She sat across the table drinking coffee and flipping through the pages of an oversized art book. She'd bought it earlier, in a used store that we wandered into on Nascent St. The store was very narrow, so much so that we were only able to browse the high, wooden shelves single file. After a time Kelly went off on her own, and I spent a few minutes looking over the fiction collection before she returned to show me what she'd found.
"Look at this," she said. It was a collection of 14th century engravings from the time of the great plague. The page she opened to depicted a group of skeletal peasants marching toward an open grave. Opposite that was a portrait of Death with his candle and blackened palm, stained from snuffing out the flame of life. She shut the book, smiling strangely.
"I have to buy this."
The old man behind the register sold her the book at a discount. He barely looked up as she thanked him, nodding and muttering something about being happy to put a book in the right hands. Back in the street Kelly talked about coincidence (a word she said she didn't believe in), and the chances of finding a book like this so soon after Auld's announcement. Now she had it open on the table in front of her.
"You know back then people thought the world was ending," she said, showing me another of the pages. At first glance it was a picture of a grinning skull, but when I looked more closely I could see that it had been formed by a clever arrangement of dozens of naked corpses.
"And it didn't," I said.
"It did for them," she countered. She set the book aside and looked out the window. There were a number of other bags on the floor next to the table, each of them stuffed with purchases. They were all hers; she'd spent the entire morning shopping, putting everything on credit. I asked her if she'd come into some money recently, but she just laughed.
"What's the point of going out with anything in the bank?" she asked. At first I thought she was joking, but after a while I wasn't sure; there was a carelessness about her that day, a kind of morbid indifference that bled into everything she did and said, and which made it very difficult to be with her.
"I can't believe you're taking this seriously," I said, and she shrugged.
"Would it be terribly boring if I asked you to take me into the bathroom and fuck me?"
She said it simply, and without inflection. I had no choice but to smile, but she wouldn't return the look. Instead, she took a sip of her coffee and waited.
"Boring?" I asked.
"A cliché. Like the ship's going down so let's fuck."
"That's not boring."
"No?"
There was a hint of amusement on her face.
"And the ship isn't going down."
"Everything's fine?"
"That's right."
She nodded and stood up.
"Then let's go."
She led the way to the bathroom. Once inside, she pressed against me, seeking my lips as her fingers worked to undo my belt. I pulled her skirt over her hips and pressed my palm between her legs. She was already wet, but I was nowhere near hard. She put her hand on me, her fingers cool and searching. They worked roughly, squeezing and prodding, but it made no difference. A gust of frustration passed through me like a long, hollow sigh.
"What's wrong?" she asked as I pulled away from her. I kissed her once more, and then again on the forehead.
"I'm sorry," I said. "It's just not going to happen right now."
She looked away, managing a small half smile.
"Don't worry," she said. "We still have a lot of time."