by Hazel Grace
I’m used to being on my own—prefer it. However, now, and especially now, I want a new start where no one knows me. I crave to do it on my own.
So when Ermic sits feet away from me and admits that he’s thought about how certain things—ordinary ones—sound or are like, it makes me nervous. I’ve never had to open up to anyone before.
I don’t want to start now.
“Because,” he asserts. “I’ve heard everything else.”
My fingertips tighten around my glass bottle, and my first reaction is to throw it at him. I’d love to see it either hit him or listen to it shatter to allude to how redundant it is for me to be reminded almost every time we speak.
Instead, like the girl I’ve always been, I gently place it on the small wicker table next to my chair. My palms grip the armrests to stand, but Emric beats me to it and blocks my route to go back inside.
“Don’t get upset,” he drones. “It wasn’t meant to insult you.”
“But you mention it every time. Seems like you love to waken past events that I had to go through.”
He moves in front of me, bending over to level with my face.
Propping his palm on my good knee, he pulls back on his beer and keeps his eyes locked on mine.
“I’m sorry...for everything, Stormi. I mean that.”
I don’t know you, so how would I know?
Emric reaches for my beer and offers it back to me. “Alcohol abuse if you don’t finish it. It’s a real thing.”
“What would you know about real?” I appeal back. “What you did... wasn’t what common people do.”
“Apologizing?” I’m awarded with a half-smile, but I guess it’d only be a prize if I wanted it.
I know he’s trying to lighten the mood with what’s happened, but I’m not sure I’m capable of it.
“Stormi,” he sing-songs. “You’re doing it again.”
“Stop trying to read me,” I snap, plucking the bottle from his hand. “I’m not a science project for you to prick and prod then decide you’re done.”
“That’s not what—”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s done now.”
“Is it?” He frowns. “Because you need to keep yelling at me to get it all out. And it doesn’t look like you are.”
“There is no amount of yelling that I can do that would measure up to being equal to what you did.” I tilt my beer, taking a giant gulp and another as I try to drown out the minimal hope I have of being the same again.
I don’t want to be appreciative to him that he made me see the light—literally almost—with the things he did. When his soft lips brought me back to consciousness and coaxed me to come back.
To him, to Earth, to my life, somewhere where I wouldn’t open my eyes again.
“What else would?” he presses. “What would make you feel better?”
“Not you staring at me.”
His intense examination drifts to my lips, and my next inhale is strangled in my lungs. The light weight that he has on my knee sends a small ripple effect of goosebumps up my thigh.
I think he asphyxiated some of my brain cells when he shoved my head into that orange bucket several times.
“Think about it,” he offers, rising from his position. “Nothing is off the table.”
He’s been quiet today. No stupid comments or looks my way since he told me two days ago that nothing was off the table.
But it is, getting back into the city and back home isn’t on the agenda of things he’s going to let me do or have right now.
This morning he announced that we were going to Walmart after taking a quick peek at my leg and side, which at this point is unproductive because each time he tells me that everything looks great.
My breakfast was waiting for me at my door like it has been since the night he brought me to his home as well as a glass of water and a few aspirin at night in case I need it.
When he hears me bustling around upstairs, he came up to clean my wound then told me to be ready in ten.
Now he’s telling me to lead the way and pick out whatever I want. When I glance back at him, nervously contemplating whether to grab someone’s arm and ask them to call 911, he’s stopped at the end of an aisle, trying on baseball caps.
My brows furrow in on him. His royal blue shirt fits his broad shoulders perfectly and leaves little to the imagination what the rest of his body looks like. The dark jeans give the same illusion as he adjusts the cap and looks at himself in the mirror.
He was serious when he said he’d let me shop as long as I didn’t cause a scene?
An elderly woman slowly approaches me in her grocery cart, giving me a kind grin as she passes. My immediate reaction is to halt her shopping trip and solicit her help.
I should’ve pre-written a note to pass out to people with explicit instructions on my situation.
An idea that is way past expired.
I return her smile, touching the closest clothes’ rack and forcing myself to just get what we came here for and leave. Hollering and sprinting away will only get someone hurt. If I gain his trust, I can plan an exit.
Grabbing a few plain tees, some leggings, and a pair of jeans, I locate him again yards away, leaning up against a pole and staring at something.
My attention follows, landing on a brunette with curves in all the right places, shorts that show off lean legs, and a perfect waist.
She not-so nonchalantly peers over her shoulder at him, picking up a red apple amongst the fruit bin and sends him a flirty smirk.
Stupid.
“Is it okay if I try these jeans on?” He glances over at me, casually giving me the first once over all day when his eyes land on the items in my hands.
“That’s all you want?”
My brows descend. “I’m not staying with you forever.” His brow lifts before I relax mine. “It won’t take that long, will it?”
He slowly shakes his head, lips still straight-lined. “No, go ahead. I’ll be right here...nearby.”
Right, drooling over the Victoria’s Secret model. Good luck, girl.
