Paul ran up the stairs two at a time and Alma took the opportunity to examine the damage on the side of her car. Steve had slammed her father into the side door with enough force to leave a sizeable dent. She should’ve called her insurance immediately, but she didn’t want to be forced to be around her father any longer than she had to. She feared that if a police report was filed, her father would be given an opportunity to be a part of her life again. As silly as it sounded, even seeing his name on a police report was more contact with him than she wanted. It was better to keep him out of her life entirely.
Unfortunately, the car was leased, and she would have to get it fixed, which would be expensive. Her deductible was $500, and her bank account was already dangerously close to zero.
“Fuck,” she said in frustration as she passed her palm over the damage. Then she caught sight of a girl standing on the corner, next to the tattoo parlor. She was smoking a cigarette and watching Alma. She glanced away, pretending not to have been watching.
The girl was young, thin, and pretty. She had dark hair that was bobbed, and bright red lipstick. Her breasts were too large for her blouse, which was probably on purpose, and her jean skirt was short enough to reveal most of her long legs.
Alma didn’t need to ask to understand who she was. This was the girl Paul had just kicked out of his bed. Alma knew it by the look of jealousy in the girl’s eyes.
All of the hatred Alma felt for Paul was transferred to this innocent stranger. She hated the bitch.
Paul closed his door, drawing Alma’s attention away from the pretty stranger. He bounded down the stairs, his leather boots clopping on the wood, and then threw the keys to Alma. She caught them, which was a minor miracle, and got in her car as Paul got on his bike.
Alma’s radio was too loud, like always, and she quickly turned it down as she watched the stranger approach Paul. He was dismissive, and Alma watched while pretending not to. They spoke for a moment, but Paul started his bike to drown out what the girl was saying. It was an annoying move of his that he had done to Alma several times in the past when he didn’t want to argue anymore. The girl scowled and swiped a cigarette out of Paul’s mouth before walking away. Alma enjoyed a petty victory and couldn’t help but smile as she backed her car out of the lot.
Paul followed close behind as she headed home. Through the entire trip, Alma continued to look at Paul in her rearview. It seemed ridiculous that she’d driven to his apartment, only to return home with him behind her, planning to let him go back home again after. She thought about turning around, and going back to his apartment, but then she recalled the condom in the toilet. She couldn’t sleep in a bed that stank of sex, especially not after seeing the slut he’d been with.
The entire night was dizzying. The reporter’s interest in her past dragged her back into thoughts she’d been trying to forget. The confrontation with her father played out similar to how so many of their fights had before. And now the argument with Paul was happening just as it had so many times in the past. She felt like she was caught in a spiral, swirling around again and again, revisiting the mistakes of her past over and over. It was impossible to break free.
The last three digits of the license plate on the car ahead of her were 314.
She stared at the number and her heart quickened. That damn number showed up everywhere. It haunted her.
Stephen had mentioned the number before she raced away from the restaurant. He knew about Chaos Magick, and she assumed he understood the significance of the number as a symbol or else he wouldn’t have brought it up.
Alma had been introduced to the belief system known as Chaos Magick by her mother. After Alma’s brother disappeared, her mother became obsessed with the date. She would hide the number, or the symbol for pi, around the house, claiming it was the only way they’d ever know the truth about what happened to her boy. Alma would wake up to find her mother drawing the number in permanent marker on Alma’s body. She would insist that they all focus on the symbol to help bring her son home.
The car ahead turned down a side street, and Alma was relieved that the number was out of her sight again. It brought pain with it, every time she saw it. When she could forget the number she was at peace, but then it would return, forcing her to recall the details of the worst day of her life. Not only did the number’s relation to pi represent a circle, but her emotions revolved around it in a cyclical manner as well. No matter how far she thought she could get from that date, it always returned.
Alma got home, with Paul behind her. It had only been a half hour since she left and she stared up at the bugs that gathered around the light outside of her apartment.
“Back again,” she said, feeling somewhat helpless.
The bugs swirled around the light, smacking into it and then retreating, sometimes stopping on the wall, but always returning; always smacking into the light and spinning around, like planets in orbit around the sun, over and over. The dance defined their lives. They couldn’t get away from it.
Paul tapped on her window with his keys, frightening her. She didn’t realize she’d been staring at the door long enough for him to get off his bike and approach.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she said as she got out.
“You all right?” he asked. “You’ve been sitting here staring at the door for awhile.”
She nodded and locked her car. “Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking. You didn’t need to come, Paul, honestly. I feel bad that you had to leave your friend for this.”
“Shush. Like I said, you’re my girl, whether you like it or not.”
She grimaced as she headed down the concrete walkway to her apartment building. “That sounds kind of creepy.”
“Yeah, I guess it does. Maybe you’ve been right all along, I am a creep.”
She paused on the walkway and looked up at her apartment. “I’m too tired to fight anymore. I just want to go to bed. I just want this day to be over.”
“Good news,” said Paul as he looked at his watch. “It’s tomorrow already. Fresh start.”
“Is it really that late?” Alma could see between the concrete stairs into the darkness beyond. How easy would it be to hide in the shadows and wait, ready to reach through the slats and grab a victim’s ankle? She let Paul go up first.
“I’ll help you get to sleep,” said Paul.
“You’re not coming in.”
He was frustrated with her insistence. “Like hell I’m not. At the very least I’m going in to make sure it’s safe before you kick me out.”
“I didn’t ask you to come, Paul.” She walked up past him, embarrassed that a moment before she’d allowed herself to rely on him for security. “I just want to go to bed. Go home, Paul.”
He shook his head and followed her up.
The bugs swarmed around her face as she forced her key into the cantankerous deadbolt. It stuck frequently, leaving her stranded, trying to force the key in while the bugs swirled around her head. This time the lock opened easily, but the door was stuck in its frame. She had to slam it with her shoulder to get in.
Paul tried to follow, but she pushed him back.
“Seriously, Paul. I appreciate you coming here, but I don’t want you in my apartment.” It wasn’t as clean as his, and she avoided turning on the living room light to keep him from seeing the mess.
He tried to look in over her shoulder, oblivious to the mess and hoping to make sure there wasn’t a man lurking in the dark. “Just let me have a look around.”
She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back the one step he’d dared to take into the apartment. He looked hurt by the gesture, but relented and moved back. “Go home,” she said, and it felt like she was breaking up with him again. She wanted to cry.