Today's Reading
"And go to a secondary location so you can murder me? No thanks," she said.
Right. But you're the one with a murder weapon.
"It's late," he said.
"No shit."
"I mean, why are you here so late at night?" he asked.
"I don't see how that's any of your business."
"Okay."
She still hadn't lowered the crossbow. And her arms weren't even shaking. She squinted at him.
"Why are you here so late? If you're really just working? Can't you blacksmith during the day? If you aren't up to something shady?"
Something shady? Sharp sparkles flashed across the back of his scalp. This woman just appears with a weapon in one of his few safe spaces, and he's the one who's up to something shady?
"'Scuse me?" he asked.
"Yeah," she said. "Most people do their jobs during the day. Why are you here so late at night?"
"Not that it's any of your business," Mo growled, his annoyance diminishing his fear. "But I'm a mechanic. Run my auto shop during the day."
She stared at him. The crossbow was still pointed at his face. He wished he was wearing his welding helmet so that his face was protected, but then he'd probably look even more threatening. Besides, even if he'd had a helmet on, she could still shoot him in the chest.
"And?" she asked.
"And?" he asked back.
"You weren't going to say anything else?"
"Uh...no. I told you. I came to wash my hands. You drew attention to yourself."
Her dark eyes went wide, and the crossbow wavered then fixed on him again.
"Excuse me?" she asked. "You trespassed in my—"
"No one's been here for nearly a year. Arnie said he's been trying to get in touch with you for months. He was going to have to do something with all your—"
"Not mine—" Her arms went slack, and the arrow pointed at the ground. The woman seemed to deflate completely. Mo was happy to see that he was no longer perceived as a threat, but the transition was far too brutal. A completely different person was standing in front of him all of a sudden. Both of her shoulders were slumped, and she turned slightly away from him, her face a little toward the wall.
"Arnie doesn't have to worry about all the stuff. I'm loading up what I can tonight." She looked back at Mo, assessing him differently this time. "Sounds like you all are friends. Let him know my parents got all of his messages. He'll be paid for the back rent. My sister didn't exactly have an estate, but our parents did have a life insurance policy on her. Arnie'll get his precious money," she spat. She turned her back on Mo and walked away down the hall.
* * *
At home, Mo opened the door of the microwave with one second left on the timer. The beep on this one set his teeth on edge. He'd been vacillating between buying a new one and just putting up with the sound even though it stressed him out right before eating. Getting a new one would be wasteful, and that bothered him, but so did the fact that he had to stand next to the machine to make sure the sound didn't set him off. He sighed. He was able to acclimate himself to some sounds, but not others. And the ones he couldn't handle forced him to take burdensome extra steps, to spend his limited energy on them. Like so many other types of stimuli.
Minimizing or Managing Strong Sensory and Emotional Stimuli: The Full and Complete Story of My Life.
...
