13. 13
13
M ore scanning. More bagging. More fake smiles.
I can’t wait for this sale to end. I don’t have the energy for this week that feels never ending.
A huge pile is placed on the counter before me, and I start on it before I even look up.
“Do you need any gift receipts today?”
I slide a security tag into the magnet that removes it, and of course it doesn’t just fall off like it’s supposed to. Some of these things can be so stubborn. I wiggle it a little, even give it a tug, but it’s fully stuck. I set it to the side, and decide to worry about it last.
Two more beeps of my scanner and I realize this person never answered my question.
“Shopping for yourself or someone else to–”
I lock eyes with a piercing green gaze. Instead of the harsh glare I’m used to seeing in them, there’s surprise. They’re the wide eyes of someone really taken aback.
I wouldn’t expect to see her here either, but it can’t be that shocking that I exist outside of my little apartment. She has to have noticed I’ve barely been there as it is lately.
“Myself,” she finally answers.
That voice . It’s such a contrast to her actions.
I press my mouth into a line to keep from saying anything, and I start to scan faster. When I get to the last item, the one that has a tricky security tag, I grab a rubber band. It’s a trick that comes in handy in situations like this, but I try to be sly about it. I can’t go around letting just anyone see it, because I know there are ones that would attempt it in the fitting room.
When I crouch down to hide what my hands are doing, Paige laughs at me.
I hear my neighbor's muffled voice talking to her. She asks her what I’m doing, and Paige explains.
“Do you have to do that often?” my neighbor asks.
“Yeah. Those tags really suck sometimes,” Paige says.
Another customer must walk up, because my coworker breaks into her customer greeting, and I hear more hangers being thrown on the counter.
The tag pops off, and I take a deep breath before standing to face her again.
“Your total is two-hundred and eighty-seven dollars, and ninety-one cents.”
I wonder what she does for a living as I watch her reach into a little black purse and pull out a matching wallet. I can’t imagine it’s customer service that’s responsible for the funds on the debit card she finds there.
I try to peek at her name as she taps it on the screen. I’m absolutely not going to ask, she doesn’t need to know I care at all what it is. I don’t see it though, as if she intentionally held it to cover that information.
Whatever.
I don’t care that much.
She goes to grab her bag of items at the same time I do, and our hands collide with a little electric zap. I wince, and pull away quickly. That happens all the time when I’m at work, so I assume I’m the one at fault.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
I rip her receipt off the printer with my other hand and hold it out, but she doesn’t notice.
She’s too busy staring at me.
She doesn’t stop, even when I’m looking right back at her. I see her eyes move slightly, like they’re outlining the shape of every feature, every detail. I’m too stunned to move. It’s weird, right? I should think she’s being weird, but I actually, stupidly like that she’s looking at me. I feel cute today, and I did my makeup to my highest standards. My bright pink eyeliner matches my hair perfectly, and I’m wearing flowery earrings that are the exact same shade.
And I really like that I get to look at her. I scan more details. Her feathered brows, her pouty lips, the piercings lining her ears. Her makeup is flawless, her red lipstick is bold. She looks like the kind of person that really has herself figured out. She knows what works, and she runs with it.
Because it is working. I have every reason to find her flaws, and to pick her apart, because I know her personality sucks. I just can’t find anything.
She’s so beautiful it makes my chest hurt.
I don’t get to keep trying to find anything, because she suddenly looks down. Before I realize what’s happening, she snatches the receipt out of my hand and heads for the exit.
I’m at a loss, as usual.
“You know her?” Paige asks. “She’s like, really pretty.”
Isn’t she?
“No,” I grumble.
But I spend the rest of my shift thinking of nothing other than how pretty she is.
Dahlia falls asleep early, and I’m nervous about it. I’m always nervous being in my own home these days. I was planning to take her to my parents again, but I don’t have the heart to move her now.
With my front door cracked open so I can hear if she wakes up and needs me, I plant myself on my usual seat outside. I’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to, but I’m hoping my neighbor doesn’t show up at all. I deserve that much: one easy, problem free night. Just one.
For now. At some point I’ll let my dreams reach further.
I grab my hook and my unfinished crochet project, and pick up where I left off. My nerves are on fire, so it’s nice to keep my hands busy. I go without listening to anything, enjoying actual silence while I’ve got it. I don’t usually stop long enough to listen to the small things in the world around me. The rustling of leaves being jostled in the wind. Birds, bugs, distant cars. It’s peaceful.
It doesn’t take long at all tonight for my peace to be disrupted. This time I’m on such high alert that I recognize the sound of tires crunching on the gravel of our little parking lot. It wouldn’t be anyone else, not at this time of night.
It’s about to be game time, and I am seriously underprepared. I should’ve ran lines with my mom, or even myself in the mirror. That would’ve been better than nothing. What do I even say? Should I try to cry? Maybe if I lay it on really thick, she’ll finally feel bad enough. I haven’t exactly come to her with anything but an attitude before.
