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My body flinches. No, it wasn’thim. A man—a little taller than myself—walks in—brown, fluffy locks peeking from his faded hoodie. My breath quickens. It wasn’t him. It can’t be.
“Next in line, ma’am,” I'm called to the window.
“Um, hello, I’d like to cash a check,” my smile forces. I hand him the paper, glancing at the brunette walking up to the other open window. The elderly teller notices my eyes darting around.
“Is there something wrong, ma’am?” he queries.
"Oh, no, no, I thought I saw a high school friend,” I lie. He nods understandingly, buying the fib.
I clasp my shaking hands together, “Here you are, ma’am,” the polite bank teller grins.
“Thank you,” I express and walk as casually as I can out the door. A breath is released, “What is wrong with you?” Quietly, I let out a huff. It’s fine. The same hooded man enters my peripheral
as he exits the bank, making me jerk back and let out a choked yell.
He smiles, “Oop, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” It takes far too long for me to respond. It's nothim.
“It’s–it’s fine, thanks,” I respond. The man walks off in the other direction. I let out a breath. A boutique is about another block away. I can’t show up for the interview with anything from my closet. Especially after Blackburn kindly contributed his two cents.
“Dress nice.”
I’m not sure what ‘nice’ means to him, but I'm not going to get some boring suit, which he probably hopes I will wear. So, I shuffle through the racks of overpriced, mediocre clothing, uninterested in any of the shirts and basic combinations draped on the poor mannequins.
“Is there anything I can help you with today?” a cheerful blonde saunters over.
“No,” I give her a crooked grin. She nods and turns to assist another customer, but I glance around the store and realize I need the help. “Wait, um, do…you have any jumpsuits?”
“Of course, right this way!” I follow the bubbly worker to the back section of the store, where she motions to an entire wall of jumpsuits. Long, short, knitted, and stitched. What catches my attention is the splatter-patterned jumpsuit, jeweled with tacky rhinestones.
“Tada!” the blonde exclaims.
“Your help is appreciated.”
“No problem,” she scurries away, disappearing behind the tall racks. I pick out the all-white fabric with splattered paint and childish drawings print. The sleeves hang long, and fake white diamonds follow the deep V neckline. It's perfect.
“That was quick,” I smile. Strolling around stores until it is pitch-black outside isn't something I do. A childhood memory is recalled of being forced to clasp onto the cart as my mother walked up
and down every aisle, looking for the few items she was there for. Never again. After acquiring my new outfit, complete with short, white heels, I make my way back to my flat. The best part about this outfit—
“If I get paint on it, it’ll appear as a part of the pattern,” I muse. That's convenient.
The hours before nightfall are long, and so are tomorrow’s hours. Every second I spend thinking about that insufferable Evan Blackburn triples. I swear I can still smell the concentrated smell of his aftershave wafting through my residence like he is right outside my door, about to startle me with his heavy knocks. As expected, it's a delusion. A nightmare…a fantasy?
I slap my palm into my face for the hundredth time that week and groan. These thoughts are persistent, and nothing can get rid of them. Not art, not facts—
“Notlogic,” I frown. All of this is illogical. Ridiculous. Embarrassing. Still, I count down the hours until Friday. In a few more days, I’ll see him again. I feel this nagging feeling in my heart when I think of him; it has only worsened with time. I don’t want to call it by its name because its name frightens me. It's impossible, anyway.
I couldn’t be…
“Missing him?” I ponder. Missing a man you’ve known for a total of a half-hour at best. I studied him for much longer than that, but it isn’t the same. We weren’t conversing, and he wasn’t studying me back—my heart thumps. Or at least that’s not what it seemed like.
He wasn’t. Better to stop my imagination now than be riddled with guilt and regret later. All this anguish only for it to be blown away like soot when we meet again. He was too rudenotto make me angry every time we met. That…is possibly why I crave him. It isn’t healthy, but I am addicted to the adrenaline too much to care.
***
Movers invade my tiny apartment like ants. It takes an hour to get my things packed, loaded in their van, and taken to an unknown location. Blackburn hadn’t bothered to tell me they would knock on my door at seven in the morning, so now I stand on the city sidewalk with mangled, messy hair and sagging pajamas. Evan is nowhere to be seen; only the little playthings he sent to do whatever he asked of them swarm me.
“Follow me,” one of the movers clues me in on what is happening. I accept my fate, hope they are with INNO CORP, and I'm not the victim of a highly organized robbery.
