My Friend is the Devil

Chapter 8

The Green Lady is completely dead when I get there. At first I think it's closed and someone just forgot to lock the door. The urgency of wiping my runny nose takes priority and I sprint through the pub to grab a napkin at the bar when I hear someone say my name. I scream before realizing that Lewis is sitting criss-crossed on the floor behind the bar.

My hand goes to my heart. "You scared me."

He looks concerned. "Hey, you awright?" he asks, standing up. "Have you been crying?"

I turn away from him and blow snot into the napkin. There's a cold touch on my shoulder. "Mm fine," I mutter with a sniffle.

"It's awright. You dinnae have to tell me..."

Even though I see him nearly every day, we haven't been alone together since that moment by the pizza stall in George Square. I can feel his breath on my neck. I try to laugh and look over my shoulder to assure him that I'm fine, but then he kisses me. I shudder at the feeling of his lips. It's been awhile since my last kiss, but I can't remember a kiss ever feeling so cold.

"Woah," I say, pulling away. "That was weird." My lips feel like ice.

Lewis shrugs. "Was it?" He leans forward and kisses me again. My lips are numb and I let the kiss linger for a little too long.

This is Lewis. I don't want to kiss Lewis. He's like a brother to me.

I stop. "Can we just pretend that never happened?"

"If that's what you want," he says.

The door creaks open, causing us to both turn our heads and watch as an elderly woman walks inside. Her hair is merely a few wisps of white atop a balding head and she has a metal walking cane in one hand to keep her upright.

Lewis and I share a confused glance. I'm sure he's thinking the same as I am.

"Need us to call you a taxi, ma'am?" Lewis asks.

The woman starts shuffling towards us and her cane goes clank, clank, clank against the wood.

She stops when she reaches one of the tables and holds onto the back of a chair for extra support. She smiles at us and the skin folds at her neck sway back and forth.

"A wee glass of rosé, please," she says.

Lewis nods and gives me a "what the fuck?" look before going behind the bar.

"Help me with the chair, will you pet?" the old woman asks me.

When I walk over to pull the chair out for her, I notice that underneath her coat, she's wearing a velvet nightgown and slippers. I choose to play ignorant and just help her into the chair.

"Sit with me," she says.

"Oh no, that's—" I start to say, but Lewis returns with her drink.

"Get another glass for the lassie," the woman says.

"Sure," says Lewis.

When he walks away again, the woman asks if he's my boyfriend.

I shake my head. "No, just a friend."

"It's because your hair is that hideous color and completely unkempt." My jaw drops as she continues, "In my day, no man would go out with a woman with green hair. It's rebellious. Men don't want rebellious. Men want obedience!"

She is quiet when Lewis comes back to give me my drink. Once he's out of earshot again, she says, "Don't misunderstand me, I don't mean you have to be obedient. I just mean you have to make him think you are. You have to be smart. You make the decisions, but in a way where he thinks he's the one that's made them. Men... They need their egos fluffed up. You show your strength, even for a moment, and," she snaps her wrinkled fingers, "he's gone."