other nights I venture through the home of the dead.
So when I hear what sounds like people laughing, I don’t stop. Fucking kids, probably trying to freak themselves out.
But when I hear someone scream, I almost crash my bike into one of those giant statues of a saint or angel or something. It looks down disapprovingly at me as I grunt, trying to gain my balance. I give up and stand next to my bike, annoyed.
I try to listen for another sound, but nothing comes.
Just as I’m about to get back on my bike, I hear a woman’s voice crying out.
Go home and mind your fucking business, I tell myself.
But I can’t. Because the path to righteousness is a jagged one. It isn’t me going home and minding my business. It’s helping someone who might need me.
It’s being a good sama—I’ve been listening to Dr. Brown too goddamn much.
I have no fucking clue what I’m about to get myself into, so I walk as quietly as I can until I just barely make out shadows in the moonlight.
Three bodies—two pushing at one.
One of them steps aside and I see her pale skin.
As they pull at her clothes, my past and my present collide.
A vengeful Rose being tackled by nurses.
An innocent Abelia falling victim to these fuckers.
And me, wishing I could save them both.
Somehow, through the dark, her eyes meet mine and I snap out of it. I grab one of them by the back of his collar and smack his forehead into the large headstone they have her pinned against before tossing him aside.
His friend turns around and I’m shocked to see the goddamn nerd from my job staring back at me, eyes wide.
“Adam—”
I don’t give him the chance to say another fucking word. My fist meets his jaw and he falls back, landing hard on his ass. He rolls over onto his side and I kick him in the ribs.
“Piece of fucking shit,” I grunt out before kicking him again, earning me a groan.
When I feel a hand on my arm, I turn around fast enough that it startles Abelia, and she stumbles. Before she can fall, I reach out to steady her.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She’s shaking, I can feel her body vibrating like it’s coming from deep within her. But she doesn’t answer me.
The nerd’s friend rolls onto his back with a groan and his blood looks black in the dark.
“Fucking freak,” he yells out.
I’m about to show him what a fucking freak is when I feel her soft hand on me again. When I glance back at her, she shakes her head.
“Don’t,” she utters. One word, spoken so softly, her eyes not meeting mine.
I take a last look back at the guys who’d nearly hurt her, and then I’m walking off.
What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
I check to see if she’s following me, and she is. But I’m riding a fucking bike. I don’t know what’s supposed to happen now.
“I can walk you home,” I offer.
I want to tell myself to speak with softer tones but I’m better with venom than I am with honey.
Rose took all my honey.
I reach for the bike I’d discarded near the disappr
oving statue and grimace at the sight of blood running down my fingers. I wipe at my dark blue jeans and pick it up, wheeling it alongside us, no idea where we’re headed.
“Where, uh—where do you live?”
“I don’t want to go there,” she whispers, and I notice she’s holding the bodice to her costume together.
“Here.” I let go of the bike and unzip my sweater. I tug one arm out and then the other before handing it to her. When she takes it, I ask, “Where can I walk you?”
“I don’t know,” she answers.
Goddamn it, I don’t want to bring her home. I can’t bring her home.
And yet, I find myself offering.
Fuck.
“My place isn’t far from here,” I say.
She finally looks at me, and I don’t know what to make of her stare. It’s as if she’s trying to determine the risk factor here. She doesn’t know that I’ve killed before. Doesn’t know I’ve had to hide bodies, doesn’t know that I know what it’s like to steal someone’s last breath.
She can’t know, because she whispers, “Okay.”
I’m far worse than the guys we left behind.
3
Abel
She doesn’t talk the rest of the way and I’m grateful for it.
I don’t need to hear the way her words hold a melodic quality, even when she whispers. I don’t need to find reasons to look at her; to find differences between the woman before me and the one who haunts me.
I don’t need to find hope in brown eyes that look like they haven’t seen anything past the town limits.
When we reach my apartment, a somewhat dilapidated building on the outskirts of town, I grip my bike in one arm and walk up the steps.
I can’t help but look back to see if she’s followed me when I open the front door, like she’s some lost puppy following me home.
Forever Yours, Abel: A Folie à Deux Novella Page 1