Death Cute

A couple of months ago, I had precisely two talents: overwatering succulents and scaring people away just by being myself. Neither paid well. Now I have three. The third? A shiny new ability to sense where people are going to die. Not who, not how — just where.

Turns out that talent pays the least. The first time I felt that bone-chilling rush crawl through my veins was at a bus stop. I decided to hang out and see if I could stop it from happening. Chosen one energy, right? Spoiler alert: not only could I not stop it, but I also missed an entire day at the diner, along with all the tips that kept me surviving in this overpriced city. So, A+ life choices all around.

I ended up sitting on a bench across the street because standing too close felt like leaning into an open flame. Someone was going to die there. Eventually. Maybe tomorrow, maybe twenty years from now. Either way, it was so deeply soaked into the cement that no one could escape it, but I could try to do something.

I sat there staring like a creep until my bladder couldn’t hold it anymore. The chances of someone dropping dead in the five minutes I was gone were probably very slim. I ran half a block to the nearest bodega, where I often bought cheap wine and used the bathroom. I waved at Armando at the counter and hurried to the familiar orange door at the end of the perpetually filthy hallway.

For the first time in my life, someone was waiting in line for the bathroom. He was tall, with chin-length, messy, platinum-blonde hair. If he weren’t blonde, I would’ve pegged him as a young Professor Snape, which I found attractive. He turned and smiled at me. If I weren’t about to pee my pants, I would’ve smiled back, but instead, I silently squeezed my knees together and did a nervous little jig. I could see he was still smiling at me from the corner of my eye.

“Do you want to go ahead of me?” he asked suddenly. His voice was like silk with a few snags. Its imperfection was perfect. It wasn’t lost on me that he wasn’t clueless and behaved like a gentleman.

“Thank you!” I said a bit too loudly. “You could literally be saving a life.”

“Yours?”

“Hope not,” I said with a wink, closing the crusty orange door behind me. Did I just effing wink? Jesus…

As I slid the lock shut, my stomach fluttered. Yours? His words echoed in my mind. What if I were sensing my death? I sat on the toilet, feeling a strange mix of relief and panic. Fun times. I washed my hands and looked at my reflection in the broken mirror. A crack ran straight down the middle of it. I stared into my dull brown eyes and brushed back my chestnut curls. “Rory, you’re losing it… Maybe it’s time to get back on the meds.” I took a deep breath and shook my head.

When I walked out, mystery dude was gone. Had I taken too long in there? A part of me felt relieved because of the whole winking ordeal; another part was disappointed. I don’t know why — I would never have the guts to ask him out.

I hurried back to the bus stop and saw blonde Snape Jr. walking toward it. No, no, no… I sprinted across the street and grabbed his arm, yanking him back.

“Whoa, what?” he said, startled but smiling, as if my actions amused him. Was he ever not smiling? It twisted me up inside.

“You don’t want to take the bus today,” I blurted out, dreading that I’d have to come up with some excuse he’d believe. I got kicked out of an improv troupe because I wasn’t into the whole “Yes, and…” thing. I’m more of a “No, but” person. It’s surprisingly hard to get improvisers to dislike you, but I managed. Ding! “From this stop, I mean,” I added, feeling a pinch of pride in the small amount I retained from playing improv games.

“What’s wrong with this stop?” he asked, his ice-blue eyes staring into my soul. I’m not saying that for dramatic effect. I felt like this guy and I were meant to be.

“What’s not wrong with this stop?” My laugh caught in my throat and died. I had to get desperate. I had to flirt with him. “I was just wondering if I could walk with you to the stop a few blocks away. I am playing hooky from work.” Hooky? Who said that anymore?

“Oh, so you usually don’t wear waitress uniforms?” he chuckled and brushed his pale hair away from his face, which seemed carved from marble. My stomach sank again, remembering that I was wearing my not-so-clean blue waitress uniform. I pulled my black hoodie tight around me and smiled.

“It’s more like a costume,” I said. “I like to think I’m just playing a role in a badly written play. It pays the bills, kind of.” He looked at me for a moment and then gave a hearty laugh.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said. “But I want to know your name first.”

“Rory,” I said.

“You can call me Morri,” he said, smiling a crooked smile. I bit my tongue hard to avoid mentioning that our names rhymed. This had to be fate, right?

We crossed the street at my request. I kept my eyes fixed on the bus stop. There was a mother with her young child in a stroller and an older man sitting on the bench. Could one of them be it? I couldn’t stand here forever. I had to move on with my life, right? Should I tell someone? I’m officially crazy.

