Fear the Reaper [malexmale]

Chapter Two

"It's not too bad. I used to clean college dorms before this."

"Good lord, I'm so sorry."

"Me too. At least you guys don't pass out drunk in your own feces for six hours."

"That was a mental image I didn't need."

"Heh, alright. Well, if you're sure you don't need me, I'll take off then. Call me if you need anything, alright?" Mia asked, shrugging her coat back onto her shoulders. I nodded and gave her a wave before she left. A couple minutes later, Alaric was coming down the stairs quickly, snatching up a piece of toast and a strip of bacon, cramming it all into his mouth. He gave me a greasy kiss on the cheek, some muffled talk about finishing our earlier makeout session, a reminder to pay Mia, and I think something about a phone call before he was out the door.

And I was left alone in the house.

Which was a rarity. Usually I left in the morning, went to the gym, got to work, came home, and Alaric and I spent some alone time. We also took off the same days so we could spend weekends together. But every so often, I would get called in because some asshole fired off a missile or dropped a nuke or attacked a stadium and I had to get my ass out there to figure out the damage. So usually Alaric was left alone here.

Not today, I supposed. Today it was my turn to be the weepy whiny hubs left in the house. Except I didn't look as good in lingerie as Alaric. Not that I had tried or planned to. I'd probably rip all of Alaric's panties and he'd throw a fit. Besides, lace wasn't my thing. Too itchy. I was a leather person, through and through.

I tapped my fork on the side of my plate, trying to figure out what I was gonna do with myself for the day until Alaric got back when the doorbell rang. I frowned, getting up and heading to the door. A quick peek through the peephole revealed my least favorite person in the neighborhood, so it took me a moment to muster up some level of Friendly Neighbor.

I unlocked the door and opened it up to reveal Jaclyn. Jaclyn was your stereotypical soccer mom. Dark hair interrupted by lighter brown highlights, cut in a V bob that was so symmetrically sharp you could cut your finger on it. Her baby blues were fake due to tinted contacts, hiding the real hazel beneath. She probably spent hours getting her eyebrows done, only to color them in with what looked like sharpie, to match the winged eyeliner that was surprisingly on point for a female with five kids, two of which were teenage boys and three girls in middle school.

And you know, I could totally get past the whole physical look of her. She was allowed to do her thing. She was a free female.

If only she wasn't a goddamn cunt.

She was the type of female who went to PTA meetings with a megaphone, the one who demanded to see a manager if the cashier didn't smile at her, who screamed at the ref at her son's soccer games and bitched out the basketball coach on behalf of her daughter.

And then there was the fact that she didn't like me in general. She was one of many who misinterpreted my position as Death to mean that I killed people and enjoyed it... which wasn't that far from the truth, but that was more like a hobby, not my job. My job was the exact opposite. No killing people. The only time we could talk to the dying was to hold their hand, or make their passing less painful. Killing was strictly no-no. Our job was to escort the soul and move on.

Of course, fucking Jaclyn didn't seem to comprehend that. Death was death and it was all my fault.

And did I mention she was on the neighborhood committee, aka, pretty committee, aka, a council of elitist rich folk who thought they ran the neighborhood because they were a bunch of lawyers and doctors and one of them was a dentist? Yeah.