Page 22 of Haunting Goats

“Listen, I know you don’t want to be here; I don’t either, but your body deserves to be put to rest, Lyr. You deserve justice.”

He’s right; I deserve that much.

“Okay. How do we do that?”

Something tells me this won’t be easy, and I begin to question myself. How much does this mean to me, and am I willing to let Attie lead the way?

“First, let’s find an empty room.” He instructs.

We eventually locate an unoccupied room. Someone has freshly cleaned the space adorned with two queen-size beds. Pine-Sol and bleach waft through the area. New towels sit atop the bathroom counter; the housekeeper had clearly lined the garbage cans with extra bags, and unopened coffee, body care, and tissues sit scattered around the two sinks. This room has a bonus one next to the fridge and coffee machine, unlike the one I had paid for.

Attie plops on the bed closest to the door and pats at the flat comforter, gesturing for me to come sit. I’m nervous being so close to him. Every time we touch, our spirits hum, and it’s like we morph into one being until the feeling becomes unbearable and we part.

I stand at the foot of the bed before falling back onto it, and my head lands next to Attie’s fat ass. I wouldn’t peg myself as an ass woman, but every time I see his juicy booty, I Like Big Butts by Sir Mix-A-Lot plays unapologetically in my head. This will be the background music in my brain for the unforeseeable future; lucky me.

A clearing of his throat grabs my attention, and we lock eyes.

“Are you ready to discuss what happens next?”

Is that a trick question because the answer is obviously no.

“Sure…” I say hesitantly instead.

I’m such a coward.

Attie leans against the wall.

“I wanna start by saying that this isn’t about me, it’s about you. What do you want?”

I want Jake to pay for what he did to me. I want to watch him suffer and to witness the realization that an eye for an eye exists, and I’m collecting a debt. I want to haunt his dreams and his reality. He doesn’t deserve tranquility.

“I want his eye.”

Attie shoots me a look; cocking his head to the side, he arches a brow.

“I’m sorry. What?” he chuckles.

I’m such an idiot.

“I mean, an eye for an eye. I know you know what I’m saying. Hush.”

Attie tries not to make eye contact as he continues to quietly laugh, and I shy away. He stretches his arm out and brushes the mop of hair out of my face. My eyes flicker back and forth between his, searching for truth, for something real, something raw, something that makes sense…

“Do you know how stunning you are?” he inquires with wonder and a twinkle in his eyes.

His eyes study my face, and his thick fingers trace my jawline. I relax into him. Compliments are challenging for me. When you’re told your whole life that people don’t like you and that they only tolerate you, that you’re pretty but you’d be beautiful if you were thin, and that you’re difficult and dramatic, you tend to eventually believe what’s being said about you. I’m not familiar with kind words and touches, and the feeling is heavy and uncomfortable, but with Atticus, the intensity is less, and I find myself appreciating the weightlessness of it all.

He slides his cupped palm down my neck before giving me a gentle squeeze. He holds me there as he leans into me, his lips mere centimeters away from my ear.

“You don’t know, do you?” Attie places a tender kiss on my earlobe.

“Let me show you. Let me take care of you.”

The man is more delusional than the debt collectors that blew up my phone on a daily basis. “We’re calling to collect a debt.”

Funny they think I’ll ever pay it.

If I had the funds in the first place, I wouldn’t need a credit card, genius.