Chapter 4
Four
My experience at the diner was nothing short of harrowing.
Luke Quinn—tall, blond, and blue-eyed with envy-worthy eyelashes—gave me his number. Even after seeing the weird stuff I scribbled in my journal last night. It’s hard to believe someone like him would be interested in someone like me. I don’t know what I did to deserve such luck, but maybe after today, I will seriously start believing in God.
For real this time.
I’m still in shock as my feet carry me to the mall. Excitement sees me through the dull ache of my ankle, and I only feel a little pain until I’m a third of the way there. I slip my hand into my pocket, re-read the number, and giggle like a silly schoolgirl. As I shove the paper back into my jeans, I resist the urge to squeal. Not even passing by the path to the abandoned shopping center can dampen my joy right now.
I can’t help but wonder if Luke giving me his number is an invitation for something more. I hope so. My last boyfriend and I started dating in high school and were together until after graduation. Then he dumped me for some girl he met during college orientation out of state. To say that I’m not touch-starved would be a lie. The only thing keeping me company at night is my trusty vibrator.
So yeah—screw you, Jimmy.
Maybe I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but I can’t help but yearn for affection. I want someone to call me after a long day at work, to be there for me and cuddle, to tell me that everything is going to be alright. And, of course, sex would be a fantastic bonus. I crave intimacy; after all, I’m only human.
After everything that’s happened, I could really use a distraction, someone to help me forget.
I make my way across the parking lot, dodging cars coming in and out, and finally step inside the mall. Where to first, I think. Picking up my paycheck is an option, but most of it will end up going to Mom to help with bills. I force back the bitterness and remind myself that I said I was going to visit a friend. I’m pretty sure Kyla has a shift today.
Navigating through the crowded mall, I make my way to the record store. As I weave through the rowdy kids loitering around the food court, a teenager launches into the air to catch a Frisbee—before promptly crashing into me. I almost lose my balance, though most of my weight slams into my ankle as I attempt to remain upright.
“Sorry about that,” the boy apologizes sheepishly before running off to join his friends.
“No worries,” I mutter through gritted teeth, leaning against a table and breathing in through my nose to manage the pain. Once it subsides, I compose myself and continue to my destination. Thankfully, I make it to Arbor Spins with no further incidents.
Being in the record store feels like being transported to another realm, disconnected from the outside world in the best way possible. The CDs and cassettes are arranged alphabetically and by genre, with vinyl having its own unique section deeper inside. Band posters adorn the walls, while shelves display t-shirts and other merchandise.
I sigh contentedly; music has always been my escape from everyday drudgery and misery.
Nine Inch Nails plays from the speakers—and that’s how I know Kyla is definitely working today. There’s no one at the register, so I decide to check out the ‘new releases’ section. As I pass by a display of trendy, sarcastic stickers and magnets, I double back to check the new stock: Time Flies When You’re Sick and Psychotic is in red, scratchy text on one. I snort and turn the rack. On another sticker, I Hate This Town is scrawled in angry white font. Same, I think, and I briefly consider picking it up.
I wander over to another section of the store, where Nirvana merchandise has been selling like hotcakes since Kurt’s death. My heart clenches; I can’t help but wonder if our shared birthday or similar feelings about existence played a role in my connection to the band’s music.
“Hey, Grace!”
I poke my head around the display to see Kyla waving at me. “Howdy!” I greet her, returning her gesture.
I always thought Kyla was super cool, like one of those alt-rock chicks. When we first met, I even asked her if she was in a band. She laughed and said she didn’t know how to play an instrument or even sing. She moved here from Massachusetts a while ago. Despite being only a couple of years older than me, I’ve always gotten the impression that she’s already gone through a lot in her life.
Though she refuses to say what, and I refuse to prod.
She wears her long platinum hair in a ponytail for work. Her bold style makes me wish I had the courage to bleach my hair like hers. Then I notice the loose red strands framing her face. “That’s new,” I say, going over to her. “What’s with the hair?”
Flicking her ponytail back behind her shoulder, she answers, “Trying something new. You like?”
I nod. “Totally bad-ass.”
Kyla picks up a box and places it on the counter. “What are you up to this fine Saturday afternoon?”
“Nothing too exciting,” I answer truthfully. “Getting away from home for a while, picking up my check …”
“Oh?” she says, brandishing a box cutter before slicing into the tape on the box. I flinch, but if she notices, she doesn’t mention it. “Briar and I are gonna go to the movies later. Maybe you could join us?”
Briar Blackwell is Kyla’s boyfriend. If it sounds like a fake name, that’s because it kind of is. He’s a member of a local rock band and I’m ninety percent sure he legally changed his name to his chosen stage one. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding,” she says, flipping open the flaps of the box and pulling out a stack of shrink-wrapped albums. “You never are. You shouldn’t be afraid to take up space.” She looks at me pointedly. “Be confident in who you are, Grace.”
Easy for you to say, I think, spite sour on my tongue. “Yeah, err … Thanks for the advice.” I stare down at the carpeted floor and swallow down that acrid taste. “What movie are you two going to see?”
“After my shift is over, we’re heading to the cineplex for a Friday the 13th marathon,” she replies, sorting the CDs into separate piles. “Do you like horror movies?”
I feel the cold steel of the knife against my neck, the killer’s stubble scraping my cheek. A tremor crawls down my spine as I try to bury the memories and think of something happier.
