18
Julia
Afew hours after he leaves I finally hobble out of the bedroom. I’m embarrassed for my overreaction. Only it didn’t feel that way at the time. It felt like Nathaniel really was in danger. I slipped too far. I was so lost in his hypnotizing eyes and curls that beg to be ruffled.
Oh my God, I ruffled his curls.
I kissed him. He kissed me. We kissed. A lot. None of that felt like experimentation. At least of the laboratory variety. He groped and licked and sucked and …
I groan. Ginger ignores me.
It’s all I have been thinking about these last few hours intermixed with the weirdness that Monday would bring. If I’m even able to go to work. I try not to think about him because when I remember the taste and smell of him, the glow returns and a fresh wave of suffering begins. The pain is worse than it was before Nathaniel’s visit. I go to the cabinet for medicine; it helps dull the aches a little. If Angel were to ask, I’m sitting at a nine. Any worse and I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. As I pass the counter I see the plant-saving supplies that he brought and my stomach lurches with embarrassment at how badly everything went.
“No,” I whine, finding the bottle with one tiny tablet at the bottom. I shake it as if it would magically replicate. I meant to stop at the pharmacy ten different times but with working so much, I’d always been too tired by the end of the day.
I check a few other places but all my stashes of painkillers are gone. I have no choice; I have to leave the house. I don’t bother changing or doing my hair. I don’t even look at my reflection and risk scaring myself like that. I know my face is drawn from holding back the pain. My lips feel chapped from being too lazy to even get water. I’m still in the leggings and tee from earlier but I slip on one of my grandpa’s old sweatshirts, two sizes too big. I don’t even think about the bird’s nest that is my hair.
Since I have to go out, I’ll stock up on a few other things I need and get myself a few varieties of gelato to reward myself for this excursion.
At the store, I realize I’m technically in house slippers still. They’re those moccasin types that at least have rubber soles and can be passed off as shoes. Regardless, not my finest hour. Even for a small town with a lot of weird characters I still get a few looks. One man in particular shoots me several suspicious glances. He’s dressed in jeans and a camo shirt. His bulbous nose is speckled with broken blood vessels. Maybe it’s paranoia, but it feels like he is watching me as I pitifully shuffle up and down the small aisle. More than once I look up to find him glaring in my direction.
By the time I collect all that I need, I’m sweating from the effort of trying to stand up straight. I’m going to sleep for a year when I get home.
There’s one kid in front of me in line. He’s a teenager, so I guess not really a kid. He’s got a box of condoms buried under a pile of what I suspect are totally unnecessary items. I used to do that as a teen when I had to buy pads and tampons. As though I had anything to be embarrassed about. Thank God somewhere along the way I stopped giving any effs. I learned that literally nobody cares what you buy, but especially not the bored cashier who deals with a hundred people a day. The kid glances around and when he sees me looking he sort of frowns and looks forward. I don’t blame him. I’m frightening.
As the cashier, a pretty teenager girl—ouch. Tough break, kid—starts to scan his items, I watch in pity as the tips of his ears grow more and more red.
“That’ll be $23.50.” The cashier smiles widely at him, a bit enamored. I guess he is a pretty cute boy. His profile is vaguely familiar which isn’t totally surprising in a small town. This is literally the only pharmacy-slash-quick stop grocery store unless you drive thirty minutes to the mega store in the next town over.
“Oh shit,” he swears under his breath, patting his shirt and jeans. “I forgot my wallet. I’ll have to come back.”
The man behind me makes an annoyed sound and I turn around to shoot him a glare. It’s the man that was not-so-subtly following me. He lifts his chin and gives me a disgusting once-over.
I turn my attention back to the teen whose hunched shoulders reflect that he heard the sigh too.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, collecting his keys. “I’ll come back.” His ears are bright red.
“I’ll get it.” I step forward and put my own basket down. “Just add it to my order.”
The cashier’s eyes widen as she takes me in, probably assuming I was a vagrant, before she shrugs and starts scanning my few things.
“You don’t have to. I have the money. I was just in a hurry to leave and I forgot to grab it,” says the boy.
The guy behind us sighs again. I ignore him and smile at the kid. “No biggie.”
“I can pay you back.” He’s mumbling and the color from his ears spreads to his cheeks.
I’m sure he has money, but I’m not worried about it. His shoes are fancy Nikes. I know, because I spend a lot of time looking at shoes online. He has the look of a rich kid. I think the cashier notices it too.
“It’s really no big deal. It’s my good deed for the day,” I say.
“Come on. Let’s go. You give money. She takes money,” The creep behind me interrupts, enunciates slowly. We got a real comedian here.
It’s my turn to flush. I turn around and say, “Can you chill out?”
“Yeah, man, what’s your problem?” the kid adds.
“I’d like to get out of here today.” He crosses his arms over his camo shirt.
