Kyle fiddles with the pen in his hand and then looks at me. “Are you going to write it down or not?” Apparently, he’s suicidal.
I don’t quite grasp what’s happening as Bren pushes through the gap between the two carts and shoves Kyle backward, sending the pen flying out of his hand. Kyle’s surprised Hey! whizzes past me as, almost simultaneously, the silver pen flies by.
Bren grabs my wrist as if I can outrun him. “Of course she won’t! Now, get lost, do you hear me?” His face is pale with anger, his eyes black as dark sockets. He holds me so tightly I’m afraid he’ll break my bones.
“Let’s go,” I whisper to him. He doesn’t even hear me. Gritting his teeth, he watches as Kyle picks up the pen from the floor. When he straightens up again, you can clearly see he is annoyed by Bren’s behavior.
His face is tomato red. ‘What’s your damn problem, man?”
“You’re my problem, who else?” Without warning, Bren nudges him in the chest again, automatically pulling me with him.
Kyle stumbles hard against the bulletin board, tearing off the other half of Henry’s missing person notice. He looks disturbed. “You are crazy! Can’t you take a joke or what?” he snaps at Bren.
Bren takes another step toward him, his eyes so full of aggression that it scares me. “Since when is it fun to hit on someone else’s girl? She’s my girl, understand?” His fingers are still tightly clamped around my wrist, but I don’t dare say anything that might make him more angry. There’s no way I want a fight to break out here.
Kyle shakes his head and seemingly assesses his chances of getting past Bren unscathed. “You’re not quite right in the head! You’re sick!” He runs his fingers through his curls as if trying to rearrange them. Then he looks at me. “You had your chance, sunshine. But since you’d rather stay with that lunatic…”
He shoves a cart aside and walks proudly past the row of shops, but it seems more like an escape. For a few breaths, it appears Bren is considering chasing after him, but he stands there, immobile, staring at nothing. Hopefully, he won’t have an attack now.
With my heart pounding, I look around—quite a few people have stopped and are staring at us. A robust woman in zebra leggings and pink lipstick even dares to approach, almost reaching the cart.
“Bren?” I jerk my wrist to get him to let go, but his fingers become like iron bars. I suppress a cry of pain.
“Did you like him?” he asks through clenched teeth without looking at me.
“Who? That guy?”
“Answer my question!”
He’s serious. “Of course not!” I’m so stunned I almost laugh even though I feel like crying. “He approached me. I didn’t immediately realize he was coming on to me.” It certainly sounds like me!
Bren slowly turns to me and looks me in the eyes. His eyes are narrowed. “You had the paper in your hand, Lou!”
“I instinctively took the paper he tore off a missing person notice! I didn’t want him to use it for that!”
“I’m supposed to believe that?” Only now do I feel how badly the hand he’s holding me with is shaking. Out of excitement or desperation, I don’t know.
“Of course you should believe me.” I sound helpless and that makes me angry. “What do you think? That I’d run off with the first guy who hits on me?”
Bren raises his eyebrows, evil, bitter mockery sparkling in his eyes. “You did it before, didn’t you?”
I wince like he slapped me in the face. It hurts more than his fingers around my wrist. Tears well up in my eyes—I can’t help it. I tug wildly against his tight grip, but I can’t break free. At some point, I stop because I realize we are still the center of attention. And because it’s pointless to fight back.
Wordlessly, I stare at him. My fingers go numb. I sense a power from before looking down on us. It is like a third person, and for a moment, I feel even weaker, even smaller, even more helpless. The smell of earth and pine needles burns inside me, hot as fire.
Bren also seems to feel this other power from before. I can’t say why I notice it, but not a second later, his mouth opens with an expression of recognition. His features soften and he finally lets go of me. But I still can’t say anything. My wrist hurts and my vision blurs, but I see him shake his head.
“I’m sorry, Lou. Forgive me.” His voice suddenly sounds rough and distressed. “I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
The words are like an echo that repeats in the present from another time. I didn’t mean to hurt you! It will not happen again. How many times did he say that—back then? The edges of my vision are fraying like worn fabric. Suddenly, the nausea that hit me earlier when I saw the notices is back. I blink frantically and stare at the floor to avoid looking at Brendan. To my feet lies the other half of Henry Cunningham’s missing person report. I pick it up quickly and hold it tight; I can’t just leave it this way.
“Lou?” Bren puts his hand on my arm.
“No!” I choke out, shaking off his fingers. Then I push my way through the two carts and, blinded by tears, storm toward the exit, past the woman in the snug zebra leggings and the other onlookers.
When I walk outside through the glass front door, the cool night air hits me and I almost knock over a toothless old man. The sky is pitch black, but the glaring parking lot lights outshine the night. I continue walking straight ahead and the smell of the humidity, the ocean, and greasy fries overpowers the pine forest and earth, the smell of the past. Cars honk on the highway heading toward the ocean. A dog is barking somewhere, maybe it’s Grey.
Take a breath, calm down.
