© 2011 Mina Carter
“What’s the matter, Iliona? A mere human not good enough for you now?”
I sighed as Kenneth’s shrill voice echoed along the seemingly empty corridor of my apartment block. I say seemingly empty, because there was no way Mrs. Robertson in twenty-one was going to miss any gossip, never mind anything as juicy as a domestic breakup. Hell, even though she had to be pushing ninety-something, she wasn’t above leaning so far out of her bathroom window to hear what was going on in the flat below I thought she’d somehow rewritten the laws of gravity. No doubt she’d cracked her front door open as soon as Kenneth had stepped out of the lift.
I say breakup, but that’s not entirely correct. Kenneth and I broke up a month ago, after he’d decided my “comfort” level with paranormals tweaked his “squick” radar. Kenneth hates paranormals with a passion. So, since they’d all “come out of the closet” so to speak ten years ago, he’d been shit out of luck. Now there are all sorts of rules…forget racism, there are whole new laws going through parliament about speciesism. Me, personally? I think anything that gave the human race a kick up the backside and got us all playing along nicely in the sandpit was a bloody good thing.
Right now, though, I really wished I hadn’t opened the door. My fault, I’d thought he was the pizza delivery guy. Anticipating a large Hawaiian with garlic bread on the side, I hadn’t checked the peephole first. Just grabbed my purse and opened up.
“Kenneth, I’ve had a long day and it’s late.”
I didn’t bother to moderate the sharp tone in my voice. I wasn’t lying. I’d been up at the crack of dawn and down in the office sorting a fuckup of monumental proportions. Since I was a case manager for a personal protection company, problems meant a high likelihood of someone dying. Needless to say, I didn’t like problems.
I also didn’t like ex-boyfriends showing up when they weren’t welcome. Folding my arms, I leaned against the door jam and gave him my best “I don’t want to have this conversation now” look. Like seriously. I’d rather eat razor blades and gargle bleach than rehash why we’d split up.
The dumb fuck just stood there, all neatly pressed suit and tie. His banker uniform, I called it, and I hated it. I hated suits, even though I wore one on a regular basis. Actually, that’s a lie, I just hated suits when Kenneth wore them.
“So are you going to answer the question?”
His voice rose in volume now as his carefully tanned face took on a hint of red. Kenneth was naturally pale with dark brown hair. He used sun beds and bleached his hair, terrified someone would mistake him for a vampire. Didn’t matter I’d told him vampires tanned really well and that Rupert, our in-house vamp, loved garlic chicken pizza, the stupid twat insisted on frying himself on a regular basis.
I massaged the bridge of my nose and fought down the urge to murder him with one of my high heels. Since I didn’t wear stilettos, it would have to be blunt force trauma. Fortunately for Kenneth, until I’d had my pizza I really didn’t have the energy.