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My footsteps are hard against the pavement as I jog toward the bookstore, glancing up above me at the sky that threatens rain for the second time this week. I’m not late, but I’m not going to be early by the time I get to work, that’s for sure. I don’t think Sera would care if Iwaslate once in a blue moon. But I don’t want to ever give her a reason to regret hiring me and giving me the best job of my life.
It may not be everyone’s dream to work in a bookstore, but for me, it’s perfect. There’s very little stress, and for most of the day, I get to sit at the counter with a book off the shelves that I can read while the rain pounds outside or in-between times that customers browse the shelves asking for recommendations. Not only that, but Sera is only open four days a week, and my hours are pretty great. Since I’m her only employee and the bookshop doeswell, my pay is nothing to sneeze at, either.
When I turn onto the street that the bookstore sits on, albeit still two blocks from where I currently walk, I’m surprised by my phone ringing in my pocket. It feels too early for a call from the Lost Boys. And I’m not expecting anyone else to call. Fifteen minutes from now, I could expect a call from Sera, but it’s still too early for that.
I put my phone to my ear with a sigh of, “Hello?” Wondering if I’m about to get a call about my imaginary boat’s extended warranty.
“You should get away from them while you can.” The voice on the other end of the phone seems familiar, but not enough for me to place it. My steps slow, eyes narrowing, and I think before I let words tumble from my lips.
“This is a weird warranty call,” I say at last. “And if you’re trying to one-up my current insurance, then I’m sorry to inform you I don’t have a car or a boat or anything cool like that.”
“You know what I’m talking about.” The voice is masculine but a little bit distorted as if the speaker istryingto mask their identity from me.
Again I wonder if this is some weird test or prank by Cyril. Maybe it’s him trying to figure out howloyalI am to him and the boys. Maybe he’s just fucking with me.
Or maybe it’s something else altogether. Obviously, the calls are from someone whoknowsI’ve been around the Lost Boys. Maybe they know I’ve been asking questions myself. I wish I could be sure, but instead of saying anything at first, I just sigh loud enough for the person on the other end to hear me.
“I don’t know what the deal here is,” I say at last. “I don’t know why you’re calling me or whatever. But I don’t need your helpful advice–”
“They kill people. They’ll hurt you when all is said and done. You think they really give a damn about you?” The man chuckles dryly and without humor. “You’ll just be a casualty on their list, and they won’t remember you ever existed.”
I wish I had a reply. I wish I had something quick and witty to respond with, but I don’t. Because those thoughts go throughmyhead too, they’ll get bored of me. They won’t want me around for that long. Am I really willing to throw myself so deeply into their lives, intothem, that I’m in danger of losing a lot more when they decide they’re done with me?
My mouth opens, then closes. It’s not what I want to be doing, and it definitely shows that the words have gotten to me, but I don’t know what else to do. I hang up and shove my phone into my pocket.
“Fuck,” I mumble, pushing open the door of the book shop to see Sera standing at the counter with another box sitting near the register. With all of the other stuff there, the box is balanced precariously on the edge, and with my eyes on it, I’m pretty sure I canseeit sway and nearly tip off toward her.
Sera looks up and tucks her hair behind her ears, smiling with relief and in welcome. Though the smile fades when she sees my face, and immediately my boss comes out from behind the counter and walks toward me, arms up so she can gently grip my elbows.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern on her face and in her voice. She pulls me to her, and I fight not to cry. It’s stupid to be affected like this by some asshole’s words, but it’s hard not to be when they echo my internal fears so accurately.
“Nothing,” I say, my voice soft. “I just…I’m having a hard day. I’m out of spoons, and it’s barely 11 a.m.” I let out a soft, uncertain laugh and then jump when the box falls from the counter, spilling books to the floor.
Sera glances back, then looks at me with a frown. “Is it work?” she asks, and immediately I’m shaking my head in denial.
“Iloveworking here,” I tell her vehemently. “You know that.”
“It’s something else then? Hmmm.” I hate how she looks at me, scrutinizing my face and whatever emotions show on my face. “Is it that guy? The one who showed up the other day who gave me bad vibes?”
“Guys,” I correct before I can stop myself. Sera looks surprised but recovers a second later without missing more than a beat.
“Guys, then. Did they say something? Do something?”
I definitely don’t know how to tell her what’s going on, but I suppose telling her my fears won’t hurt, so long as I keep the Lost Boys’ names out of it.
Especially Cyril’s.
“I…I really like them. They say and act like they really like me too.”
Sera nods. When I don’t go on, she urges, “Go on? I’m not sure I see the problem.”
“But it’s moving really fast. I have strong feelings for them, and I don’t want to leave them. But they’re so…” I don’t have a good word for it. “They don’t seem like the type of people to be interested inmelong term. I’m so scared that I’ll give them everything and then be left in the dirt like I was when you know.” The scars on my wrist seem to burn at the thought of the state I was in then. “I worry that I can’t take that this time. That I’ve hit my capacity for dealing with things like that.”
Sera watches me, and I have to look away at the concern oozing from her body language and expression.
“I worry about you,” she admits. “I always worry about you like you’re my own daughter.” I smile up at her before looking away again. It’s hard to have someone so concerned for me when I don’t know what to do with myself. And it’s hard to be under her scrutiny when she’s so worried about me.
I’m not sure I deserve her worry, actually. The thought makes me suck in a deep breath that I can feel down to my bones, and I straighten, blinking back any threat of tears so that I can shake this off. ”It’s fine,” I say at last. It has to be fine. There’s no contingency plan for thingsnotbeing fine. “I guess, whatever happens, happens. That’s life, right?”