“So, are we walking or what?” Morri’s deep voice snapped me out of my morbid thoughts.

“Yes, I...” I began to say when I heard the mom from the bus stop shouting.

“Someone call 911!”

The old man had fallen to the ground, clutching his chest. It was him! I didn’t have to wait a year for that to happen, and there was nothing I could do about a heart attack. Once again, a strange ambivalence pulsed through my veins. I felt terrible that someone was dying, but also a strange sense of relief.

“I knew it,” the words escaped my mouth before I could stop them.

“You knew that guy was going to have a heart attack?” Morri asked. I couldn’t look at his face.

“No, not him,” I said. “We should leave before it gets crazy.”

As we walked down the street, I felt his eyes studying me. I was searching the maze of fleshy folds in my brain for something to say. Was this a one-time thing? Was this some new ability I have now? Is this upsetting or exciting? I couldn’t figure out how to feel.

On top of that, I was walking with this hot guy, completely tongue-tied and awkward. What if Morri was supposed to die in that spot, but because I stopped him, that elderly man suffered his fate instead? Should I put caution tape around these death spots?

“So we’re walking now,” Morri said, snapping me out of my internal interrogation. “Is it because you like me, or so I wouldn’t croak at the bus stop?” A cold prickle ran up my spine.

“What? How did you…?” Both questions stopped me cold. I decided to ignore the first; the second was less embarrassing.

“How long have you sensed death?” he asked, cutting straight through the pile of unfinished thoughts I was about to dump on him.

“Since right now,” I said. “How did you know?”

“It all became pretty obvious,” he laughed. “I think I would’ve missed my bus anyway.”

“Are you going to work?”

“I think I’ll play hooky as well,” he replied, taking my hand in his. His skin was cold, which was perfect because mine was clammy and hot. His smile showed he didn’t seem to mind. “Where do you want to go?”

☠

A little while later, with coffees in hand, we stood on one of my favorite rooftops overlooking the city. It was a jumble of flowerpots, some withered and dead, others barely hanging on, the whole scene resembling a neglected, vine-choked graveyard. I loved it.

Morri took a sip of his drink, his face scrunching in disgust.

“I think this is yours,” he said, handing it to me. “Way too black.” It was too late because I had mistakenly taken a big gulp of his as well.

“No human needs that much sugar,” I said, playfully sticking my tongue out at him as we traded cups.

“Maybe I’m not human,” he said with a wink. Whew, now my awkward wink from before didn’t seem so tragic.

“Ha-ha,” I said, leaning into him as we took in the skyline.

The city sparkled, as if it were performing a cheap magic show. Usually, I’d find some reason to leave — but standing there with Morri, I just let myself enjoy the trick.

“So you sense where people are going to die?” Morri asked, picking up where we had left off in our conversation.

“I have no idea,” I replied. “I got off at the bus stop and just knew someone was going to die there. I don’t know the details…” My voice faded as my brain tried to figure out the specifics of my new superpower.

“Want a sidekick?” Morri asked with a raised brow.

“Only if you wear a tight costume,” I said, imagining him in a shiny black, skin-tight leotard and matching cape. I liked the image a little too much.

“Hey, stop objectifying me,” he said, nudging me with his elbow and taking another sip of his sugar with a splash of coffee.

“Are you serious?” I asked. “You want to walk around town with me and find a bunch of ‘death spots’? I don’t think it’s going to be like finding Wi-Fi.”

“Why not?” he asked, all teasing gone from his tone. What could it hurt? He might be safer with me anyway. I could steer him clear if we did stumble upon another one of these spots.

“I’m no superhero,” I said. “This talent feels more like a curse.”

“Maybe it’s a gift,” Morri said. His words settled in my mind like they’d always lived there, familiar and dangerous.

“You can’t be my sidekick,” I told him. “But you can be my partner.”

“Even better,” he smiled as if we shared a secret, and that secret was me.

☠

Morri and I spent days roaming the city, searching for more of these so-called “death spots.” He took notes in a small leather notebook tucked inside his black pea coat. He was fascinated by me, which was great, considering most guys landed somewhere closer to apathetic.

When I started to worry about my job, especially the tips that kept me fed, he told me not to worry and said he had a trust fund that was a million years old that would take care of both of us. That should have been a red flag, but I was deep into all this chasing death business and just went along with it.

In the death spots we visited, nothing happened. It’s not like I expected people to start dropping like flies. I just felt that ice-cold surge rush through my veins, but new side effects began to appear alongside it. I started to feel like I was in one of those annoying medication commercials. May cause haunted-house palpitations, tasting metal like you’ve sucked on rusty nails, and the sensation of impending doom that makes you sob uncontrollably. Please contact your exorcist immediately if you experience any of these symptoms.