Zero attitude, Reya. Stay cool.
She must hustle up the stairs because it feels like I barely blink and there she is, wearing an all black tracksuit. She wears it too well, and I foolishly can’t keep myself from admiring her curves.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
I jolt in surprise, not expecting her to have said the first word. Or said anything really, she’s always so set on getting away from me.
I cautiously hold up the unfinished headband in my hands.
“Hanging out on my front porch. What are you doing?”
“Wishing I didn’t have to share a front porch,” she mumbles. It’s not quiet enough to evade my ears if that’s what she was hoping. I roll my eyes. “Were you waiting for me again?”
“I wasn’t waiting for you,” I insist. At least I wasn’t all of the other times. I’m not going to admit that tonight happens to be one time I was, she’s full enough of herself.
“Sure you weren’t,” she says with all the sarcasm in the world.
“We’ve hardly said two sentences to each other, which is not enough for you to so boldly call me a liar.”
“It’s not enough for me to think you’re telling the truth either.”
“I live here,” I say slowly.
“Yeah, right in that exact spot apparently.”
“I like this chair.”
She looks at the other chair, the one across from me that I’m not occupying. Looking at it now that she is too makes me view it with fresh eyes. That thing looks brand new despite going through all the weather of all the seasons.
And then I forget how to think thoughts, because she comes over and sits down in it. Too close for my comfort, that’s for sure.
“It’s alright. The cushions are a little stiff,” she says. “You can’t be very comfortable.”
I can’t wrap my head around her talking to me like a normal person. I didn’t know she was even capable.
All I can do is gape at her.
She raises her brows.
“Hello?”
I set the yarn down on the table, and place my hands in my lap to hide their shaking.
“No one ever sits in that one. Mine has an imprint of my ass at this point.”
She fucking smiles at that. Maybe she has a twin, a much nicer one that showed up in her place. The real woman is probably driving recklessly through a school zone or something. Something that seems more like her than this.
Or I’ve fallen asleep outside again, and none of this is actually happening. It has to be one of those two things.
“Your guy friend sits here,” she says.
I gasp in shock.
“You have been watching me!”
She raises her hands.
“Calm down, I look out my window every once in a while.”
I know that much, I’ve caught her already.
“He’s not my friend. He’s my ex-husband,” I correct. Not that she deserves to know anything about me, but I don’t like the idea of anyone in the world thinking he and I are closer than we are.
“Huh.” Not a question, just a way of acknowledging my statement. “Your kid’s dad?”
“Why are you suddenly interested in talking to me?” I ask bluntly.
“I’m not. I just don’t have homework tonight.”
As if that’s a reasonable explanation.
“You’re a student?” I knew that much from my own eavesdropping, but I don’t know what else to say.
She nods, that’s it.
We have another one of those weird moments, where I know she’s staring at my face, and she knows that I know. She’s not being subtle.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I say in a low voice. It’s kind of like she doesn’t know if she wants to throw something at my head or…
Well, I don’t know what else it could be. Maybe it is just the throwing thing and I’m delusional. Maybe I’m completely imagining the way her eyes linger on my mouth.
“I don’t want to be looking at you at all, but you’re the one that keeps intercepting my walk to my front door.”
I shake my head slowly, thoughtfully.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Believe it. You’ve done it so many times now.”
“I don’t believe that you don’t want to be looking at me,” I admit sharply.
Her brows raise, disbelief filling her expression.
“Are you that vain?”
“You said you liked my hair,” I say with a shrug.
“I should’ve never written that,” she mumbles, just to herself. “It’s hair. It’s pink. Get over yourself.”
Her tone is back to being sharp and annoyed, so I’m not surprised when she stands up.
I follow suit.
“Please don’t do it tonight,” I begin to plead. “I’ll beg. I’ll stoop as low as bribing you. My daughter is sound asleep in there, and I need her to stay that way. Please .”
“What would you bribe me with?” she asks calmly.
I look over to the row of pots filled with plants that are beyond saving at this point. They have turned into somewhat of a cemetery, I’ve been neglecting them for too long now.
“I’ll throw those away. You won't have to look at any more dead plants.”
“You should do that anyway. How does it not drive you nuts?” she asks.
“I’ve had other things on my mind,” I say through gritted teeth.
She has the audacity to smirk.
“So I’ve been on your mind.”
“Probably not more than I’ve been on yours. I’m sure you sit in there at night, relishing how miserable you make me.”
She shrugs.
“Sometimes, yeah.”
I’m dealing with a psychopath. It hits me like a flood of water that forces me out to sea. I should’ve taken this further sooner. I should’ve called the police weeks ago. I should’ve pushed harder, and gone back to Tim about it. I was right, she’s not doing it to take care of herself. Maybe it started out as some odd attempt at that, but now she’s doing it to hurt me. I have verbal proof.
What the hell have I been doing?
I feel so much more defeated right now than I’ve felt this entire time.
Unfortunately, I feel the tingle in my throat of an incoming cry. It’s the kind that you can’t will away, and it’s coming in hot.
