My Personal Demon

14:25*

*sexual content ahead

I don't like the mall. That doesn't mean that I hate all malls, just the one in Brisrock Piers.

When my husband was still alive, he would sometimes take me out there. I don't know what possessed him to think that the mall was romantic, but after much pleading, I agreed to go with him.

I let him drag me through the tired building, walking over linoleum that should have been replaced years ago. He buys us pretzels at Auntie Anne's, handing me the salt-coated twisted dough. I bite into the warm treat as he leads me to the next destination.

It wasn't until we reached the arcade and he pulled out a sack of quarters that I understood what he was doing.

"This is just like our first date," I said in disbelief.

"Straight from our high school days," he agreed. "It's not the same mall, but it will have to do."

A wave of nostalgia washes over me. We played games like there was nothing better to do, stopping when his sack of coins was spent. Then, we go to the food court for cheeseburgers and fries. He sips his sprite. I drink my coke. I take some of his fries, which he allows because they were really our fries.

We walk into an outlet store and he buys me a dress for the heck of it. The garment is soft and red, my favorite color, and it fits me perfectly.

I drag him into a bookstore and buy him a blue journal to return the favor, the kind of blue that sat in between the sky and his pen ink. He accepts my gift graciously, but there's still one more place we have to go to complete our date.

We sat close together in the movie theater, sharing a small popcorn between us. I don't remember the name of the movie that we watched and hardly anything that happened in it, only that the title had seemed vaguely interesting and that the seats were mostly empty. It wasn't a popular movie.

He drinks his sprite and I sip my coke. We hold hands and kiss in the dark like we needed to hide it from somebody.

When the credits roll, I turn to the parking lot. This was how our dates used to end, with him driving me home. But he had other ideas.

We stopped at a jewelry store, where the broker immediately recognized him. He pulls out a small box from beneath the counter, opening to reveal a small silver bracelet with our initials engraved.

"I thought it would match your wedding ring," he said.

It was two years into our marriage. I still wear that bracelet, but now I wander the mall alone.

I find Clara in the first store that I see that does piercings. The neon green sign that says "Piercings by K" is a dead giveaway. She's in the middle of working on someone's ears, but her eyes light up when she sees me.

"You came," she mouthed.

I smile awkwardly, lips pressed into a hesitant upward curve. As I took in the young girls waiting on cushioned seats, I wondered what I had gotten myself into.

"What kind of nose ring do you want?" She gives me a book, pointing to the various piercings.

I'm overwhelmed by the choices.

"I think a septum would suit you," she said after a moment of silence. "They heal the fastest too."

I opt for a stainless steel horseshoe barbell and she gets to work. First, she cleans my nose with a cotton swab. Next, she positions the clamp in between my nostrils. Then, she quickly puts the needle through the center of my nose. I feel a painful pinch, but soon it's replaced by a warm sensation. She threads the piece of metal through, screwing on the metal ball of the barbell.