Fairy Tales of Cliffside: Volume One
By Corey Daggett
Chapter 8: Going Home
Malcolm arrived home much later than he should’ve. After everyone had gathered their composure, they had eaten a quick meal of porridge. (There was no way he could have gotten home without it.) So here he was, arriving home hours late. But how could he have done any different? His friends had needed his help tonight, even if it wasn’t much help.
He took the keys from his pocket and began trying to get the key in the deadbolt. Before he could finish unlocking it, the door flew open. Blaire stood in the doorway with a scowl on her face. She was now wearing her pajamas: a bed shirt and fleece sleep pants with cartoon cats printed on them.
Malcolm hesitated, still holding his hand out where the key used to be. “Hi honey.” he said.
“Did you get the card?”
“Yes.” He reached in his pocket and produced a gift card to their local All-American Grill. “Here it is.”
She snatched it from his fingers, looked at it, then stuffed it in her pocket. “Why did it take you two hours to buy a gift card?”
“Well…” he held up his index finger. “I had to go to several gas stations. All the way on the other side of town, I finally found one that had a gift card stand.”
“I checked your GPS locations.”
He stopped. “… Oh?” He pondered for a moment. “You can do that?”
“Yeah. I’m the account owner, remember? Now I don’t know what is out in the middle of the woods that you find so interesting, but I have a feeling there’s a woman involved.”
Malcolm shook his head furiously. “No, no, no. You’re jumping to conclusions. Let me just explain…”
“No. I’m tired of hearing your bullshit excuses.” She reached down beside the door, grabbed his duffle bag, and shoved the handle at him. “I packed your things for you. Whoever you’ve been spending your time with, you can go spend the night with her. If you’ve got a love shack in the woods, go have fun.”
“Blaire… look, I’m sorry. Can we just talk about this first?”
“I already gave you a second chance after Rebecca. I’m not making the same mistake again.”
She ripped the keys from the deadbolt and gave him another sour look. “Good night, Malcolm.” She slammed the door. It shook the wall and possibly woke the neighbors.
Malcolm looked around, still clutching his bag, feeling dazed. After he’d come to terms with his situation, he shuffled down the steps and began another long walk.
To Be Continued in Volume 2
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