19
Sailor
Market and Mistakes
X: IF I DIDN’T KNOW YOU, I’d say you were having a wonderful day. But because I’m the keeper of your secrets, tell me, little Lori. How are you really doing?
I grinned as I checked my messages during the only spare second I’d had all morning.
The market was extra hectic, the questions about my products constant, the testers very well used, and the smiles from familiar faces all the more friendly after being away for so long.
Despite the heat, I’d deliberately worn a long sleeve dark grey blouse and longed to trade my jeans for shorts, but at least most of my bruises had started to fade. A bit of concealer on my black eye and the green-brown tinge was covered.
Only a few personal friends of Jim’s or those who lived on my street knew about what Milton had done, so I didn’t have to field too many invasive questions about how I was doing.
Funny that I didn’t mind X had asked.
Knowing he was out there, watching me…protecting me from afar made me feel bubbly and brave all at the same time.
It didn’t matter that I’d had to fight a panic attack to be here.
The fact that I was here was all that mattered.
Four days ago, when I’d had my nightmare, X had freed something small and terrified inside me. Trapped in a dream where Milton murdered me again and again, I’d had no way out and no one to help. But then that dream had been smashed apart by a flash of blinding light. As my eyesight returned, I’d stared at a man dressed all in black with a mask and baseball cap.
The terror I’d felt had been an instinctual reaction. Every feminine part of me screamed to run, but then…he’d spoken.
His voice had reached deep, deep inside me where I was thrashing and gasping on the carpet in my nightmare, and in one sentence, he yanked me back into living. Raspy and gravelly, he sounded absolutely delicious—almost as if he’d watched too many comic book heroes, layering his timbre with aggressive possession.
I wished I’d recorded him.
I wished I’d asked him to stay.
I couldn’t describe the unfathomable feeling of safety I felt around him.
It didn’t make sense. We didn’t know anything about each other, but I couldn’t ignore the blanket of relief he gave me.
After he’d gone, I’d retreated upstairs to bed, and in the morning, I’d woken to a message that tugged me further from depressive black clouds and straight into the first inklings of the true me.
The happy me.
X: Today, the weather forecast is meant to be hot with a side of scorching. I recommend you don’t fall asleep in the garden between the hours of nine and six lest you burn yourself to ashes. Never fear, though, if you ignore my advice, I will ensure I’m nearby with a hose to prevent you from bursting into flames.
I’d snickered.
What sort of text was that?
Wonderful?
Cheeky?
Sweet?
I’d replied something corny, and somehow, we’d traded equally oddball messages ever since.
Scrolling through the thread from yesterday, I smiled.
X: Are you cooking your poor flowers again? All I can smell is floral perfume.
Me: You’re close enough to smell my concoctions, huh?
X: I’m close enough that I can see you. Don’t freak out, but…you look absolutely ravishing in that tee and shorts.
Me: Are men still using the word ravishing these days?
X: This one does. But I have been called a nerd before .
Me: A nerd with a stalker personality. Could be kinky.
X: Careful, Lori. I know where you keep your spare key.
Me: And you have my permission to use it.
X: Don’t encourage me.
Me: By the way, do you have a Sailor Moon fetish?
X: Eh, should I have?
Me: You like what I’m wearing. It’s a fifteen-year-old faded tee of Sailor Moon. And my shorts are part of a Sailor Moon set I had when I was fourteen. She was my idol growing up.
X: I remember her. A friend of mine had sisters who ate that show up. And you know what? You kinda look like her.
Me: And that’s not fair because I have no idea what you look like. Care to show me?
X: I’m grotesque, and you’d run away screaming. This is the first time I’ve been able to get close to a girl without scaring them off with my hideous face. Don’t ruin it for me.
Me: I thought we were always meant to be honest?
X: I am. I’m a troll. Best just enjoy my glittering personality and forget all about the boils I’m hiding under my mask.
Me: One of these days, I’m going to count those boils.
