A Subtle Itch

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” he yelled at her, thinking he had gotten her off the gambling horse, until he found her stash of scratchers under the utensil holder in the drawer. It was one of the few times he helped to put away dishes, and he noticed that the drawer was a little hard to open, since the container was touching the top. It wasn’t supposed to touch the top…

She stared at him, frozen, nearly apathetic with panic. She couldn’t deny it, as good as addicts are at lying. She was past the phase of lying directly and was only lying subtly now. She tried not to directly lie anymore; she figured it gained her cosmic points somewhere.

Damien saw that he wasn’t going to get anything out of her by continuing to yell. He opened the trash can and threw her stash down, hoping to get a rise out of her that way. All Celestial did was open her eyes a little wider, and her lips parted. She could deny nothing, and she could confirm nothing. He had worked so hard to curb her abusive love of gambling. He had promised her security, a place in his bed and home, and money for groceries.

The money for groceries might not sound that impressive to some, but with his six-figure income and her love of cooking, it had definitely enticed her. She could go to the nice grocery stores and easily find prosciutto, figs, Asian pears, bok choy, and pink Himalayan salt, all in one stop, so she could make exciting and masterful transformations. Exquisite dishes that belonged at a five-star restaurant, but he could access in his own home, from his own little chef.

He asked her once how she came up with these recipes. She said she dreamed up many of them.

“Haven’t you noticed my little black recipe book on my nightstand? Didn't you think it was strange?” He admitted that he hadn’t noticed. When they were in their bedroom, the only thing he noticed was how ready she was or not, hoping she was as ready as he was for a long night.

He had also promised her a library. When she had moved in, she did bring many books, but now he could give her money for more. His own collection was full of titles he hadn’t read yet, but thought would be nice for him to have. His boss would be impressed every once in a while, when the boss was talking about a book, and Damien could tell his boss that he had it in his own personal library, neglecting to say he hadn’t read it.

Celestial added to the library at least once a week, whatever she liked. She didn’t care what people thought of her, nor thought about interesting titles she could have just to impress others. The library had definitely been an enticement for her, a room just for books, since her own previous apartments had been too small. Phoenix was getting gentrified, and what she could afford was getting smaller. Bagging at the grocery store was not fun, especially when men leered at her under the pretext of making sure she put the heavy stuff at the bottom. Damien hadn’t leered at her. He couldn't look away from her, but it wasn’t that predatory. He gave her his number. Finding a date at the grocery store wasn't the most impressive story for romance, unless you were your date’s savior.

She called him. She liked that he at least had given her the choice to call him or not. Their first date was a typical dinner and a movie, except the movie was skipped and spent in front of his ignored TV. She had loved his house, three times the size of her apartment, with his own room, again, just for books! She moved in pretty quickly after that.

So here they found themselves, with him yelling at her, her love of scratchers no longer charming and quirky, especially seeing how many she had. She stayed quiet, staring up at him, staring down once he had thrown them away. She didn’t know her contingency plan would be in play so soon.

Instead of saying anything, she got up and started cooking dinner. She could always appease him with dinner. He took it as a sign of being sorry.

She took out a tomato. He hated tomatoes - they made everything soggy. He had never seen her recipes, he just knew they were good. But seeing the tomato come out made him curious. He looked over her shoulder at the recipe.

4 tomatoes

7 garlic heads, chopped

11 onions

Chicken thighs

Bay leaves

Tortillas

“You put in FOUR tomatoes?” The 11 onions were also wild, but he had a real issue with the tomatoes.

Her eyes were wide again, like they had been while watching her lottery tickets go down the trash. Then she laughed.

“No, no, this is just something I tried once. You actually liked it, but I never use the same proportions twice. Cooking is about making something new, no repetitions.” He didn’t notice the tiny bit of force behind her smile.

He believed her and felt better, especially since she only had one tomato out. The revealing of her process also negated his question about the onions, so he didn’t ask. She made chicken tinga tacos, and they were delicious, despite the tomato. He completely forgot about the tomato when she was as ready as he was that night, almost attacking him on the bed. He slept deeply and soundly afterwards.

The next day, he woke up alone. It was unusual, but not unheard of. Sometimes he would find her reading on the couch, engrossed in a novel he assumed was trashy. He didn’t find her there. He looked in the library. It seemed like half the books were on the ground. Also unusual, but also maybe not. He rarely came in here anyway. He passed by the kitchen. It was spotless - not unusual. The trash had been taken out already - unusual. That was his job. He wasn’t worried though, she had probably gone to the store. She went yesterday though… maybe she forgot something. Who knew? Not him.

The day went by slowly, and his concern rose as the sun came down. He called her in the afternoon, with no answer. He called her again, and again, with increasing frequency. No answer. His frantic mind finally started to think, Maybe she left a note. He searched the spotless kitchen. He looked in the desk in the library, sidestepping books to get to it. She would have written it early, he thought as he headed to the first thing she would’ve seen when she woke up. There was one piece of paper on her night stand, ripped out of a little black recipe book - the recipe he had commented on last night. The instructions were there, with the out-of-proportion list of ingredients at the top. He flipped to the back. Nothing.

The week went by slowly. He called in sick, knowing he would be unable to concentrate at work. He stared at the recipe. He had no idea what to make of it. He tried calling more. No answer. The last time he called, the robotic voice announced that the number had been disconnected.

Eventually he had to go to the grocery store, running on an autopilot sense to live, and thus feed himself. His ingredients were convenient and plain, nothing like what Celestial would’ve bought. He had no idea how to make food like her. He was so distracted staring at the blandness of his groceries and comparing it to what she would have bought that he almost missed the excited chatter between the teenaged bagger and the middle-aged cashier.

“Yeah, well she came with this giant stack of scratchers. She must’ve been collecting them for months! Abraham said he spent forever verifying them. He could only give her a few hundred dollars before he had to send her to more stores. He called them to let them know it wasn’t one big ticket win, it was a ton of little ones.”

“How much was it?” the cashier asked, intrigued.

“Twenty thousand!”

The cashier’s eyes went wide, and Damien raised his eyebrows.

“I thought people were supposed to go to the state office, or fill out a form, to get that much money,” he commented, butting in a little.

“Well yeah, they’re supposed to, but Abraham knew her and said she seemed pretty desperate, looked like she had been up all night. Plus, I think he’s had a crush on her since she used to work here.”

Damien’s heart stopped. Celestial used to work here. His brain stopped too, because he didn’t know what else to ask. Where would she have hidden a giant stack of scratchers? He thought about the stash in the utensil drawer, but he hadn’t thought there would be more.

He made it home by the skin of his teeth, a fog in his head, but it was lifting.

Why was the kitchen spotless when the library was so messy? She loved both places, she loved taking care of her spaces. He went into the library again. There were four bookcases. He took the recipe she had left behind from his pocket. He hadn’t parted with it since he found it.

4 tomatoes

7 garlic heads

11 onions

He went to the fourth bookcase, the one furthest away from the door. The bookcases were tall. She had liked them being so tall, and liked using a step stool, since it meant there was that much more space for books. There were eight shelves on each book case. He started from the top down, going to the seventh shelf of the fourth bookcase, the second shelf from the bottom. He noticed it was the only shelf that was full, the only one that didn’t seem to have books lying open on the floor. Heart pounding, he counted 11 books across. It was a small book: Give it to Me by Ana Castillo. She was Celestial’s favorite author, that much he knew. He flipped through, noticing that there was something stiff stuck in the front cover. There was a scratcher, $5 available to cash out from it, and a handwritten note, saying,

How ashamed do you think I should be?