Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“Thank you.”
“You can always tell me anything.”
She glances at her closet door. “Since you’ve been spending a lot of time here lately, you can leave some things here. If you want.”
“Already left my toothbrush in the bathroom.”
She winces. “Yeah, I had to get you a new one. I caught Gretel gnawing on yours.”
“What?” I laugh for a solid minute. “Glad you caught her before I used it.”
“Anyway,” she says. “Are you a fold stuff and put it in a dresser guy? Or hang everything up?”
“Uh, both?”
She nods once. “I’ll move stuff out of that dresser.” She points to a large multi-drawer piece of furniture across from the foot of the bed. “I have more drawers and stuff in my closet. And I can clear a space for you right inside the door.”
My heart pumps a little faster. I’ve never wanted to share closet space—or any space, really—with a woman before.
She pats my thigh. “Come shower with me?”
“Don’t have to ask me twice.”
Laughing, she hurries out of the bedroom. Maybe she wasn’t kidding about wanting me to chase her down.
“Can you bring me a robe?” Margot calls from the hallway.
“You know I prefer you naked.” And in the spirit of her beautiful nakedness, I snatch a condom off the nightstand in case I get the urge to nail her to the shower wall with my cock.
“It’s in the closet behind the door!” she shouts.
Closet behind the door? My eyes dart to the long, narrow closet she mentioned clearing out for me. I swing the door open, surveying the space, mentally measuring it again.
This house is like a labyrinth, each level occupying space in ways that defy logic, as if the walls themselves are playing tricks. It’s even weirder than the eighteenth century homestead of horrors I grew up in.
The closet’s a long, dark corridor. Above me, a string dangles, and I pull it. Bright yellow light flares, illuminating the space, chasing away the shadows but not making the closet seem any less strange.
Clothes. So many clothes hang from rods and colorful hangers. Different clothes. Lots of black on one side of the closet. All bright colors on the other. Dresses and cardigans. Leggings and sweatshirts. Like each of Margot’s personalities has its own wardrobe. Not sure how she plans to make room for my sad little collection of T-shirts, jeans, sweats, and flannels.
No bathrobe in sight, yet.
I move farther into the long, deep corridor that seems to open up into a wider square at the end. Creating a T-shaped room. What a strange fucking house. No wonder she compared it to the Winchester Mystery House.
Maybe this was originally used as a nursery? A room close to the main bedroom, connected by a hallway, that was then converted into a closet when she had the place remodeled? No, the original builders wouldn’t have placed a main bedroom on the third floor. Would they? What do I know? I’m a biker, not a fucking architect.
I pull another string that illuminates the far end of the closet. Shoes. Enough shoes to fill a damn store. Lots of heels. Lots of urban-style sneakers in a variety of colors. My girl really likes bright colors on her feet.
To the right there’s a desk with a mirror over it and makeup scattered all over the top. Two big ring lights on either side of the desk probably help brighten the space so she doesn’t do her makeup Dr. Frank-N-Furter style. A shelf with a few different styles of wigs. Huh. I can’t picture Margot wearing a wig. Maybe she’s really into dressing up for Halloween?
No dust or cobwebs in here. She uses the space often. I turn to investigate the other end of the T shape. One wall is just a long mirror. Across from it, little pegs and hooks have been affixed to the wall to create a display of hair accessories. Barrettes, bows, scrunchies, clips, all sorts of things I can’t even identify. Funny, since so far, I’ve only seen her use simple elastics and a few fancy hairpins. Under that stands a tall, ornate chest made of cherry wood and brass hardware. A jewelry armoire. Rooster’s aunt had a similar piece of furniture where she stored jewelry and other sentimental items.
Above all of that, some sort of rod hangs down from the ceiling. Odd, opaque, marble-like crystals hang like pendants suspended from thin velvet ribbons about eye-level for me. Ornaments?
Wait, is the first one an eyeball?
No, that’s nuts. It’s probably some Halloween decoration from a discount home store. My girlfriend doesn’t have an eyeball hanging in her closet, for fuck’s sake.
She does have access to a lot of bodies.
Jesus Christ, now I’m doing what everyone else has done to her. Assume the worst because of her job. Besides, even if it really is an eyeball, who am I to criticize? I collect pinky fingers from people I’ve murdered for my club. And I’ve got a jar full of my father’s teeth stored in an old trunk in my closet. Maybe Margot collects weird shit. Everyone needs a hobby.