X: As much as I’m enjoying this very un-arousing conversation, I have to go. Something just came up. Will you be okay on your own, or do I need to hire another stalker to keep you safe?
Me: I don’t want anyone else stalking me but you.
He hadn’t replied.
Not long after, I’d heard Alexander’s Chrysler leaving his garage, his tyres squealing a little as he sped off—most likely heading toward the hospital and an emergency.
For the quickest second, I had a crazy notion that X was Alexander. That the reason he stayed in the dark and covered his face was because he didn’t want me to know it was him.
But then another message had pinged and eradicated that stupid idea.
OPEN PHOTO.
I’d clicked on what X had sent, grinning at an image of myself. I stood exactly where I was with a soft smile on my lips and a wooden spoon in one hand, diligently mixing by the kitchen window as I combined jojoba, vanilla, and lemongrass into lip balm. My t-shirt print of Sailor Moon was faded, baggy, and hanging off one bruised shoulder, while my crescent moon shorts were a little too short.
X: I can’t seem to tear myself away. Stop being so dazzling.
I really ought to have been offended. He’d not only violated my privacy, but taking photos of me as well?
Does he look at them when he’s not watching me?
Did he think of me when he—
Stop right there.
Too late.
An image of him spread out on a bed, cock in hand, toned body on display, exploded through my mind. The only piece of clothing he wore was that damn mask, and I wanted to yank it off so I could see him biting his bottom lip as he self-pleasured.
You need professional help.
“Hey, Sails. Sails! Earth to Sailor Moon!”
I jumped high enough to fumble with my phone. It flew from my hands and clattered into the last few vials of essential oils.
“Oops. Sorry.” Lily snickered. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes.” She waved at a pretty young woman with an equally pretty daughter clutching at her jeans. “This lovely customer wants to know if you have anything that can help with eczema?”
I smiled at the shy girl before nodding at the mother. “I do, actually.” Grabbing a particular tincture that Nana had spent years perfecting—thanks to her own battle with itchy, dry skin—I passed it to her. “This is medium strength, but I can make up a stronger batch if it’s not enough. It’s all natural with no side effects.”
“Oh wow.” The woman grinned. “That’s so nice of you.”
I left Lily to handle the sale, ever so grateful she’d agreed to help today. When I’d told her I was braving the big bad world and heading to the market, she’d cancelled her three open homes and insisted on being my honorary shopkeeper.
She’d tried to meet me at my place to help me load the endless boxes of face cream, night cream, lip balm, tinctures, essential oils, and other goods made from my garden into my pop’s ancient Honda Civic, but I’d laughed her off and said she needed her beauty sleep and to meet me at the local showgrounds where the market was held.
I hadn’t told her why I’d forbidden her from coming to my house.
I didn’t want to admit that I’d gotten up at three a.m. knowing it would take me that long to pack the car, thanks to the trembles and panic that kept attacking me at the very thought of leaving. I couldn’t pretend that I was okay, and I didn’t want her seeing me like that.
I’d only had the strength to get through it because X had messaged around five in the morning.
X: Are you running away?
Me: No, just trying to be normal and get back to routine.
X: And that includes packing your life into a car, why?
Me: I’m going to the market. To sell my flower concoctions.
X: Ah, in that case. I know what I’ll be doing today.
Before I could reply, he’d sent another one.
X: By the way, you’re doing amazing. I know it isn’t easy to fight your natural instinct to hide away, but you’re incredible and strong, and I’ll be watching you. You’re safe.
I’d repeated his words over and over, especially when the tears stung, and the urge to throw up in the camellia bush latched around my throat. I wished he’d been with me as I’d finally driven away, fighting debilitating jitters all the way to the market.
Dawn had cast the showgrounds where the market was held in pink and gold by the time I’d received his next message.
X: You got this. Fake it till you make it. You know I have your back if you’re a little unstable. You can talk to me about anything.
And then, I’d been too busy to think, let alone be afraid.
Little by little, customer by customer, the agoraphobia that’d slowly been restricting my life loosened its claws and let me breathe.