“Please,” I say one more time. Without another word, I head for my front door as fast as my feet will get me there. She doesn’t deserve to see me cry, I bet she’d like that too much.
I’m almost to the threshold when she steps in front of me, and our chests collide. Hard.
Standing this close, I can see that her nose is red from the cold, and it’s almost enough to make me want to help warm it up.
I’m embarrassing myself even in my own head. She’s awful , and yet my mind is wandering to all the different ways I could do just that.
Bad, Reya. Stop crushing on the psychopath.
She just smells so good, it’s making it hard to think clearly.
“Sorry, I—“ She grabs my arm, keeping me from backing away. “What are you doing?”
There’s something different about this stare. She’s not peering into my eyes, but her gaze is undoubtedly stuck in one place this time.
She clearly has an interest in my mouth. I take to studying hers, because it feels like I’m allowed to for a few seconds. She isn’t wearing her usual lipstick, and her lips are a delicate, glossy pink. I’d love to find out what flavor her lip balm is. I’d love to find out if they’re as soft as they look.
But my common sense roots me in place. I do have common sense. I’ve never been attracted to someone that aggravates me the way she does, but I can learn to deal with it. Hell, I can be over it in a couple weeks if I try hard enough.
“I need to go inside,” I tell her.
“Do you?” she asks, and her cool breath hits me so temptingly.
I step back before I do something dumb.
“What is happening right now?”
She shrugs.
“Don’t know what you mean,” she responds. But there’s something in her tone that tells me she’s full of it, as if her actions didn’t already make that clear.
“I mean… we’re not friendly. We don’t talk,” I start. “You’re being weird. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted to—“
“To what?” she interrupts.
I laugh, because it’s beginning to feel especially ridiculous that the thought even occurred to me.
“To kiss me.” I keep the amusement in my voice so she hears just how unserious to take the words.
The corners of her mouth curl up into a smile, but not the cheery kind. The kind that haunts my dreams, and makes me want to run and hide.
“What if that was the truth?”
I snort, more than over this. I thought I liked the sound of her voice, but not like this. Not when she’s mocking me.
I step around her, hoping for my escape, but she’s a surprisingly good guard for her size.
“What if?” she asks again.
“Then I’d know I was having some messed up dream. People don’t just go around randomly kissing people they don’t like.”
“I disagree,” she says.
I wait for her to go on and explain herself, but she doesn’t. She just keeps on staring.
What is happening right now?
My laughter turns into a nervous, uncertain sound, but it trails off the more I study her. Not that I have any clue how good of an actress she is, but I’d almost bet that she is being completely serious.
“Why would you?”
“You’ve never kissed a stranger at a bar before?”
Okay, not cool if she can read my mind.
That makes this interaction so unfair.
“This isn’t a bar, and neither of us have had nearly enough drinks for that.”
“Kind of feels like it,” she says softly.
I don’t even bother questioning it, because she leans in closer to me, and it does kind of feel like I’m under the influence.
If I was sober, surely I’d push her away.
Right?
Her face comes closer, her intentions obvious, and I don’t even flinch. I’m waiting for it, my entire body is waiting for it, like it’s something so important. It feels like a fact that every cell in my body is aware of.
This is important.
Her lips touch mine so softly at first, and I’m surprised to feel like maybe she’s nervous. She doesn’t seem to me like someone that gets nervous.
The second time she does it is a little more sure. The third is even more so.
She’s kissing me like she’s trying to figure something out, and I’m just letting her. She can figure out whatever she wants at this point, that common sense I swear to have is lost. I might not even care if I never find it.
I put more into the kiss, pressing my lips harder against hers. I swipe my tongue against her bottom lip to find that she tastes sugary sweet. Oh, the irony.
Suddenly, she has a hand in my hair and she’s gripping me with a forcefulness that lights me up from the inside out. My mouth parts, acting on pure instinct, and my brain has nothing to do with it.
She’s amazing at this.
I manage not to whimper when she lets me go all too soon. Whatever she just awoke in me is not going back to bed anytime soon.
So embarrassing.
She wipes the moisture from her lips with the back of her hand, panting, and it’s stupidly hot.
“Okay then, sunshine.”
“Okay then?” I ask, breathless. I’m so disoriented.
“Don’t get any funny ideas. I still think you’re irritating,” she adds.
“What the fuck?” I ask.
A smile plays at her lips, but instead of answering, she walks away.
Of course she walks away.
When she’s gone and back inside her apartment, I don’t know what to do. That couldn’t have been real. This is the part when I wake up from a weird dream and feel weird all day, right? I’d love to wake up now and get that over with.
But I don’t. I just keep standing in the same spot, catching my breath.
“What the fuck?” I whisper to myself.
On autopilot I end up in my bed, fully dressed and teeth unbrushed. I’m instinctively braced for her music to start playing, so I don’t close my eyes. I just lay there, staring at my ceiling, waiting.
The music never comes, but I never fall asleep.