Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Eventually, Angel had to go deal with a hairdressing appointment as it’s important for him to establish himself in Vulture Hollow. I ended up bringing some of my books from the cave, and it was so strange to revisit the space that’s been my home for years and look at it with fresh eyes. I used to consider it cozy and comfortable, but I see now it lacks the warmth Angel bestows on everything around him. Only a week ago, I feared I would miss my cave if I moved out, but there’s no comparing this dwelling to the home Angel and I are weaving together. Besides, I can keep using it as my literal man cave.
I was about to fetch another backpack of my belongings when Prophet asked me to take a delivery of magic mushrooms to a town two hours away. It’s some kind of new business venture brokered by Brigid with one of her esoteric friends, but it’s not my place to question my prez. Prophet knows what he’s doing, I’m just the delivery man.
At least it kept me busy. Throughout the day, I texted Angel when I was off the bike, but he’s at work, so I didn’t push when he stopped answering late in the afternoon. I did end up picking up some wax for his candle-making efforts from the store belonging to the addressee of the magic mushroom package. The woman told me she’s starting an artisanal psychedelics business—whatever that might mean—but all I care about is making my Angel smile when he unwraps my gift. He was very excited after helping Brigid produce a batch of candles and claims he wants to experiment on his own too.
I love to see him happy.
Which is why I’m a little annoyed that I don’t get to see his smiling face upon my return to Vulture Hollow. Not with him really, just with life getting in the way of me being inside him 24/7. But I understand he has a job, and that job means his hands are often busy in people’s hair, so he can’t answer texts whenever he feels like it. Still, I walk around our cabin, unsettled that it’s taking so long. When I can’t take it anymore, I head over to the cabin he’s claimed as his salon. I peek in through the windows and make a mental note of needing to renovate it for him, but something isn’t quite right. The lights are off, and the door is locked.
Strange.
He could have gone to the canteen. He could also be chatting to new people, since he’s social like that, but then… he would have answered me already. He’s made a point of telling me that it’s important, so I can’t imagine him ignoring me on purpose for so long.
I hope I’m not being too needy when I call him, but he doesn’t answer.
Even when I call again.
And again.
A cold, uncomfortable feeling settles in my stomach.
I rush over to the small parking lot where everyone leaves their cars. His is gone.
He might have wanted to go into town for some reason, but wouldn’t he have told me? There are a million explanations for his absence, so why do none of them feel right?
I know others would write off my worries as paranoia, or mock that I’m like a barnacle that can’t exist without the rock it’s settled on, but I don’t care. My feet move of their own accord as I march toward Prophet’s house while checking my phone. Evening is already approaching, and we talked about seeing each other in the afternoon. Angel’s no flake. I’m sure something has happened but also dread the possibility that it might be more serious than a broken phone. I want to rip my claws into the invisible threat to my precious lover. Any hurt done to him might as well be a stab at my heart.
I climb the wooden stairs leading up to Prophet’s two-storey house built around an old tree. He calls it a tree house, but it’s more of an observation tower-slash-stylish bachelor pad. I’ve not been inside since that painful day when I brought Angel over, because the memory of it makes my stomach clench with shame, but I’m not about to feel sorry for myself when Angel might be in danger.
I knock on the door with my fist, hoping the force behind it communicates my urgency. I’m ready to just barge in, but I want to give Prophet the chance to open.
“Fuck off!” Is sadly all I hear from the first floor window, where his bedroom is.
Sadly for him, because I’m most definitely not giving up. Prophet gave me the key himself, so he can now suffer the consequences. I walk in and pay no attention to his mess before climbing the winding stairs. At the landing, I’m spat out straight into his sprawling bedroom.