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"Can I help you with anything?" I ask, gazing into his browny-gray eyes.
"I'm good. Was just getting a book."
He lifts the book he's holding, but I don't pay any attention to it.
I can't.
First he did something, and now I've done something, and that's the only thing I can think about. My brain, when it latches on to something like this, is like a dog with a bone.
Branum touched my right bicep. I brushed my left hand down my shirt four times. The fingertips on my right hand twitch, and my mind goes into overdrive, needing the movements to be repeated on the opposite sides for symmetry.
Need to find balance. If I don't, the scales tip and all hell will break loose.
Yeah, this is my brain talking. It really is no fun being me sometimes.
"You okay, PJ?"
I drop my gaze and stare at the carpet. Shame and embarrassment flood me. It's like being back in high school all over again. I hated getting bullied, but what I hated more was that I kinda agreed with the bullies. I was a freak, a weirdo, and every other name they taunted me with.
And I still am.
My chin starts to quiver but stops when it's greeted by Branum's fingers. With a gentle strength, he lifts my chin until our eyes meet.
This is…good.
Great, actually.
My chin is central so he's not technically touching my left or right side, potentially throwing me even more off-balance than I already am.
"What do you need?"
Even as he whispers, his voice remains powerful. Commanding. Safe.
A tear skates down my cheek. "You'll think it's stupid."
"I won't," he growls lowly. "I promise."
I break free from his hold and look away. "Can you…touch my left arm please? Like you did my right arm before."
Without hesitating or questioning my ridiculous request, he presses my left bicep with the same amount of strength he used on my right. With him holding me, I swipe my right hand down the front of my shirt exactly four times.
"Thank you," I whisper once I'm done.
Then I retreat.
With trembling hands, I steer the trolley away from there, away from the man I just humiliated myself in front of.
After that mortifying little display, I'd be willing to bet that's the last time I ever see Branum Grady Duncan.
5
Branum
I lean against the handrail when I reach the top step. A couple of school kids pass me, hushing their talk as the automatic doors slide open and they step into the library. I glance inside after them, hoping to get a glimpse of PJ, but I don't see him.
What the fuck happened yesterday?
I still don't know myself.
