Chapter 10: The Long Night
The familiar bus stop came into view. Margaret pressed the stop bell, and the long, drawn-out ring sliced through the silent night, sharp and jarring.
The bus eased to a stop. The instant her feet hit the pavement, the cold rushed in from every side, sinking straight into her bones like it meant to freeze her blood solid.
She walked quietly into the rundown apartment complex, the faint streetlights barely denting the thick darkness. She kept her phone flashlight on to avoid the garbage that had spilled across the walkway.
A couple of big plastic trash bins stood out for the building's waste. The cleaning crew was supposed to haul it away every week, but no one had shown last week for some reason, so the piles had overflowed and the stench hung heavy in the air.
Whoever had dumped whatever biohazard that was—thick, rotting liquid leaked from the split bottom of one bin and spread across the pavement. It had been drawing complaints for days.
Margaret stepped over it carefully, turned the corner. The old black building had walls peeling in ugly patches, tangled power lines drooping overhead, and the silence felt thick enough to choke on.
She found her building on autopilot. The dark little doorway gaped open like a monster's jaws. Calmly she stepped inside and climbed the narrow stairs.
The bare concrete floor was cracked everywhere. A single half-dead bulb dangled in the stairwell, its weak glow threatening to die any second.
She stopped on the third floor. The faded yellow "302" plaque was nailed to the black wooden door. The metal lock was eaten through with rust, flaking away in reddish-brown patches.
A few notices were jammed in the door crack. Margaret pulled them free, glanced at them, and slipped them into her pocket before fishing out her key.
The moment the door opened, the narrow living room greeted her. The old wooden window with its peeling red paint faced the entrance, usually letting in a sliver of moonlight.
But there was no moon tonight.
Margaret flicked on the light, tossed her bag onto the couch, and sat at the old wooden table—one leg propped up with a wad of paper—to eat her dinner.
No sign of anyone else. That woman wasn't back yet, same as always. The second lock wouldn't turn until well after eleven.
The glass on the table still pinned down the same crumpled five-dollar bill. Breakfast and dinner money. Take it and another would appear tomorrow. Probably the only scrap of motherly duty that woman ever bothered with.
Margaret hadn't touched it in months. The bill just lay there, and the two of them lived like strangers under the same roof. Any conversation between them had dried up long ago.
The only proof she wasn't completely alone came after eleven every night—the noises outside her bedroom door.
The food had gone stone cold and tasted like nothing. Margaret ate half and felt full. She tucked the rest in the fridge for tomorrow's breakfast.
She pulled the notices back out and read them again. Overdue utility warning. The amount wasn't bad; her part-time pay would cover it.
She opened her phone, tapped through the glowing screen, and watched part of her balance vanish.
The phone was a beat-up secondhand model she'd grabbed for under thirty bucks. It couldn't handle much, so she only used it for messages and bills.
Just like Julian, she missed out on all the usual internet distractions kids their age had. But at least this let her handle things without dragging herself to the utility office in the middle of the night.
Once the payment cleared, Margaret dragged her exhausted body into her room and dug through the short dresser for clean clothes.
Everything was perfectly folded: school uniforms and undershirts on top, colorful sets of underwear below that, then rolled bundles of long and short socks. Her heavy winter coats sat in a basket to the side because they wouldn't fit.
She picked out a decent set of base layers; she'd have to wear her school pants again.
In the bathroom the window was half-open, cold air swirling around the small space.
She shut it tight, grabbed a plastic bucket, and started the cold water. Her pale hand tested the stream and turned red from the chill.
She filled the bucket to the top. Finally the water warmed. Margaret stripped and stepped under the showerhead. Warm streams poured down at once, soaking her long, silky black hair. Wet bangs clung to her forehead while white steam rose, turning the tiny room hazy and soft.
The water traced down her slender neck, over delicate collarbones, slid across her fair skin, past her chest and stomach, then ran along her long legs before dripping onto the floor.
When she finished, she didn't bother drying off right away. Margaret stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at the reflection that mirrored her exactly.
Damp strands stuck to her cheeks, still dripping. Her body still carried that fresh, slightly unfinished curve of youth—something that would turn heads in a few years. She wondered if Julian would like it. The boy she liked had probably never looked at her with those kinds of thoughts.
But if he ever wanted her, she would give him everything she had. And in return… she would take everything from him.
The girl in the mirror suddenly smiled at her, like she could see the ugly truth behind it.
Margaret touched the corner of her own lifted mouth. The smile was cold, a little frightening.
She understood how unfair the trade would be.
Julian was kind and gentle. Even trapped and freezing, he had given her his jacket without thinking twice. Someone like that would never take what was offered and then do something cruel.
But she would. Those dark impulses, once freed, would drive her to consume him completely, to possess every single part of him.
Luckily things were still quiet between them. They were still just leaning on each other for warmth. He hadn't left her, and he wasn't fully hers yet, so the sick fixation inside her stayed mostly dormant.
She would do whatever it took to make sure his eyes saw only her.
She dried off, pulled on her clothes. The soft thermal layers and long underwear trapped the heat, and her chilled skin slowly flushed back to healthy color.
At nine fifty she started the laundry.
It was late, but tomorrow she wouldn't have time, and she refused to leave it for that woman to handle.
By ten thirty she finally crawled into bed. Exhaustion crashed over her like a wave. She stared out the window at the pitch-black world outside, where only a handful of distant lights still glowed.
That little fast-food diner wasn't much nicer than this place, but to Margaret it felt like two different universes.
Here everything was dark and cold and hopeless. She couldn't see any future, and she couldn't see him.
She curled deeper under the covers and pulled out her phone. The bright screen lit her pale face.
A few ads, then the contact that always woke her up.
Julian: Margaret, Margaret, you asleep yet?
Margaret: Not yet. What's up?
Julian: I can't sleep. How about you?
…She hesitated a couple seconds, then typed.
Margaret: Me neither. Want me to tell you some bedtime stories to help you drift off?
Julian: You really treating me like your kid now?
Margaret: Just kidding. Close your eyes, stop overthinking, and you'll fall asleep eventually. We've got early homeroom tomorrow—don't stay up too late.
Julian: Okay. I'll try. Good night.
Margaret: Good night.
Good night, she whispered to herself, a soft, beautiful smile curving her lips.