Greg tapped his fingers irrhythmically against the wheel of his cramped van, sighing tiredly. It was almost 11 pm, and it was raining horribly, obscuring the height of the trees. Nearly finished with his deliveries, a single package sat on the empty seat beside him. It was marked with nothing more than an address, like always. The brown box shifted every so often when he hit a pothole in his path, but revealed nothing of it's contents.
As Greg turned onto another seemingly endless road, he scratched the scruff of his chin absentmindedly, scanning the dark houses that lined the path. He was getting closer to his destination, 309 Irving Road. Violet Adams lived there, seemingly the only person on the entire street. He had never seen so much as a cat in the window of these homes, let alone delivered a package to one.
Greg shook his legs, having lost feeling in them hours ago. Cursing, he reached for the source of his exhaustion, and began his painful march down Violet's long and winding road, if it could even be called a road at this point. Greg had gotten his van stuck in the muddy path enough times to know better than to drive. His flashlight flicked on, illuminating the swampy ground ahead of him. The cold wind whipped at his jacket, and the nearby trees grew long and sharp shadows as the beam passed over them. ("The storm is getting even worse.") Greg thought.
An indistinct yell came from the darkness ahead, startling Greg. "Christ! Shit." His flashlight had slipped from his freezing fingers, plunging itself into the mud beneath. "Hello!?" Greg shouted back, the wind pulling his words away. Again, a yell. Greg couldn't make out their words. Wiping the mud from his light, he continued his arduous journey, clutching the light package to his chest.
Greg's eyes narrowed into a squint as he approached the glaring light of Violet's home. The voice from before seemed to have been hers, as Violet's figure was clearly outlined in the open door. Her words were much clearer now.
"Get in here! You'll get sick!" She did a long wave, causing her long red hair to shake wildly.
The stiff delivery man stumbled into her house as she quickly shut the door behind him. Violet guided the shivering Greg into her cluttered living room, seating him besides a roaring fire.
"You just sit here and stay warm, Greg. I'm going to make you a hot drink. You want Coffee?"
Greg nodded appreciatively, eyes never leaving the fire. "Coffee's fine, thank you." Violet patted him on the shoulder, and left him to prepare it.
("She remembered this time.") Greg's blue lips curled into a semblance of a smile at the thought.
Greg initially chose this route because it had few deliveries. He had just come out of a nasty break up, and was looking for a job to take his mind off of it. For his first year it seemed a smart choice. But then, Violet Adams ordered her first package. Greg remembered it well. He was so exhausted traveling the long road that not long after he dutifully handed her the delivery he had ended up falling asleep in his van. He awoke the next day with a concerned Violet staring down at the man sleeping in her driveway. Ever since then, Violet seemed to order a package at least once a week. The long drive should have infuriated Gregory, but he could never muster up any hate towards the woman. Their relationship had evolved into a familiar routine of easy smiles and warm greetings. Sometimes she would invite him in for coffee, and they would talk for a short time, swapping opinions and sharing stories. Greg would have preferred more, but he wasn't about to ruin what they had already.
Greg glanced around at his surroundings as he warmed his fingers by the fire. Her living room was messy, and felt very lived in. She seemed to have made a few cursory attempts at cleaning up, but this amounted to little more than stuffing a few frozen food boxes into an overflowing garbage can.
Something in that garbage can caught his eye. Craning his neck around, Greg stood up from the leather chair, and silently moved to the trash. A familiar plastic wrapper peeked out from beneath a pizza box.
'Zeus condoms'. Advertisements for this brand were plastered all over the porn websites he frequented, often in tandem with sketchy pills. Designed for massive endowments, the wrapper proudly states "Doesn't come in a size below large!" The size on the top read 'Custom'.
Greg felt his stomach drop. He wanted to throw up. ("How large...?") Greg thought. ("Does she really like them that big?") Greg's mouth went dry imagining her on her back, spreading her legs for something of that size. ("I can't compete with that!") Greg's eyes began to well up a little, a rush of emotion flowing out of him. He felt like a fool, that he'd been betrayed. ("I know that we're not even dating or anything, but that's just-") Greg couldn't even finish the thought. Exasperation and misery robbed him of his strength. His fingers replaced the box of pizza, covering again the condom that had stolen his soul.
Greg was staring at the embers in the fireplace when Violet returned.
"Sorry about the mess by the way, Greg." She smiled sheepishly. "I wasn't expecting the delivery until tomorrow."
"It's alright. That's fine." Greg hadn't even heard what she said. He could barely respond, his throat unable to do more than whisper.
"Sorry? I didn't catch that."
"I said that's okay." Greg's voice was stronger now, but clearly warbled with the agony he was feeling.
"Are you alright?" Violet's intense green eyes drilled into him now, noticing his obvious distress.
"Yeah. Just feeling a little sick." He wasn't lying.
Violet continued to scrutinize him. "If you say so. Here," Violet hands him a mug. "You take 2 sugars, right?"
"Yes, thank you." He usually took only 1, but he wasn't in any mood to push the issue.
Greg and Violet each sat opposite to the fire. Greg's eyes were on the floor, hand holding the undrunk coffee that had long ago lost the heat he enjoyed. Violet said nothing, eyes shifting concernedly from the fire to the catatonic man beside her.
"Long drive up here?" She asked, desperate to break the silence.
"Yeah. 3 hours, like always." Greg said curtly, without interest.
Violet's eyes widened in shock. "Wait, you've been driving 3 hours to deliver this stuff to me?"
Greg lifted his head with great effort, barely managing to meet her eyes. "I thought you knew."
"No I didn't know! Jesus Greg, I'd have driven to the store if I knew it was that much of a hassle. There's one just down the road!"
"One what? What am I delivering here, Violet?" Greg asked almost accusingly, dread rising in his throat at the possibility of what he had carried.
Violet blushed. "That's not important." Desperate to change the subject, she continued. "I'll just have to stop ordering online. The shipping is too much anyway. I could just-"
"Violet." Greg interrupted her. "It's fine. I chose this route, it's my own fault. I get paid overtime for it anyway."
"It's awful nice of you to do that, but you really should talk to your boss about this. Half the time you show up here you're a foot in the grave."
"I'm a big boy," Greg mentally hissed at his own words. ("Not big enough, apparently.") "I can handle it."
Greg stood up with those words, and stretched his arms theatrically.
"I really ought to be going now, anyway. I've got paperwork to look at in the morning."
"You can't drive home in that state. Not when the roads are so wet!" Violet counters. "Why don't you just stay the night here? I've got a spare bedroom."
Any other day this would have had Greg howling at the moon. Today, Greg knew better.
Unfortunately, he was in no state to refuse.
Greg laid on his side, listening to the novelty cat clock tick incessantly. His wet hair soaked the pillow beneath him, attracting the coolness of the night. Outside, the rain continued to batter the grass and dirt. The sound reminded him of something. A deep and primal, animalistic urge that claws at each and everyone of us:
