another

eight

After the strange encounter last night, I couldn't stand to be around Jasper for much longer. So instead, I spent the majority of the chilly afternoon shuffling through boring antique stores and vintage shops cluttered with gaudy, distasteful fashion. It didn't take me long to conclude that this town was stuck in the fifties and had every intention of staying there.

As I examined the horrifically realistic cheeks on a hand painted baby doll, I noticed a familiar blur of black skim across my vision in a brief instant. I peeked up and audibly groaned. Jasper was scouring through the unimpressive crowd of people, most likely searching for me. He was such a creep.

I almost wanted to leave because of his presence, but then he began treading through the scarce litter of small town folk and started headed towards the inner "city," which really was just a collective group of ancient brick buildings with dates carved into their stone fronts. My brow quirked as I spied him glancing around himself quickly, then slipping into a dimly lit alley way.

Without even realizing it, I began gravitating towards where he disappeared to. I was suddenly swallowed up in this inexplicable fascination. What was he doing?

I rounded the corner and trekked across the black tar street, not bothering to wait for the proper indication from the rusty, hardly working crosswalk machines. After darting across, I crept up on the spooky scene. My hands touched against the rough surface of the brick, as I peeked my head inside the alleyway. I only caught a brief glimpse of Jasper with another man. He was handing something to him...it appeared to be a wadded up chunk of money. Then in return, the man placed something in Jasper's hand, then quickly spun around and disappeared into the shadows.

Before I had time to register the scene unfolding before me, Jasper started turning away. I was fueled with rage for some unfashionable reason. Drugs. He was on drugs. No wonder he was such a screwed up piece of work. I no longer felt comfortable in that house knowing it was under the same roof as a doped up psychopath.

Before I could gather my wits, I stepped into the alley and raised my voice, "So what, you're a junkie? Somehow that fits perfectly."

His head jolted over his shoulder at the sound of my voice, his wide eyes looking almost...gentle and concerned. Until he looked straight into my eyes, then they turned cold and distant. He shrugged and turned back around, calling over his shoulder, "What I choose to do in my personal life is none of your business."

"It is when you threaten me," I retorted, shocked at how quick I was to trail behind him. He snorted, fumbling with a box of smokes and failing to answer me. "What?" I snapped.

"Threaten?" He mumbled to himself, but finally halting in his tracks and lifting a lighter to the cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"Yes, threaten," I huffed, stopping abruptly in front of him. He wore a snug black hoodie and tight fitting jeans, his boots covered in dried mud. I was surprised to find not a hint of makeup on his face, although the black nails still remained.

He snorted again, smoke weaving out from his lips and nose. He was quiet for a moment, then he glanced up at me. "These aren't for me." He said.

"What?" I sighed exasperated, confused at his sudden statement.

"The drugs," he clarified and I rolled my eyes.

"Oh really? Then whose?" I felt like this really wasn't my business after all, but I had an incredibly difficult time believing anything this dude said. He didn't respond, he only smiled to himself. What a fucking liar. "Whatever," I exhaled and twisted around.

I began stomping away until I heard his raspy voice call out, "What would you say if I told you I didn't know a goddamn thing about you until two days ago?"