Sweet Poison *Updated every Friday @ 1PM*

One

Getting past the motion sensors without making the alarm belt out its favorite song was simple.

There were triggers set up in every direction. Multiple state-of-the-art control boxes waited for the heat of my body so they could alert my house parents that I was up to my usual no good. People think you have to wear special clothes to go undetected. The key is to not rush. Crouched in a squat and on the tips of my toes, I slithered with my back against the walls as slowly as possible to make sure I didn't go beyond the ceiling sensor's blind spots. I'd memorized them as well as the spelling of my name. Low and silent. Making the smallest sound would have bent the light waves and set off the system. I had to be careful not to interrupt the path of the invisible beams coming at me from across the room too. I got on my hands and knees once I approached the open space of the next rooms, moved like a lynx and stayed as close to the ground as I could until the narrow hall ended. The furniture in the living and dining room served as cover for my movements that led to the front door.

Could do it backwards. Could do it in my sleep. Could do it backwards in my sleep.

Getting him out of my peripheral was the real challenge of the night.

I didn't know who he was. All I knew was that he was as interested in me as I was interested in him. I'd mastered being undetectable through months of practice. I knew how to bypass intricate electromagnetic systems, no sweat. But I didn't have any experience evading red-blooded, blue-eyed predators. There were at least a half dozen spectators around, but I had a true audience of only one. He hunted me with a hungry, steady gaze. Unabashed. I could feel the heat simmering even with what had to be at least a few dozen feet between our little round tables. He'd had his eyes anchored on me since I started nursing my second cup of over-sweetened chamomile.

Did he want to see me naked or take in the scent of my blood after he ran a blade across my throat? Did he want both, love me then murder me black widow style?

I was tucked in the back corner of a small café that was barely noticeable at the end of a nondescript side street in a part of Queens that some people these days like to argue is a part of Brooklyn. It was an hour beyond curfew then, but still in the mid-seventies in the city, humidity high. A quintessential sweltering New York City summer night. The bedbugs and my roommates' chorus of snoring could wait a couple more hours.

The first time I'd stopped at that spot for tea had been on a Sunday afternoon. I sat in the same spot, but instead of sneaking quick glances at a man stalking me with his gaze, I stared down a mother and daughter couple having brunch together. They held hands as they left, laughed with each other as they hit the concrete. The girl was about my age the last time I had a mother. She'd looked happy.

I wanted to lift my cup and take a swig of my tea to get rid of the bitter taste of bile rising in my throat at the memory. But my gaze latched straight onto the man across the room. Him. I didn't mean to let our eyes connect. It was like something grabbed and shoved me. I couldn't resist returning his stare no matter how hard I tried.

My attraction to him was strong, immediate yet undefinable. That feeling was strange, so new for me. He was sitting alone too. My bare legs were crossed under the table. His were wide under the one near the entrance where he sipped his steamy drink. He was probably twice my age. But he had me curious, squeezing my thighs together for friction. With his nice-looking street clothes and the quiet authority I observed he had with one of the baristas, he was the kind of man I pictured stopping at one of those gourmet coffee meccas that always come first when a city is in the process of being gentrified, the ones right before a Starbucks is planted on a busy corner. Not a place full of regulars who know the servers by name. He looked out of place. Maybe traveling through. Maybe lost.

Just as I was going to glance away he tipped his head at me and I caught the subtle twitch in the corner of his mouth. I dropped my eyes fast. My heart pounded. My breathing got shallow. Was that a smile? A smirk? Did he think I was pretty? Did he know something I didn't? I wanted to crawl under the table, my body reacting as if I'd suddenly been attacked. I wasn't scared. I was excited. But I didn't know what to do, how to act. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. He made me feel shy and self-conscious. He made me feel girly. Pink.

I kept my eyes down and lifted my cup, pretended it was the most refreshing drink I'd ever ordered. I hoped the way my hair fell over my features it veiled the way I felt my cheeks blush. The feeling was as intense as being stripped naked.

My heart started pounding again when I noticed him getting up from his wooden seat a few minutes later. Shit. He was going to come over and say something. Cup shaking in my hands, I finished off my drink and spied him out the corners of my eyes. He lifted his wallet from his back pocket and dropped a couple bills on the small round table in front of him for coffee he'd barely sipped. Next to him standing it looked like a piece of doll furniture. Money on the table, he glanced my way, like he wanted to lock in one last visual before approaching. We made brief eye contact again. My cup was empty, but I pretended to sip again and stalked him in my periphery until he was gone.

Breathe. I kept telling myself to breathe. It was over. Instead of crossing the room to get to me, the stranger left. But something was just beginning inside my body. Something wicked.

I went inside the claustrophobic bathroom a few steps away and washed my hands. Even as I toweled them dry with cheap generic paper towels I still felt dirty, like my hands had been somewhere they shouldn't have been. But they hadn't. Only my mind.

I took a breath and ran my hands through my hair, fluffed it around so it looked thicker, messier, sexier. I tilted my face, looked at my reflection and tried to imagine what that stranger had seen when he stared at me. I wondered if he noticed how my lips are too puffy for my face, like I've been stung by a thousand bees. Or how my eyebrows are slightly asymmetric. Or how the cleft in my chin isn't exactly centered. I picked apart my flaws and wondered if he even noticed them. Most people didn't, not until I pointed them out. But the way he'd had his eyes on me. He'd watched me like there was a steak knife concealed in his pocket, maybe even a gun. His attention had been that intense.

I was at least a mile away from where I'd sleep that night, but I didn't mind walking. It cleared my head, was sort of like doing yoga or meditating. I had an unlimited metro card that my school gave me every month, and the night air was suffocatingly muggy. But I felt like making my way to my personal prison on foot.

"Hey."

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