Smiling at Lily as she laughed with the woman, I tapped my screen to bring up the keyboard.
Me: Hello, Keeper of Secrets. Thanks for checking in on me. Are you here? Are you watching? You can come and say hello, if you’re brave enough.
I laughed under my breath as I added: I’m sure I have a cream for those boils you’re so self-conscious about.
His reply came quickly.
X: I’m rather attached to my pizza face. Thanks anyway. Is it condescending of me to say I’m proud of you?
Me: Not condescending. Rather sweet.
X: Is it stepping over a line if I tell you that the little pinafore you’re wearing is driving me mad?
Glancing down at my apron, I ran my fingers over the logo Nana and Pops had designed so many years ago. They’d used a Tree of Life emblem with sparkling soil and flower blooms. The pink frills around the collar and hem gave it a cottage housewife vibe.
Me: I’m beginning to think you have multiple fetishes where my clothes are concerned.
X: I think you mean I have a you fetish .
I gasped.
A woman giggled in the milling crowd while customers moseyed up and down the grass aisle, buying homemade jams, jewellery, sweets, and bric-à-brac. Scanning the bustle, I tried to spot a man who might be X. A few strolled past. One even caught my eye and smiled, but his short height was all wrong. I had no idea what hair colour X had or his facial features, but I did know he was fairly tall.
My cheek had rested perfectly on his chest while he could prop his chin on my head.
I sighed, remembering the overwhelming comfort I’d found in his embrace.
Someone caught my attention in the distance.
Every droplet of carefree happiness evaporated beneath the memory of pain and strangulation.
Alexander North stood with another man and a beautiful auburn-haired woman not far away. While his friend inspected a homemade chopping board, Alexander glared at his phone, and the woman watched both men with a bemused smile on her face.
My own phone pinged.
X: Sorry, did I step over the line again? Note to self: don’t use words like fetish or send photos of the woman you’re technically stalking even though it’s for all the right reasons .
Alexander’s friend let out a loud laugh and handed over some money for the chopping board. Both men with the woman vanished into the crowd again.
Rubbing the back of my scalp where Milton had ripped my hair as he threw me onto my back for looking at Alexander, I did my best to forget the pain. I ignored the throb in my hip from his kick. The bruised ribs. The bite he’d left on my collarbone.
I’d been having such a good day. I’d been free for such a short while.
But thanks to seeing my neighbour, all I wanted to do was bolt home, lock every door, and never look at Alexander again.
My phone chirped.
X: What is it? What happened? You don’t look so good.
Sighing heavily, I sat down on the large plastic box I’d used to transport my wares.
Me: I just saw my neighbour. It gave me flashbacks .
His reply wasn’t as fast, but it came eventually.
X: Want me to find him? I can deliver every bruise you’re wearing because of him.
Me: No! Goodness, of course not! It’s not his fault that Milton was a jealous asshole. My neighbour is actually very…
I stopped typing.
I didn’t know how to describe Alexander.
A trickster when he was a kid. Obsessed with anything injured as a teen. Quiet, reserved, and slightly standoffish as an adult, all with a boyish habit of fiddling with his glasses as if he’d never gotten used to wearing them even though he’d had a pair since he was twelve.
Why on earth do I remember how old he was when he got glasses?
I knew why.
Because Nana had baked him a cake with a big pair of spectacles on it with the words ‘Congratulations, you’re a distinguished gentleman’. I’d overheard her talking to Pops how Alexander had been bullied at school for having four eyes, and she’d wanted to lift his spirits.
Me: … he’s a good person. It’s not his fault. He’d take it so personally if he knew.
X: I’m sure he’d do whatever it took to wipe away those memories associated with him if he could.
Standing, I smoothed down my pinafore and made my way to Lily.
Me: I have to go. I’m slacking while my friend works so hard. Talk to you later.
I threw myself into helping customers so I didn’t give in to the urge to look for Alexander in the crowd, hoping like hell the feeling of helplessness and panic would vanish.