Free Spare and Found Parts by Sarah Maria Griffin

the past year it had escalated. He seemed to assume that she wouldeventually break. Nell, however, was not a girl in the business of breaking.
    His eyes kept flicking down to her neck and sternum, covered completely, but ticking at volume, slightly out of sync with the music. Nell imagined little teeth in his pupils, chewing away at her clothing. She clenched her fists.
    â€œWell, you know how it is, Nell. Everyone with an ounce of common sense can tell that we’re perfectly suited. I can offer you a lovely time, you know that.” He took out a slim silver case full of hand-rolled cigarettes, removed one theatrically, and lit it up. He offered Nell one, too, and she glared at him.
    â€œOh, I’m sorry.” Oliver smiled, eyes on her neck and chest again. Tick, tick, tick .
    Nell took a long pull from her drink. It burned but helped. She was also prepared to throw it at Oliver if he made any moves. Kodak was staring straight at him with his tiny bullet hole eyes.
    â€œI’m not having this conversation with you again. Not tonight. Not ever. It’s a party. Everyone from all corners of the city is here. Go and dance. Constance Cleary’s eyes are just about falling out of her head looking at you,” Nell said flatly.
    â€œI’m not interested in Constance Cleary—” Oliver began, but Nell cut him off sharply.
    â€œOf course you’re not. What use would you have with a girl from a family of cobblers and shoemakers, couldn’t use them to advance your career at all.”
    Oliver pouted at Nell. “Harsh, Crane.”
    â€œLeave me alone, Kelly.”
    They sat beside each other in silence, watching the dancers and crowds, occasionally catching glances from passersby, for whom their silent, tense vignette was surely gossip fodder for the coming weeks. Nell sipped her drink and thought about ordering another. Oliver finished his in a single gulp, then turned completely to face Nell and put his hand on her knee.
    â€œNell, I want to come clean with you. There’s something I haven’t told you, and I think if you knew, you’d probably want to spend some more time with me.”
    Nell looked at his hand. She could see the gray-blue of his veins and the bones of his knuckles, his neat, surgically clean fingernails. She could hear only the steady, escalating clockwork inside of her and the rushing of blood and fury. She had not told him he could put his hand on her.
    Oliver was entirely oblivious. He took her intense, furious stare as interest and continued softly.
    â€œAside from my current operation in the morgue, I’ve, em”—Oliver’s composure dropped a little with his volume—“I don’t think I should tell you this inhere. Will you come outside with me?”
    Before Nell could answer, the music ended with aplomb. Antoinette and Tomas took to the tiny rickety stage then with a fanfare. They each held a full glass in their hands. The singer handed Tomas the busted-up microphone.
    He was handsome and tall, not unlike Antoinette. All blond wavy hair and bright eyes. His right leg was his augmented limb, but there was utterly no way of telling which was which in his fine suit pants and spats and shining black shoes. He passed his sister the mic.
    The crowd hushed at their presence. Even Nell listened as Antoinette began to speak, though she hadn’t intended to.
    â€œFive years ago the city was a very different place. Many of you here tonight quite literally helped raise this roof. We’re only up on our feet, but we’ve pints of heart. Before the Turn, in our great- or great-great-grandparents’ time, this country was sung about all over the world, known for the parties we’d throw. Now, who knows what the rest of the world thinks of us? Who knows what they’re even doing out there or if there’s anyone out there at all? The world could still be growing, and we’d never know. This bar was our