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As I unlock the door and enter the familiar hall, I realize I’m angry at myself. I’ve chickened out. I’m a coward. Blake scared me, but that excuse isn’t good enough. He’s just throwing threats about. He wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t dare.
I used to trust my instincts, my feelings. It’s as if the accident broke more than bones; it broke my faith in me. The girl I was a few months ago wouldn’t have hesitated to walk into that shop and make sure Micah was okay.
It’s not getting into trouble. Not talking to homeless people. Not even saving the world. But it’s the least I can do.
***
Next day drags, probably because I can’t stop thinking of my plans to talk to Micah. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, and I think my heart is on overdrive, but the excitement is pleasant. Cassie sends me questioning glances, and I realize I have a smile on my face.
I need to calm down. This is stupid. He may even be outside when I pass on my way to the bus stop, and I won’t even need to do or say anything because I’ll know he’s okay.
But the butterflies remain, doing crazy flips in my insides as I bring shoes from the storeroom and help the customers try them on and as I hang the clothes back at their proper places.
A guy watches me from the door of the shoe shop across the street. I frown. Is everyone watching me these days, or am I going crazy? I turn my back on him and do my best to ignore him.
“What’s up, girl?” Cassie nudges me with her elbow. “Did something happen?”
I steal a moment when the boss isn’t looking and tell her quickly about Micah and our brief encounter.
“No shit!” she says, her mouth open, and I laugh.
The boss sends us a stern look, and we go back to work, tidying up and hiding grins. God, this work day will never end, and it’s only part-time. As I get ready to leave, Cassie turns her back to the boss and makes signs at me to call her afterward to talk.
I’d love to have a friend like that, to chat on the phone and laugh. Only I don’t think there will be anything more to talk about. My life is boring, and as for Micah... I’m just going to say hi to him, that’s all.
Boom go the butterflies in my stomach, exploding all over the place, making me feel slightly sick. Maybe I’m getting the flu or something. This can’t be normal.
I redo my ponytail, then check my face in the bathroom mirror. My eyes look too bright, my cheeks are flushed. I look feverish. Crap.
The day is gray, and a light drizzle falls as I hurry down the street. People give me and my walking stick curious looks, but I ignore them. I’m buzzing with nerves. A homeless young woman is crouched in an alley behind a dumpster, and my steps falter. She looks at me, her face thin and sad.
Mentally, I make a note to come back tomorrow and see how I can help her.
Keep out of trouble, Joel’s voice hisses in my head. Blake’s face flashes in my mind, dark with anger. Not your responsibility, Evie. Let them be.
If I see you talk to them, even look at them, I’ll bust their legs.
Jesus. I frown and pick up my pace, my knee twinging in protest. I shouldn’t be afraid of Blake. He’s a jerk, not dangerous. He’s all talk and nothing more.
Doesn’t change the fact he’s a jerk—patronizing and arrogant. He most certainly drinks—in fact, I’ve had to put up with his drunken ass more than once—and I’m pretty sure he does hard drugs, too. Why is it any safer being alone with him than with the people on the streets? At least on the street I’m not alone.
And as for Joel’s concerns, I am careful. Christ. It’s not as if I go out at night and hang around dark places where I may get jumped. If possible, I ask about the person before approaching them. Not everyone on the street is a junkie. Not everyone is aggressive. Besides, I have pepper spray in case I need it. I’ve never needed it so far. I keep away from those who drink or seem high on drugs.
I halt. Look back toward the alley where the woman crouched in filth.
This isn’t me. Finding excuses. Cowering. Letting a jerk’s words stop me. I can do something small, like forego my coffee and donut today and give her that money instead. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.
As I turn and head back the way I came, I realize I’m smiling. I almost feel like myself again. Almost there.
I’m at the mouth of the alley, already searching one-handed in my bag for my wallet, when someone grabs my arm from behind and spins me around.
“You just won’t listen,” Blake growls.
My heart stops, then starts again, pounding against my ribs. I try to pull away. “Let me go.”
“Do you know I’ve marked in my memory every single loser you’ve tried to help on the street? I know their faces. Every single one you chose over me.”
Holy shit.