Picking the first available dressing room, I lock it and begin trying on my picked out clothes.
After trying on the shirts, which are a little big on me, it’s when I get to the jeans and leggings that I frown in the mirror at myself.
I’ve lost weight, and I look sickly. My skin is almost translucent, my cheekbones protrude from my face and my eyes...their pinkish-red around my blue irises. I know I’m tired, but I just look like I built a pyramid by myself. I don’t know where my thighs are, they’re like rails, my soft curves are gone and—I groan.
I look like shit.
No wonder he’s eye-screwing the brunette outside, I look like I snort coke or shove my fingers down my throat.
She’s pretty, perky and healthy.
Getting out of my leggings, I put Emric’s sweatpants back on to grab a smaller size and swing open the door, which issues out am “oompf” from the other side of it.
“Oh my gosh—” I whip the door back to find a tall man around my age, rubbing his forehead. “—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.”
His brown eyes meet mine, and he gives me a weak smile. “It’s okay. It’s only the second time this week, should’ve known better.” My eyes broaden, and his smile grows, extending his hands. “I’m just kidding. But, for real, it’s like a dangerous alley, I should’ve watched where I was going.”
“Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”
“It’s alright, I promise. You didn’t break anything.” His eyes flick to the pants in my hand. “Need help with anything?”
“Oh...” He looks at me expectedly, waiting for me to finish.
It’s then that I realize he looks like a knock off of James Franco. Longer hair that is styled but looks indifferently put together, his smile is warm and friendly.
“I was just going to go grab another size.”
He reaches for my items and gently pulls them from me. �
�I’ll do it for you.”
“Oh, no, you don’t—” He shrugs.
“I’m bored, it’s slow.”
I rub my palms together. “Okay...if you insist.”
“I do.” He gives me another college-boy smirk. “I’ll be right back.”
He makes his way towards the shelves of jeans that I was just at and moves out of the way for a mother and her small child to pass. Then he’s quickly back with two more pairs and a smile.
“Brought you two sizes, just in case.”
I take them from him. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll stand by in case you need something else.”
I ease my way back inside the dressing room. “Oh, seriously, it’s not necessary. I’m completely fine.”
“Again,” he voices. “Slow. Plus, it keeps me away from stocking for the next ten minutes, so you’re actually doing me a favor.”
I nod. “Right.”
He takes a step in my direction. “Did you need me to take those shirts for you too? I can go pick—”
“Take another fucking step in that room, and you’re going to wish you did go stock those shelves.” The man’s body and mine freeze at the exact same time, but he quickly recovers when he turns around to find the source of the threat.
Me, I already know whose it is. Only dealt with it for what feels like a decade now.
“I’m sorry?” the Walmart dude asks. “I was just help—”
“You weren’t helping shit,” Emric leers. “You were just trying to get in her dressing room and touching what’s—”
“Who are you?” the guy challenges, looming in his direction.
Oh, no, no, no.
I drop the jeans and stand at the James Franco clone’s side. When I expect to be glared at, Emric saves that for the man to my left.
While Emric wanted me to stay low key and behave, he’s doing the exact opposite. He’s acting like a Karen in the middle of the women’s department with a piercing scowl at a Walmart employee who was just trying to be considerate.
“I’m who she’s with,” Emric claims, nostrils flared. “And you’re going to get the fuck out of here.”
“Sir, you’re not going to speak to—” Emric is in his face, fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles are turning white.
“The fuck did you say to me?”
“Emric,” I warn, trying to seize his attention.
It doesn’t work, and I don’t think he hears me because I swear I can see the wheels spinning in his head of the things he wants to do to the man who was just grabbing me a new size of pants.
“Jeans,” the guy states, sounding bored. “I just grabbed her a new pair of jeans.”
“Were you going to help her try them on too?”
The stranger’s brows furrow. “No.”
A vein in Emric’s neck twitches before his chest purposely bumps into his. “Good. Thanks for the top-notch customer service, dickhead.”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
I step in between them as I face the kind employee. “I’m so sorry,” I coo, feeling the redness in my cheeks brighten. “He’s...”
Crazy. Insane. Off his rocker.
Emric’s hard chest presses up against my back, creating mine to loosen in response. Then his frame leans in before his mouth brushes the back of my ear. “Tell him what I am, sweetheart.”
His voice is deep and heavy, the warning clear that I get rid of him, or he’s going to do it himself.
I don’t dispute that he’ll act on his impulses. Although it’ll grant me a chance to gain some attention.
“Did you need me to do it?” I rock my head back and forth, stepping forward to withdrawal from his touch, but his massive hand finds my waist and hauls me back into his warm body.
“He’s—um...” The dude in front of me who once smiled and appeared happy to assist now gives me a dirty look like I had just threatened and snapped at him.
When I can’t finish my sentence, he shakes his head and pivots in the opposite direction, obviously disgusted by our behavior.
His behavior.
He doesn’t know it, but he should be grateful. I just saved him from having to limp around for days or have his arm thrown in a cast.
