The Librarian in Lopsided Handcuffs

Samuel was already standing in the dusty break room, leaning against the counter in his usual casual fashion.

Good morning, Adelaide, he said to me, over his paper cup full of steaming, watery coffee. His dark eyes glinted with amusement, watching my every move. Watched as I crossed the tiny space, barely dodging the jagged edge of the long square table set in the center of the room. Watched me yank my long floral skirt away from the splinters.

Good morning, Samuel, I said in reply, smoothing the wrinkles in my skirt before reaching beside him for the half-full coffee pot to pour myself my own cup of steaming, watery coffee.

He watched me do that, too.

I didn’t mind being watched by him. I liked his fascination. He’d watch me all the time. Sometimes he’d watch me between the shelves when I was restocking the books. I’d get that feeling you get up your spine when someone’s watching you, and I’d look up and there he was.

His eyes were such a dark brown you couldn’t see his pupils. Like a doll’s eyes. But his weren’t at all soulless. They held a type of yearning, I think.

How was your night, Adelaide, he asked me, and he always did that. Always said my name after every sentence. Like he enjoyed saying it. I liked the way it rolled off his tongue, the way it sounded slightly needy under his gravelly voice. I wanted him to say it again.

It was alright, I said, sipping the scalding coffee. It burned my tongue but I didn’t mind it. I told him, my wrist had been bothering me all night. It was all achy and such.

Samuel nodded like he understood, and he plucked my wrist, which was crossed over my other arms, with his gentle fingers. You never told me the story behind it, Adelaide, he said.

My arm felt warm all over as he held it. I’d never been that close to him before. I knew I shouldn’t have stayed so close. Because bad things happen when I get close to beautiful people. But of course, I couldn’t help myself. I let him hold onto my wrist with the bump on it. He ran his thumb over the awkward lump and soothed its ache. Briefly. Or maybe that was in my head.

It’s not a story I like to tell, I told him. It’s an ugly story, an ugly story I’m ashamed of. I knew if I told him the truth, he’d drop my wrist, leave the break room, and start reshelving the books. He’d stop saying my name after every sentence, and he’d stop watching me between the shelves. So I lied.

No pressure, Adelaide, but I can’t help but be curious, he said. That’s where I started lying. And lying is easy. If you believe the lie enough, other people won’t realize you’re being dishonest. I broke my wrist when I was little, I said. And he nodded like this was incredibly interesting. That’s another thing I liked about him, he treated everything I said like the gospel.

After I got my cast removed, I broke it again. So it healed in this awful shape, and it aches. He ran his thumb over the bump again. That’s not a terrible story, Adelaide.

I suppose so, I said, but I don’t like to be cast in an irresponsible light.

And then we both got quiet. We just stood there, holding cups of now lukewarm, watery coffee. He was still holding onto my misshapen wrist and watching me with his round doll eyes. I thought maybe he’d kiss me, even though we were at work. It was early, around 5:30. The library opened at 6:30, so we had time. But then Leah arrived. I didn’t care much about Leah. She was pretty enough. With dark dolly eyes like Samuel’s, and a devastatingly even complexion. Just as dark as her eyes. My only issue was that she was a bit too close to Samuel’s age for my liking. He’s twenty-four. Leah’s twenty-two. I’m twenty-nine. I’m not even old, but men sometimes had that gene where they’d go after any young thing. I was afraid even someone as beautiful and darling as Samuel would have it too.

He let go of my wrist when she arrived.

Oh, am I interrupting, she asked, sharing a seemingly knowing look with Samuel, and then looking at me as if I wasn’t meant to be there.

Not at all, Leah, he said, just as I was about to say that she was interrupting. I was just leaving, anyway. Help yourself to some coffee. He winked at her.

And then he left. Side-stepped around me, the splintered edge of the table, and Leah.

My coffee was cold. I threw it out.

You and Sam are pretty close then, huh, Leah said. Do you think you could put a good word in for me? It was a normal question. Maybe even fair, now that I think about it. But as I stood there, dust settling in my pores, wrist aching, and cold all over, I grew angry. And I just get so mad sometimes, the type of mad that makes you do horrible things. You know, like when your hands begin to shake and your throat closes and you feel the searing urge to hurt something—or someone.

Leah looked at me, and I didn’t like her looking at me.

Adelaide, she asked, are you okay, and I didn’t like her saying my name.

I took the handle of the coffee pot in my good hand. The watery coffee, sloshing against the brown-stained glass. My hand was shaking so much, some of the coffee spilled down my arm and onto the floor, as I raised the pot up, up, up, and smashed it against the side of her pretty face. It broke into shards all over the table, where she hit the other side of her head on the splintered edge before slumping onto the ground. I got more scalding hot coffee all over me. Over the front of my skirt, and I got glass all over my shoes.

There’s always glass whenever I get like this.

Last time, when I used a rock to crash my fist through the driver’s window of my ex-husband’s car, he stabbed a shard into my wrist. To defend himself. I didn’t go to the hospital. I tried to take it out myself, but my fingers kept slipping off it. Slick with blood, you know. So I left it there.

And it healed, yet it aches.

Samuel came back shortly after, to find Leah still on the ground, and me standing over her. What did you do, Adelaide, he said, panicked. He didn’t say my name with that hint of wanting. He said it like it was an accusation. Like it was profane. I didn’t answer.

Then he used his cell phone to call the police.

And now I’m here, talking to you, officer.