Page 68 of Creep
I clear my throat. “No. They just… don’t look safe. Like they could fall apart at any moment.”
He glances at the metal snake towering over us as we close in on the fair, and when it shakes under the weight of a passing wagon, a laugh leaves those pretty pink lips. “Well, I have too much to lose to die now, right?” And when he squeezes my hand, I’m ready to open my ribcage and offer him everything I am.
“Please don’t die,” I choke out, suddenly desperate to put him back in my cave where he can be safe at all times.
He stills, facing me somewhere between the entrance and the stall offering a chance to win plush toys. Old pop music is playing in the background, and some girls trade stories that make them all break out in laughter, but all I can see are my Angel’s eyes—so very deep and warm I wish to keep seeing myself in them forever.
“I don’t plan on dying,” he says, rubbing my hand with his thumb.
I don’t know what else to call it. This thing between us is pure magic. Maybe Brigid secretly slipped a love potion into his teawhen he visited because it’s hard for me to believe he likes me so much. But here we are, at a funfair, holding hands even after what happened.
I smile and point out a stall with plushie prizes. “Will you let me win one for you?”
I could spend the rest of my life feeding off the bright energy in his smiles, and my chest fills with a warm glow when he pulls my hand. “No one ever won anything for me.”
Now I just know I can’t lose.
I’m a fantastic shot. Which also means I soon find out the toy gun isn’t a particularly accurate tool. Probably on purpose. But I don’t want to make a scene about it and sour Angel’s joy as he cheers me on. On the third try, I have enough experience with the wonky gun to win. My heart melts a little when out of all the plushies, Angel chooses a spider. Like he wants to let me know I’m welcome, that he’s no longer afraid of monsters.
He names it Giant Friend, ‘to distinguish him from Little Friend’, tells me some funny stories about the spiders he encountered in his basement as a kid, we have hot dogs, and cotton candy, and this is shaping up to be the best night of my life.
It’s getting late by the time we stumble out of the Haunted House, which was so scary we both laughed throughout the very brief ride, pointing out rubber limbs and crude puppets moving around us. The best thing about the past minute? Angel kissed me while vampires watched, as if he couldn’t wait to have the privacy to put his hands on me. We’re laughing as we imagine stealing some of the plastic bones spread throughout the ride, but then Angel’s gaze settles on something behind me, and I have to glance over my shoulder to see it too.
There’s a photo booth here, standing right next to the machine spitting out prophecies and a Pokemon-themed claw machine. Like the Three Musketeers, they’re back to back, facing differentdirections, even though there are no customers charging their way.
“Should we tell Prophet he’s out of a job as aspiring cult leader?” I joke and point out the prophecy machine. I’ve never felt this at ease with anyone.
But Angel gets to his toes to reach my ear. “Make memories with me?” he whispers and pulls me toward the photo booth.
My heart beats faster, going into fight or flight mode. I can’t control it. “I um…” And yet, I follow, because I can’t deny him anything.
Angel grins at me and plucks some cash from his pocket before feeding it to the machine. Behind the heavy curtain at the door is a single seat, and he nudges me inside. I settle down without much thought, only to soon have my lap full of him. This is dangerous territory, because despite the pain in my face and ribs, despite feeling so sorry about Angel’s injuries, I live with this constant need for him, and it becomes stronger when his buttocks press against me like this.
“I don’t have any photos. Only mugshots, and the one on my license,” I choke out before he can press a button. “I know my aunt is dead, but I was brought up to not be seen, and it feels so… so… I don’t even know how to put it… but I feel I shouldn’t be seen. Especially not by a camera.” I can’t even look at the lens. “Now that I’m an adult, I think she might have had a dispute with the authorities over me. Since they were surprised to find me after… everything. I was a ghost in her house, and you don’t take photos of ghosts,” I finish on a quiet note, embarrassed to admit any of this, but he already carries so many of my secrets, and I trust him not to betray me.
Angel swallows, his gaze softening when he shifts in my lap so we’re closer, his arm wrapped around my neck as he presses his cheek to mine. I don’t think I deserve him, but who am I to tell him what he should want?
“But I want you to be seen. By me, by all our friends…” he says, stroking my cheek. “You don’t have a photo on the wall in the canteen.”
Ah, he notices everything. “Why? I’m…” How to even express these depths of my soul to him. “I’m a stain. Something to be erased if seen,” I paraphrase what my aunt once said.
He brings his hand to his chest as if I’ve punched him there. “No. No, you’re not,” he says breathlessly and leans in, pushing his fingers into my hair. “You can’t mean that. You’re not a stain, not a bother, you’re not a problem. And you’renota creep,” he says, eyes intense as his voice breaks ever so slightly in the bright interior of the photo booth.
I shrug, but I’m so moved by his words I dare to wrap my arm around him even though we’re not hidden under the bed, where the monster is allowed to take him. “You don’t need to coddle me. I know I’m strange and monstrous. I accept the nickname too. It fits.”
“No, it doesn’t!” His lips twist as he looks away, blinking rapidly. “You must have a name. What is it?”
My name? I don’t use it outside official situations. Even the local cops call me Creep despite the name on my licence. My mouth is dry and achy as if he’s using forceps to pry out my secret.
“What for?”
He exhales, resting his forehead on my collarbone. “Because I want it. Give it to me.”
“Cr…eed. Creed. My name is Creed.” It feels strange to say it out loud, as if sound contained in that short word is covered in razorblades that hurt my throat on the way out, but I enfold Angel in my arms, and it softens the blow.
He relaxes then nuzzles my neck in a way so exquisite I find myself shivering. “Hello, Creed.”
“Hi.” I chuckle, stroking my way up his exposed spine. I’m not even afraid of the bright lights anymore. IwantAngel to see me. No one else has to, as long as he does. I’m that ugly snail peeking out of its shell for the first time, afraid of salt being thrown in its eyes. But if I don’t open up, if I stay in the cave, locked in the shadows under my angel’s bed, I will miss out on my one chance in a lifetime.
