Until I Die(18+)

In Which She Wears A Mask

        I SPEND LONGER in the shower than necessary.

        Yes, I was hiding. The thought of seeing Eric after being rejected made me want to coil up tighter than a boa and disappear.

        All I can hear is my Mum telling me how right she was. How he'd never go for a silly child like me. I'm twenty-five years old but right now I feel like a teenager who just had her heart broken by her crush.

        Or in a nut shell, I feel pathetic.

        With wrinkled fingers and toes, I force myself out of the hot water (which was heavenly, by the way) and leave the shower cubicle. I grab the towel hanging up just outside wrap it around myself.

        As I begin my journey back to the changing room, I notice a pile of clothes on the sink opposite. In the exact same spot where I'd sat and tried to kiss Eric.

        Tears sting my eyes at the memory, water droplets of humiliation desperate to break free, to relieve some of the building pressure inside of my head and heart, but I ignore it. I didn't want to cry.

        Children cried. I was trying to break free from the box my mother had shoved me into.

        The clothes consist of dark blue straight leg jeans, a matching sports bra and panties set, and a grey long sleeved top with black oversized jacket. Mens size, I think. I hold it up, tags and all, to find a red dragon on the back of it. It reminds me of Eric, of his hoody, and I suddenly feel warm all over once again.

        He was dressing me like him.

        I have no idea how to feel about that. What did it mean?

        Nothing, Jo, I scold myself for trying to read in-between non-existent lines, he rejected you, remember? So, stop trying to act as if this is a way for him to claim you. Dumbass.

        Once dressed, I retrieve the knife Eric gave me from the changing room and bundle up my old, dirty clothes before binning them.

        Before I leave the room, I take a deep breath to centre myself, and then I head back into the shopping mall to join the others.

--

        From what I could see, the restaurant was now empty.

        Each store lining the top of the mall has a gang of people inside; families, friends, huddled on top of sleeping bags or duvets. Their own private makeshift rooms.

        I walk along them in search for my people, awkwardly smiling and uttering a hello when unfamiliar eyes found me. Some smiled back, others frowned at me as if I'd just ruined their entire evening. How British. Moody sods.

        "Hey, you're the new girl," a guy calls out when I pass.

        He sits with two girls, a car magazine splayed out on his lap. Both girls were blonde, sixteen to twenty years old if I had to venture a guess. Their store was a beauty boutique; the slightly older girl applying lipstick to the younger one.

        The man who greeted me was around late twenties. His dark brown hair pulled back into a man bun on the top of his head, the sides shaven. Stubble coats his lower face. His nose on the bigger side, a bump on the bridge. He was admittedly good-looking and the long hair reminds me of Eric.

        "Yes," I say, hesitantly coming to a stop outside. I didn't really want to have a conversation right now, but I didn't want to be rude either. I shove my hands into my pockets.