Morri trailed behind me like a shadow, jotting down every strange detail I shared. Every night, we'd end up on my tiny balcony, knees bumping against the rusted rail, sipping shots of Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey—his favorite. Not surprising, given the way he prepared his daily coffee drink. Me? I was at the point where I’d drink anything free and guaranteed to make me numb.

☠

There was one night with Morri that I would never forget — he was reading back my own words from his battered notebook as if they were details worth memorizing.

“Bus stop on Pine felt like drowning; the church steps like cold spikes in my spine; rooftop of the Fairmont apartment building — heartbeat skipping, left ear ringing.”

He paused, his blue eyes locking with mine over the edge of his glass.

“What?” I asked, my cheeks burning from the whiskey and his stare. I nudged his knee with mine when he didn’t answer.

“I think it’s incredible,” he said. “How you feel all of this and haven’t run away yet.” He gestured with his chin toward his book.

I tried to laugh it off and come up with a sardonic remark. “Lucky me,” and a snort was all I could manage.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he set the glass down, reached over, and touched my wrist. My heart skipped a beat at his touch, but I didn’t pull away.

We sat like that for a tiny eternity, his thumb softly moving in small circles against my skin, his eyes never leaving mine. I finally decided to speak.

“I think I was meant to find you,” I said, swallowing hard. “I’m still trying to figure out what all this means.”

“Means,” he said, pulling me closer and placing his cold hand on my face. The chill eased my tension. "You’re the strangest, most perfect creature I’ve ever met. Thank you for helping me remember things I forgot, like love.” Whoa. That was a little intense, but I didn’t care. Did he say “creature”? Whatever.

Then he kissed me. Slow, intense — like gravity was trying to prove it existed. My chest was on fire, and not from the Fireball this time. I grabbed the front of his coat, half to keep from tipping backward off the balcony, half because if I let go, I was pretty sure I’d float off into space.

When we finally pulled back, the city below us was still putting on a glittery show. I pressed my forehead against his, my breath shaky, thinking, I want to live here forever, teetering on the edge with Morri.

☠

Days blurred together as we wandered the city. Morri was there to catch me when I felt woozy in a spot and always held me, kissing away my tears when I cried. He was never tired or cold. The deeper we went into these places, the more alive he seemed. Maybe it was his sugar addiction keeping him perky.

Me? I started waking up with aches in my bones that no amount of yoga could fix. Not that I would ever do yoga. Sometimes, I’d catch my reflection and swear I was staring at a ghost. But I didn’t care as long as he was with me, laughing and brushing my hair off my neck in that lazy way that said mine without saying a word.

☠

Fast forward to tonight. We stood in the middle of an empty street under a buzzing streetlamp. Morri took my hand, his thumb slowly sweeping over my knuckles, and looked at me in that way that always made me go stupid.

“You know what I just realized?” I asked him, my voice barely above a whisper. “No one has actually died. We don’t even know if the old man died at the bus stop that day we met.” I waited for his response, the one that would explain everything—some theory or hypothesis that would make sense of what we were doing. But all I got was silence.

“I wanted you to figure it out on your own,” he finally said, overlooking what I thought was a pretty big revelation.

I tried to ignore the sharp twisting in my chest. “Figure out what?”

He smiled — soft, sad, damaging. “That I’m not exactly human. Not even close.”

The twisting almost snaps me in half. “So what, you’re a vampire? Alien? Some asshole god?” I laugh because that’s what I do when I feel like I’ve broken something.

Morri steps closer, presses his forehead against mine, and laughs with me.

“I’m Death,” he finally said. “That’s why you haven’t witnessed anyone die… yet. I wanted to wait until you were ready, so I took a little sabbatical.”

It should’ve terrified me. Maybe a week ago, it would have. But standing there with Morri, the city humming with dark promise all around us, it just felt... right.

“So what now?” I asked, voice steadier than I felt. “Has this been some sort of test? What am I? What will I become?”

“Come with me. Not because you have to, but because you’re already halfway gone, Rory. And I’ve been all the way yours since the moment I found you. You’ve reminded me that death doesn’t have to be so lonely.”

A laugh escaped me, thin and a bit cracked but real. “Is it weird that I think that was sweet as hell?”

He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine in the hard way I loved. “Say yes.”

So I did. Because honestly, what else was left for me here?

The streetlight flickered out. Morri’s hand was still in mine. And together, we stepped off the edge of everything.