Mabel Shot Part 2

The sound of a message arriving on my phone pulls me out of the memories that lingered in my mind all morning. I pull my fingers away from my neck and grab the device from my bag, still lost, not quite understanding what I accepted when I agreed to play this game that Mr. Czar invited me to join.
“How are you? Your father misses you. When are you coming home?”
My eyes scan the message from Alekessandra in the notification bar.
“Never,” I mutter, lifting my face to see the traffic light, which is green for vehicles.
I return my gaze to the message and press on it, opening the messaging app and typing quickly.
“I’m fine, send him a hug.”
I turn off my phone and the game in my bag. I check the time on my wristwatch, knowing I'm still within my lunch break. I stare at the café across the street where Macro is waiting for me. This morning, when I turned on my phone after charging it at work, I found five missed calls from him and three messages in my voicemail. I didn't even listen to any of them because before I could do so, his name appeared on the screen, calling me again. I was in a rush this morning and told him we would talk tonight, but he insisted we chat now, during my lunch break. I agreed, partly to get out of the gallery for a bit.
The morning was a complete mess. Boris scolded me for being ten minutes late, and then I had to endure a lecture when he asked about my uniform. I had to make up an excuse, saying I needed to send it for repairs. His eyes narrowed, serious, as he scrutinized my jeans and my burgundy long-sleeved, high-collared cotton shirt. Luckily, today I would have to organize the canvases in the storeroom, which would allow me a day of work hidden in the sorting room.
I snap the corner of my mouth and cross the street, holding my bag as the light turns red. I walk briskly, feeling every muscle and joint in my body ache, but there's an extremely comforting sensation of relaxation. I raise my arm to open the café door, and what catches my eye is the bruise on my wrist. I quickly hide it and lower my arm, pulling the sleeve of my shirt down over the back of my hand as I push the door with my shoulder. As soon as I enter the small but cozy establishment, with wooden tables and chairs, my eyes stop on the table at the end, in the corner by the window, which gives a good view of the street across from the café. Macro is sitting there, drumming his fingers on the table, softly humming along to the music playing in the café, with a cup of coffee in front of him. His head lifts as he sees me, and he breaks into a wide smile. I return the smile with equal intensity and walk toward him, who stands up.
“Where were you last night, girl?!” he hugs me tightly as I approach, making me pull the corner of my mouth and stifle a groan of pain. I curl my arms and give him a light pat on the back, pulling away. “I was at your apartment last night, and you weren’t there. God knows how many times I called you…”
“Five,” I reply, laughing, and sit down in the chair across from him, hooking my bag’s strap onto the chair.
“I’m sure it was much more than that,” he retorts, grumpy, sitting back in his chair and raising his hand to call the waitress. “I was worried!”
“I’m fine, there was nothing to worry about.” I smile at the girl who stops by our table to greet us. “A cup of coffee, please.”
“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Macro looks at me, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m not hungry, just want the coffee.” I smile at her and watch her walk away. I turn my gaze back to him, who watches me with interest.
“You're always hungry!”
I roll my eyes and shake my head, giving him a smile.
“Not right now.” I open my eyes and see him still disbelieving. “After all, what’s with all this fuss about not being able to talk to me? As far as I remember, you were out of range all weekend, and I didn’t go crazy looking for you. So, how was your weekend, Boots?”
I shift the focus off myself in this conversation to avoid explaining to him that the reason for my lack of appetite is that my mind is completely occupied with everything that happened last night, from the moment I entered that house until later when I left, after being bathed by Czar.
“I had a commitment.” Macro smiles shamelessly and turns his face toward the window.
“Religious commitments, Boots?” I tease, laughing, and see his face turn completely red.
I stop laughing and thank the waitress when she returns, placing my cup of coffee on the table.
“Don’t mess with me, Mabel.” The redhead, blushing with embarrassment, his red face matching his fiery hair, returns his gaze to me and speaks softly. I see his index finger rise and point at my face. “Where were you last night?”
I exhale through my mouth and cross my arms on the table, looking at the coffee cup. I take a quick glance at Macro, who leans forward, pressing his chest against the table, staring at me, waiting for my answer.
“I was with someone,” I speak so softly that if Macro hadn’t leaned forward, he wouldn’t have heard.
I see his red eyelashes blink rapidly as he looks confused between me and his cup.
“When you say someone, you mean a man?” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Yes, a man, Macro.” I shrug and give him a weak smile.
“You spent the night with a man?” he exclaims loudly, his eyes widening, making me want to bang my head against the table with my hot coffee cup.
“Oh my God, speak quietly!” I glance over my shoulder and see the waitress distracted. I thank the heavens for having only the two of us in here. “I didn’t spend the entire night with him; I came home late.”
“You were with a stranger?” His look is no longer one of shock but of concern, shaking his head. “Shit, tell me you didn’t do something stupid like that again…”
“He’s not a stranger, Macro. Well, not entirely; I had met him before…” I reply, leaning back in my chair, resting my arms on my legs. “And no, I didn’t do anything as stupid as that… Maybe a different kind of stupidity.”
“What kind of stupidity are we talking about?” Macro’s eyes widen again as he glares at me.
“A stupidity that, to start with, was your idea.” I take my coffee cup and bring it to my mouth, looking at the thoughtful expression on the redhead.
“Don’t tell me you…” He opens his mouth, looking like a startled chicken in front of me.
“I went back on Friday night to that fronted butcher shop you took me to after you left, to try to find the man in the goat mask, who, by unfortunate fate, I ended up finding and talking to. I might have asked for help with my sexual morality issues, not to mention he somehow showed up at the gallery where I work,” I spill all the information at once and lower the cup back to the table. “And he managed to get me to go to his house last night, orchestrating a scheme with my boss, who probably doesn’t even know why the man in the goat mask got me to go there. And he proposed a game that I still don’t know if I’m right about accepting.” I shrug and look at my coffee. “So no, I won’t say if you don’t want me to.”