Road to Evergreen | #Wattys2016

t w o

As I'm about to fall asleep flat on the counter, a customer walks in and heads to the drinks section.

I take this time as an opportunity to scrutinize him. He is wearing a black shirt with denim jeans. Black boots with a hoodie covering his face. He is broad and muscular and tall.

He approaches the counter and hands me his items: mountain dew and a bag of chips. I look up at him and his head is still low which fires my curiosity of the way he looks. So, I try to get him to look up. Two can play this game.

I clear my throat.

"That will be it?" I ask.

He doesn't reply and yet again, I feel like I'm talking to a wall.

"Alright then, that will be 3.85$," I state out.

His head is still down. Two points for the stranger and zero for me. I'm annoyed that I lost, just like raindrop number 2.

He grabs his items and I can't help but notice a tattoo on his index finger: IV . Along that, it's smeared with blood or red ink. I'm not sure yet. Being the usual stubborn girl, I keep pushing in order to win.

"Would you like a tissue to clean that up?" I point to his index.

He rapidly stuff his hand into his jeans pocket.

" Um, no. That won't he necessary," he replies.

The boy can speak!

"What suits you," I reply.

"Thank you, Lesley." He pauses for a while and looks up to meet my eyes.

Yes, I win-- but I'm too distracted with those green eyes staring back at me. His eyes are the perfect shade of green and I find myself lost within them so easily. I snap back to reality as I notice a bruise around his right eye. Without thinking, I reach out to touch it.

He flinches and backs away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"It's fine!" He snaps.

He turns and marches out of the store as if my words touched him painfully. I stare as he put his car in reverse and heads out.

Seconds later, he's gone and I'm left alone yet again to drown in my thoughts.

I try to make sense of what just happened: blood stained hand and a bruised eye, a tattoo IV of a roman number 4. Why number 4? Is it a date, a place, the 4th letter of the alphabet?

I hate when I have questions unanswered. It drives me crazy. Like who hurt him? Why did someone even think of hurting him? A guy with full lips, perfect jawline, captivating green eyes and brown hair. Who would hurt such a handsome face? What is his name? I'm annoyed because he knows mine but I don't know his. I don't want to keep referring to "him" as the third person view so I decide on giving him a name. He looks like a Christian. Christian will do for now.

I want to know his story.

I want to know what lies behind those vaguely familiar eyes. I want to know his favorite color and food. I want to know his middle name. Is it as awkward as mine is? Well, I can take credit for knowing his favorite drink. I could take that out from the list.

Snap out of it, Lesley. Go back staring at the rain drops. He could he a physco killer that will kill you in your sleep. How do you know that someone hit him and not the other way around? My voice in my head can be so right sometimes. Too bad I don't listen to it.

I sigh and look down at my shirt. It's has a band logo printed on it that I have never heard of before. I remember my first boyfriend bought me this shirt back in highschool. We stupidly danced in the rain and ended up wet. He had to buy me a shirt to avoid a cold the next morning. And now I'm a senior in college. Seriously, time flies by so fast.

I should start ironing this shirt. It's worse than the wrinkles of my aunt Hilda. I immediately dismiss the image from my head as I go back thinking about my shirt.

I'm just glad that my boss doesn't apply the uniform code around here. He already makes me wear a name tag. Who said I want strangers to know my name? Especially that green-eyed boy.

I rub my hand over my forehead and prepare myself for a headache that's coming. Frustrated and annoyed, I open my drawer to get some aspirin and notice my name tag lying above my book.

How does he know my name?