PT2 - 8

Adrienne’s feet were starting to hurt as she walked up and down the side streets, looking for a dress shop that had to be around there somewhere. A lady in one of the other clothing stores she had visited had mentioned it. So far all she had found was seven estate agents and one expensive looking homeware store.



‘What’s the point,’ Adrienne thought as shuffled over to a bench and dropped heavily. ‘It’s not like I will find a dress that doesn’t make me look like a fat lump.’



“Why so glum?” Adrienne looked up to find the new kid smiling at her. God, he’s too fit, she thought. No way he is genuinely interested in my problems. He’s probably only being polite.



“Hey, new guy,” Adrienne did her best to force a beaming smile, squinting against the low sunlight. “What brings you to town?”



“Looking for you.”



Adrienne blinked then frowned. “Me? Why would you want to see me?”



“Why wouldn’t I?” Zach asked evenly, staring into her eyes. She finally broke under the weight of his stare.



“Because I’m fat!” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Too fat to find a prom dress, not that anyone will ask me. I’m the girl who ‘would be cute if she lost a few pounds,’ ‘what a shame for her!’ ‘She has such a pretty face, pity about the rest!’”



Zach took a seat beside her on the bench and put an arm around her shoulder. Adrienne knew he was trying to be comforting, but his arm was heavy.



“Who said that to you?”



“It doesn’t matter. Nobody said it to me. I hear people say stuff like that all the time.” Adrienne shook her head, wiping away the tears with sleeves she’d pulled up over her fists like mittens. “I just wish he hadn’t said it.”



“Matty?” Zach guessed. Adrienne did not want to answer so instead she looked down at the ground, trying desperately to think of a speedy subject change. Nothing was coming to mind. Nothing besides food.



‘It’s no wonder I’m fat, I can’t stop daydreaming about cheeseburgers,’ Adrienne mentally berated herself. Eating made her feel better when she was down in the dumps. It sounded cliché, but a warm, sumptuous treat filling her tummy was like a hug from the inside out.



“I’ll beat him up for you,” Zach offered.



“No! Don’t do that. He didn’t know I overheard. Besides, he doesn’t even want to take me to prom. He is just waiting and hoping Alissa’s online boyfriend will say no and then she can go with him.”



“And that’s fine by you? Being second best?” Zach asked.



‘Of course, it’s not, it makes me feel dead inside,’ Adrienne’s inner voice screamed.



“I’m always gonna be second to Alissa.” Adrienne sighed. She watched Zach pace around for a moment or two. He appeared to be deep in thought.



“What did he actually say?” Zach asked finally.



The memory stung her all over again as she recalled it. “Rhys asked why he was still waiting on Alissa instead of asking me. He said, ‘Adrienne is pretty, she would be so hot if she shifted a few pounds.’ Then they proceeded to make fun of my eating habits.”



“What if you did shift a few pounds? You have two weeks. I can help you lose ten pounds by then. If you trust me.” Zach grinned at her, looking so sure of himself.



“He’ll still prefer Alissa,” Adrienne said, looking down.



“Not when I’ve bumped her from the popular group. Soon nobody will like her.”



Adrienne did a double take. “What?”



“Just wait and see,” Zach said with a wink


###


The Johnson house sat in darkness when Zach let himself into the kitchen. It wasn’t a small house, but it was shabbily decorated and looked like nobody had made any real effort to clean it in some time. Junk piled up in every corner, torn up pet bedding lay everywhere and most of the rooms were unfinished misadventures into DIY, half tiled or partially painted.



The mother was sitting in front of a muted television set, a cigarette in one hand—or rather, two inches of balancing ash—and a pint glass of wine in the other. Her glazed eyes did not raise to meet Zachs. The stepdad was at the kitchen table eating a microwave meal directly from the black plastic tub. He barely glanced up from his feast as Zach walked in and riffled through the freezer to find ice. The ice cubes crackled like lightning as Zach popped them from the tray and into the one clean-ish bowl he’d found on the work surface.



The man finally acknowledged Zach, grunting through a mouthful of pasta, “You one of Ricks mates? Tell that little prick I’m still waiting for my bike back.”



“I don’t care about that,” Zach told him as he opened every drawer, trying to locate a knife. In the third drawer he tried there was he found one that was not as sharp as he would have liked, but it would have to do. Grabbing the wooden handle, he walked over at sat at the table. He flashed Jerry a smile as he gripped his wrist and sliced the man’s little finger off.



“Arhh, what the fuck!” The man screamed, staring at the stump. Zach picked up the finger in two of his own and plopped it onto the ice. After telling him to remain calm and seated, Zach explained to Jerry that he would have to go upstairs, pack all he could and leave forever, after a brief trip to the hospital to reattach the missing digit. When the wife ran in, shrieking like a banshee, Zach told her to sit on the floor by the fridge and stay silent. She did as Zach ordered, periodically glancing up at Zach from behind a waterfall of greasy hair.



Unfortunately for Jerry, he was not in a compliant mood.



“If you ever come back here, Jerry, I will take another piece of your anatomy and instead of putting it on ice it will go into the blender,” Zach warned.



Jerry laughed, a strained and creepy sound from lips that were beginning to turn blue. He scratched his thinning hairline with the four fingered hand, causing blood to drip down his forehead. He did not seem to notice. He might be far too drunk for these intimidation tactics to work, worried Zach.



“Think we can afford a blender? Look around, kiddo.” Jerry waved his arms and wobbled as though he might pass out.



“Microwave then. You own one of those, Jerry?” Zach asked, becoming frustrated.



“Well that box over there ain’t a TV,” Jerry laughed quietly at what passed for witty humour in his tiny mind.



“You know how a microwave won’t work while the door is open? You can rig the mechanism, so it carries on cooking with the door removed,” Zach explained. “You think losing a finger hurts?”



Jerry grimaced, wobbling his head. His eyes rolled then fixed on Zach. “You don’t scare me, kid.”



“I’m not a kid, Jerry.” Zach gripped the man’s face by the cheeks, trying to get his droopy eyes to focus. Zach exhaled deeply. “Look at me. Look at me. Stare into my faces.”



Jerry’s eyes finally made contact and pinned instantly. He jumped backwards, flipping the chair. After ten minutes of scrapes and bangs from above, Jerry slid a suitcase out of the front door. Zach heard the car start and exit the driveway with a screech. He sat, staring at the finger in the bowl of ice, wondering if Jerry would remember and return.



He didn’t.



Zach hummed to himself as he raided the kitchen for alcohol and poured away various bottles of wine, vodka and rum. As he completed his task the woman did not move from her spot by the fridge, forced to listen as her stash glugged down the sink.



“If you drink again, let him back in, or replace him with another asshole, I will return. What I did to Jerry will seem tame.”



The woman looked up and whispered, “Who are you?”



“I’m your guardian angel,” Zach said, tripping over and spilling a box of dog food on the way out. He kicked the stray biscuits away. “And clean this shit up.”