Exhibition

The whores, the tramps, and the scalpel sluts are all over the Graverobber as he waltzes into the alley with the promise of drugs on his lips. They paw at him. They claw at him. They worship him like a god, praying their unwavering devotion will score them a cleaner hit of Zydrate. He works the crowd with the air of a veteran. He's had them begging at his feet for decades now.

Shilo bites the inside of her cheek from her hiding place in the shadows. She hates seeing the glorified prostitutes grinding against her husband. She hates seeing them undress him with their eyes. She hates seeing their hands all over him. But there's nothing she can do—he has to earn a living somehow, and peddling Zydrate is his god-given talent. You knew what you were getting into when you married him, she tells herself. You promised yourself you wouldn't get jealous.

Graverobber holds up the glowing vials, and the scalpel sluts are hypnotized. Their eyes are riveted to the blue liquid; their ears eagerly absorb the seller's sales pitch. Like moths drawn to flames, they move closer to him, unable to resist the drug's charm. Shilo notes with annoyance that the seller himself also has an undeniable appeal. He's mine, she assures herself. No matter what, he promised himself to me. They can have his body, but they'll never get his heart.

"Come on, ladies. Who's up first tonight?" The allure of the Graverobber's deep voice only cements the sluts' desire for the Zydrate. They pause for a moment, contemplating the cost of the drug. How will they pay tonight? A woman with blue hair and narrow eyes steps out from the throng, an easy smile spread across her face. She locks eyes with her dealer. "Anything you want—I mean it, anything. I just want a couple hits… I wanna be numb tonight, baby."

Shilo's jaw clenches. She especially hates it when the addicts talk dirty to her husband. I'm the only one that has the right to do that, a voice inside her head nags. He's mine, mine, mine— "He's only accepting credit tonight," she breaks in before she can help herself. "You think you're still willing to pay?"

The woman's attention shifts to Shilo. "Who in surgery's name're you?"

Shilo snarls, "His wife."

Graverobber is uncomfortable. "Kid, please."

Shilo halts at the use of her nickname. He's called her kid since the day they met. She once complained about his lack of pet names, and he'd countered her complaint easily. "I only use pet names with the scalpel sluts. None of them will ever compare to you." Since hearing his explanation, she's been absolutely thrilled to have him call her kid. It reminds her just how special their relationship is.

"Shilo," Graverobber says again, "it's just work."

"We need the money, Grave. Rent for the house is due—"

"At the end of the week, I know. Don't we always make payment?"

"Well, yes, but"—Shilo glances over at the woman sizing Graverobber up—"I want her to pay you in credit… for me, Grave."

"I don't got no credit," the woman drawls. "I just got myself."

"Then I'm sorry, sweetheart, but no Z for you. Come on." Shilo grabs Graverobber's hand and drags him away from the scalpel sluts. He puts up little resistance as she leads him out of the alley, up a fire escape, and through a back door to an abandoned parts warehouse. They stand facing each other in a dark corridor. "What were you thinking out there?"

Graverobber exhales. "Shilo, you're being unreasonable. My job requires—"

"You can't throw my heart around like this, Grave. You can't keep gallivanting around with all these women and not expect me to get jealous."

"I know, kid. I usually make them pay me in credit, but sometimes, they don't have it, and rather than lose business…" Graverobber shrugged. "What am I supposed to do, huh? Turn them away?"

"Yes!"

"Shilo."

"Don't touch me!" Shilo jerks away from the Graverobber, pressing her back against the wall. How many other woman has he touched like that? How many other women has he made love to? She chokes back bile. "God, Grave… you just don't understand."

"I'm trying to."

Shilo swallows. "How many?"

"Excuse me?"

"How many women have you—have, uh, paid you?"

Graverobber swears. "I don't see why it—"

"Answer the question!"

"I don't know. You think I keep track? This is ridiculous." Graverobber begins to pace. His footsteps echo down the long hallway. Creak, step. Creak, step. The noise is deafening in the tense silence that stretches between them.

Shilo feels like screaming. Creak, step. Creak, step. Her heart pounds against her ribcage, threatening to burst out of her chest. Her stomach hurts. They've had this argument once a month every month since they've been married. Three years of anger and jealousy. Three years of heartache and pain. Three years of living with a man who is by far the most amazing person she knows, but who is also—at the same time, mind you—the most infuriating person she knows. She can hardly live with him, but she refuses to consider living without him. "You are my life now," she says softly. Her voice is unsteady in the oppressive darkness. She sounds like a child again. "I love you."

Graverobber stops pacing. He takes a breath of damp oxygen and holds it. Shilo can tell he's thinking because it takes him forever to speak. He's trying to find the right words to say. He just wants to let her know that everything will be all right. She knows it. After several moments, he releases the breath and says, "I love you, too."

The tension dissolves in an instant. Shilo breaks away from the wall and drifts into Graverobber's arms. He holds her tight against his chest. She buries her head in the crook of his neck and closes her eyes. For now, everything is all right. Everything is better. Now, in this moment, they are a couple again—man and woman, husband and wife, and two halves of a beautiful marriage. I remember why I'm willing to put up with the drug dealing, Shilo muses as her husband holds her. At the end of the day, he always makes it up to me.

Graverobber presses his lips to the top of Shilo's head. He smiles into her hair, a wicked grin that lights up his eyes. His voice is sly. "Hey, kid… I got a great idea."

Shilo smirks. "Bring it on."

After walking hand-in-hand back to the alley, Shilo and the Graverobber make it a point to ignore the desperate scalpel sluts. They still paw at Graverobber as he passes, but his scheme is too amusing for him to think about anything else. Shilo giggles as he whispers something in her ear. She says something to him. His eyebrows arch.

Graverobber flashes a smile at the women surrounding him and grabs Shilo by the waist. They kiss. Shilo blushes when she realizes all eyes are on them. Her husband winks at her and kisses her again, pushing her up against the wall. She tangles her hands in his hair and deepens the exchange.

"Whore," a woman whispers.

Shilo laughs. The laugh transforms into a moan as Graverobber bites her neck. His hands tug at the bottom of her shirt. Their eyes meet.

"You okay with this?" Graverobber asks.

Shilo glances around at the drug-hungry prostitutes. She can picture the looks on their faces as Graverobber takes her against this brick wall. She can taste sweet revenge. She smiles at her husband. "I think so."

Shilo has never considered herself an exhibitionist, and she's by no means looking forward to having these women see her naked, but if it means winning the game, then by all means…

As Graverobber pulls off her shirt and his mouth touches her collarbone, Shilo arches her back, sighing. She's no longer jealous of the scalpel sluts—on the contrary, she pities them.

When it comes right down to it, they can't feel nothin' at all... and she can feel every blessed thing.