Water to Warp (Dred Dixon Chronicles Book 3) by N.A. Grotepas

Author:N.A. Grotepas [Grotepas, N.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-12-29T16:00:00+00:00

21

Sometimes I couldn’t get enough time at home, alone, hanging out by myself.

This was especially true after a fucking insane battle between myself and a slew of vampires with a cyclopean giant thrown into the mix.

Vivian would be home soon, but for the time being, I had a romantic comedy playing on the TV in the front room as I puttered around the house in my pajamas, fussing with things that didn’t need to be fussed with, burying my attention in mundane things. Those mundane things also happened to be the things that balanced out the insanity: wiping the fingerprints off the appliances, cleaning the bathroom mirror, updating my hexes and wards on my office. Things like that.

I was avoiding thinking about the melted tape compilation I’d made for Hank. Had he left it because he didn’t care?

It was the sin of the clever person—to believe that the way you let your love shine, was the same way another person did.

I’d never, in million years, carelessly leave a mix tape someone had made for me in a car where it could accidentally burn in an unexpected skirmish between vampires, fae, and humans.

It felt to me like Hank couldn’t give a fuck about the tape, and that’s why he left it.

Logically I knew that was totally naive. It was an oversight. A mistake. He had no way of knowing that our favorite vehicle would burn while he was gone.

This was the innocence of youth, which most people hopefully overcame as they matured. But, I wasn’t so sure I was overcoming it, because there I was, biting my lip as I dusted off my shelves, feeling wounded that Hank would care so little about a small gift I’d given him.

It hurt goddamn it. You spend several hours cueing up a bunch of songs on CD, to transfer to a tape—Jesus it was a joke that I ever did this—and then sitting around while the song plays. Which honestly isn’t a terrible thing. It was sort of Zen, to be honest, because you were forced to silently listen to the song as it transferred to the tape.

Nevertheless, the fact remained that my partner didn’t see the work of the gift. Or perhaps he did, and I was naively assigning him thoughts and emotions that were not his at all.

This was why I’d stopped making mix tapes and mix cds for friends. There was too much potential to be wounded when my amazing taste wasn’t rewarded with a “oh my god this mix tape is a masterpiece.”

So, it didn’t matter. I was going to write it off and move on. And never speak of it again. And if he asked when he returned, “Oh hey, what happened to Large Marge?” I would tell him that I was moving to the northeast to escape the crowds. But really I’d be moving to escape him, because I was never going to get over that the mix tape I’d made him had melted in the fire because he’d casually left it behind.

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