“If you needed help—” Emric’s lips brush the shell of my ear. “—I definitely would’ve stepped in.”
I slowly twirl, facing the man who was, lately, calm and collected for the most part. Now he just reminds me that he’s Looney Tunes.
“I didn’t,” I mutter, giving us a good amount of space in between us.
Emric’s features harden before he snaps his neck to the route that the other man just took off to. “So he was trying to fuck with—” My hand shoots out and grips his forearm, holding onto it for dear life.
“Wait.” He glances back at me, eyes falling down to where I’m squeezing tightly, and I Immediately release him. “I’m...you’re going to...”
“Use your words, sweetheart,” he gripes, his stare still sour. “I don’t read minds.”
“He...” I inhale a deep-seated breath. “He wasn’t going to do anything.”
“Didn’t look like that to me.”
“It wasn’t—” His front lightly bumps into me, forcing me back into the dressing room.
“C’mon, let me not do anything with you.” His hands land on my shoulders as he guides me backward.
Closing the door shut, he locks it, filling the space with his muscles and tattoos that make him look out of place within the faded yellow walls that I believe may have been white at one point.
“Sit down,” he orders, alluding that he’s not in the mood anymore for shopping. I begin to do so, but the moment I move, he reaches out for me again, keeping me where I am.
Lazily, he lowers to his haunches and grips the waistband of his sweatpants that I’m wearing. The moment he starts to pull down the cotton fabric, my hands fasten to his.
“What are you doing?” I utter quickly.
His moss-green eyes pull up to me. “Helping.”
“I don’t need—”
“Apparently, you do. Now—” He gives the material a little tug. “—let go of my hands, sweetheart.”
My jaw sets before I dig my nails into his skin. “No. Let. Go.”
“Baby has claws,” he muses, unhurriedly rising to his full height. His eyes glimmer in amusement while I’m sure mine are appearing beyond irritated. He ascends over this whole situation, including me, and I’m burnt out.
I want to tap out.
The hot and cold that he transcends through this whole situation is draining. However, I have to keep playing the game. There isn’t any alternative.
“I forgot one rule,” he professes. “No screwing around with people when we’re out. No batting your eyes at people and—”
“I wasn’t batting my eyes.”
“Didn’t say you were, it was just something I forgot to add. Unfortunately, I can’t wipe off the innocent and angelic look that highlights you being...you. It’s glued on.”
“Can I get changed now?”
Turning his back on me, he says, “Go ahead.”
“I forgot to add ‘get out’ to my last sentence,” I mutter.
“Seems like I can’t leave you alone for two seconds.”
“Not my problem.”
He turns his head to the side but not enough for him to see me. “Yeah, it’s mine.” He returns to stare at the wall. “Now hurry up.”
Quickly I try on the new pair of jeans, looping the button through the hole to keep them around my waist when Emric whirls back to face me.
I can feel the heat of his irises on my body, studying how they fit and turning my cheeks bright pink. I notice the Shoplifters Beware sign behind him and concentrate on that.
“You’re too skinny.” I can’t help the way my face screws up at his comment.
Has he never complimented a girl in his life?
“Then
go find Victoria Secret,” I shoot back. “I’m sure she’ll keep the weight on with all those apples.”
His brows fall. “What?”
“The girl you were flirting with outside.” He continues to gape at me until recognition illuminates his features. “Ah...her.”
My mouth twitches in a purposely forced grin. “Yeah, her.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my palm. “Oh, don’t think I’m jealous. Honestly, how could I be? I feel bad for her already.”
A moment of tension ping pongs between us before he says, “Right.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “So, since we got that out of the way, let’s get back to how the doc said you need to gain at least ten pounds.”
“How about everyone mind their own business like I was prior to this.”
“It’s free food, so win, win, sweetheart.” I clench my teeth together from the constant nickname. “Are you hungry now?”
“No.”
“Mhm.” He takes a singular step, sucking up my next inhale.
The characteristics on his face give away nothing. I don’t know if he’s upset, amused, or plainly doesn’t care.
Me—I care.
I don’t want him in my little bubble. I’d like to opt-out of him being in this dressing room and feel the need to linger over me.
I didn’t do anything wrong. I just needed a new pants size.
“You sure about that?” I give him one good bob of my head. “Did you forget how to speak again?”
“I just want to change and not have you become a second skin with your hovering.”
“Just checking,” he replies. “Because you’re looking at me like you want to eat me alive.”
My nose kinks. “What?”
His lips curve into a crooked smile. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” He leans closer because his warm breath fans my face. “I’ll pretend not to notice.”
Me too.
“Lay off, Tsarina,” I carp, glancing up at Stormi’s window from the front yard. “I am being nice.”
“Yeah, but our definitions are different,” she retorts. “I should’ve never—”
“I’d already bought the tickets to Italy, and she wasn’t going to go with you.” I roll my eyes before examining the height of the only branch Stormi could have lunged off of the night she took off. “I got this.”