Luke’s face comes to mind.
With shaking fingers, I rub my nape and stitch on a lame smile. “Horror movies aren’t my thing. I’m more of a romcom sort of gal.”
“Hello, ladies.”
My heart leaps into my throat as Briar pops up from behind a display of keychains.
“Don’t be weird,” Kyla scolds, waving the box cutter at him. “Announce your presence next time, will you?”
Briar’s box-dyed raven bangs fall into his line of sight; the guy really thinks he’s Robert Smith or something. “What’s the fun in that, babe?” Kyla rolls her eyes as he plucks the box cutter from her hand and encircles her waist. “We still seeing a movie?”
“Of course,” she says, shaking her head at his antics. “Can you wait until later for all … this?”
Briar smirks and pulls her closer. “I’m not a patient man.”
Their public display of affection makes me want to puke. I cross my arms and tap my foot to get their attention. Briar’s gaze snaps to me, his brows pinched. “Sorry to interrupt, but I have to get going. You two have fun with … you know.”
“See you later, Grace!” Kyla says as I spin on my heel and make a hasty exit.
Behind me, Briar laughs. “She’s so weird. I thought she’d never leave.”
I hear Kyla smack him with something. “Speak for yourself, asshole.”
Suddenly, I become incredibly self-conscious. I wrap my arms around myself and begin heading over to Angelo’s. I’m deep in thought—about last night, the intruder in my bedroom, the news this morning. So much so that I stop paying attention to where I’m going.
I collide with a broad chest, which sends me stumbling to the floor.
“Hey, you alright?”
My ankle pulses from the impact. Tears prick at my eyes, but I wipe them away with my sleeve. The voice sounds familiar, but I don’t connect the dots until he speaks again.
“Oh … Fancy meeting you so soon again, Grace.”
I blink and look up to see Luke peering down at me, offering his hand. I accept it, and he guides me upward. “Hi, Luke,” I murmur, holding his hand a bit too long before letting go, feeling my cheeks flush.
“If I had known you were headed this way, I would’ve insisted on giving you a ride,” he says, smiling warmly.
“I didn’t want to be a bother,” I say, shuffling my feet. “I already visited my friend. She and her boyfriend are busy seeing a movie together today.”
His eyes light up. “Why don’t we see a movie then?”
I force myself to look at him and plant my feet firmly on the tiles to keep myself from running away like a coward. “That sounds fun. They’re showing a bunch of horror films today. Friday the 13th … something or other.”
He beamed at the mention of the Friday series—and I know no matter how I feel about scary movies, I would go see anything with him. Call me a sucker with no spine, but what’s a little blood and gore when I get to spend the runtime with someone as hot as Luke?
“I love horror movies,” he admits, nodding in the opposite direction. “Let’s get outta here and go see one. My treat.”
I try not to grimace and fasten on a smile. “Sounds fun. But first, I have to go pick up my check.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“Nope, not at all.” Exhilaration courses through me as I motion for him to follow. We weave through the growing crowds, passing by Arbor Spins and a few clothing stores, before finally arriving at Angelo’s. “Wait here,” I instruct. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”
Luke nods in understanding, and I enter the store. My coworker Maryanne is bent over a case, her wrinkled hands working at organizing the necklaces inside. When she notices me, she straightens up and greets me with a smile.
“I’m here to pick up my check,” I say, gesturing toward the back room.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she says as she shuts and secures the case. “I’ll go get it for you.”
“Thank you, Maryanne.”
She ambles toward the employees-only back room. Waiting for Maryanne, I lean against the counter by the register as a few people enter the store. I glance over at Luke, who is still standing at the entrance. He appears mired in his thoughts but throws me a boyish grin once he realizes I’m staring. I’m about to wave at him when an unpleasant chill slithers up my spine.
“Hello, Miss Lawrence.”
George Tyler, my boss, emerges from the storage room across the shop. He gawks at me, his eyes roaming my body lewdly; he was probably ogling my ass again. Bile rises in my throat and threatens to spill all over the carpet, but I muster a pleasant smile. Before I can say anything, Maryanne returns from the back room and hands me my check.
Stuffing the envelope into my bag, I mumble, “Thanks. Gotta go.” After tugging the zip closed, I practically dash to the exit—but something prevents me from leaving. I feel like a deer in headlights as Mr. Tyler presses a palm into the small of my back.
“Leaving without saying goodbye?” He frowns. “I thought Diane taught you better than that.”
Hearing my mother’s name on his lips makes my skin crawl. “I’m s-sorry,” I stutter. “I just came here to get my check. I didn’t mean to?—”
“She has places to be,” a voice edged with malice interrupts.
I’m on the verge of tears as Luke, jaw set, glares down at Mr. Tyler. My boss scowls at him for a second before releasing me. I’m grateful for Luke’s presence, but part of me is more worried than ever about losing my job. Mr. Tyler has made passes at me before, but nothing as bold as this; he must be getting impatient.
And that scares me.
Mr. Tyler scoffs and walks away, disappearing into the back room. I paint on a smile and look at Luke; his eyes are cold, like a void. I try not to cower under his countenance.
“Let’s go,” he says, draping his arm over my shoulder.
Is it so much to ask that my boss have a heart attack and drop dead before my next shift?
Praying to whatever god would listen, I get into Luke’s car, and we drive off toward the cineplex.