Page 38 of Wicked Flavors

But what if that had been by omission, and Gwendolyn really had given up her soul for it all. What if serving Ambrosius was some kind of punishment for her fixation, for her self indulgence? Was she being punished for her creativity?

The thoughts made her mad, and Gwendolyn was so tired of being mad. Tired of being tired, and tired of being hungry, but more than anything, she was tired of the uncertainty of her situation. That part of her—that exhausted, anxious part of her wished he was there, if only so she could get the answers she really wanted without any of his tricks.

But that’s asking too much.

By the time Gwen began working on the strawberry patches for the crop top, her hands needed a break. She retrieved her phone, searching for an online deliveryservice. Normally, Gwen avoided services like these, as she didn’t like answering her front door, but she didn’t want to risk leaving her apartment just yet. She picked up more of her comfort meals, along with some fruit and a box of black hair dye. There was no way in hell Gwen was going to show up to her job tomorrow with pink hair.

She set the order for later in the evening and set her phone aside to continue her work. Gwen could hear people now, most likely gathering to head to the pier for an early start on the fireworks that evening. Normally, Gwen could tune out the explosions, but on the actual night, she would need to listen to music or watch a movie to drown out the noise.

It’s just an excuse to make things go boom, anyway.

Gwen added the strawberries onto the top before she started crocheting the skirt. She didn’t get very far before she realized the skirt really should be a mini skirt instead. A few modifications would do the trick, though Gwen wasn’t entirely certain as to why she had pivoted. In her mind, it just made more sense as she stared at the berry pink crop top. She had added fringe to the bottom to account for any movement that might reveal under boob.

The Gwen that had gone into Ambrosius’ shop days ago would never entertain the idea of wearing such an outfit. Yet, here she was, crocheting the matching skirt, already thinking of where she wanted to place the strawberries. Regardless of how miserable Gwendolyn felt, there was a strange pleasure that came from creating this outfit.

Even with the painful flare in her knuckles, Gwen found herself seamlessly transitioning to attaching the strawberries onto the mini skirt. She didn’t think her hands had moved any faster than normal, but somehow, by late afternoon, Gwen had a finished crochet project. AsGwen laid out the top and skirt onto her chair, she felt a swell of contentment.

Pride, she realized. She felt proud. It had been ages since she felt that. Or perhaps the last few days had felt like years. If anything, the creative endeavor had been a good distraction from her cramping stomach. That pain hadn’t stopped Gwen from thinking about her neighbor, either.

It had been hours since she had dropped the package and watched her neighbor sneak it back into his apartment. Both the doll and the scroll case had yet to return, and Gwen questioned if it would, considering she had passed it along. While she might have been suffering from some sort of supernatural illness that was making her stomach upset, and had somehow infested her bathroom with a colony of spiders, Gwen could only imagine what her neighbor might be experiencing at the moment.

Only, Gwen didn’t want to put herself in his shoes. Why repeat the past? Gwen had been miserable—absolutelymiserable these past few days. Scared, confused, angry, hungry. All sorts of emotions that she usually kept under lock and key. Emotions that Gwen had done her best to ignore, ever since she was told by all the people in her life that she was just too much.

Gwen was used to running away from her problems.

It was why she didn’t have a relationship with her family anymore. The reason why she had fallen out of touch with all of her childhood friends, with the friends she had made in her early twenties. Being rejected over and over again because Gwen chose to live her life a distinct sort of way—a creative way—had just been a blow that she had never really recovered from.

She thought about her roommate, thought of her name for the first time in years. Brittany. Gwen had tried to distance herself from her. It was easier not to feel anythingabout a person if she didn’t know their name, if she couldn’t remember their face. Which was another reason why she seldom used social media. It was only useful for the trading and selling of dolls.

Gwen sold dolls from time to time, though she didn’t care for it. Having to tailor her dolls for someone else’s idea was always a struggle for her. That was one of the reasons why she rarely took commission work. But when she did, the money was good. It was how she had saved up enough to pay her rent with her savings alone. If Gwen was smart, she knew she ought to be designing dolls for quick sale soon, but she just didn’t have the heart to think that far ahead.

Her heart ached at the thought that she wouldn’t be able to make dolls anymore. Gwen wasn’t sure what Ambrosius wanted with her once she completed the doll as he demanded.

The same doll I gave away.

Anxiety filled Gwen as she thought about what Ambrosius would do if he found out that she got rid of the doll, but it was quickly overshadowed by a sense of self-righteousness and indignant anger. If he were to become angry, Gwen was more than prepared to argue her point. How dare he even put her into this position in the first place? He said that being a warlock was like a job.

Well, what actual benefits did she have in this sort of situation? Most likely nothing. Just like a real job, but at least with a real job, Gwen got a paycheck at the end of every week. She sincerely doubted Ambrosius offered any kind of health insurance, let alone dental or vision.

Gwen let out a sigh as she went back inside her apartment, shutting the sliding glass door behind her. The delivery man would be there soon, and Gwen figured she might as well put on a bra if she was going to answer thedoor for a strange man. She placed her newly crafted outfit onto her work station and went to her closet in search of a bra. When she pulled one out, she was upset to find a small hole in it.

Everything’s falling apart around here, huh?

Gwen shrugged it on underneath her shirt, awkwardly sliding her arms in and out of her top. The material itched, and for once, Gwen decided enough was enough. She grabbed her phone from her back pocket and pulled up the least shady lingerie store she could find. Luckily, she had measured herself not too long ago, and her size hadn’t changed too drastically from the bra she was wearing now.

By the time Gwen made it to checkout, she had five bras—two of them with matching panties—in her cart, and all of them were vibrant and colorful. Usually, Gwen would avoid it, but when they had shown up on her screen, the impulse to buy them was too strong to resist.

Gwen submitted her order, then she stared at her phone in confusion.

Why did I do that?

No, a part of Gwen knew why. A part of her wanted something vibrating with color after so many years of dull, boring beige. She didn’t want to be in this strange cage that she had put herself in because of years of rejection. Driven slowly into a life of boredom with only her dolls to express even the smallest bit of her creativity. Everything had gotten cold, lifeless,ordinary.All the things that a fourteen-year-old Gwen would havehated.

It can’t hurt to wear bright things once in a while.A lot of people wear colorful things. So why can’t I? Why do I have to make myself small? Why do I have to make myself disappear?

A heavy revelation that had tears swelling in the corner of her eyes. So much time wasted because of whatother people thought. People who weren’t even a part of her life anymore. Gwen messily wiped the tears from her burning eyes. She couldn’t change the past anymore than she could change her decision to take the doll.

When the delivery man knocked on her door that evening, Gwen answered. She didn’t make herself small. She didn’t try to cover up. Gwen stood before him with her pink hair, thin band tee, and cut off jeans. Her legs were prickly with hair, and Gwen was certain she looked like shit.

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