Ashes in March

Chapter 2: I Can Try

The next time I see him, I'm shopping for tampons.

It's about a week later and he's standing in front of the produce, wrinkling his nose at a sign that says 2 for 1 Peaches. He's got on a baseball cap pulled backwards, his red hair curling around the edges and a green t-shirt that says Army Strong.

I think my heart stops because I gasp loudly and everyone in the line in front of me turns in worry. I apologize, "Sorry, I'm fine. Really," and race for the bathroom.

I feel like I'm going to vomit.

I gasp into the toilet, my fingers clutching desperately to the edge, but nothing comes up so I shakily lean back against the stall.

Why was he here? Of all places, here? I mean, sure, everyone did their grocery shopping here but still. Conveniently at the same time that I am? This must be the universe's sick sense of humor. And apparently, I was always the punchline.

I had tried to pretend like that night hadn't really happened. Like I hadn't accidentally-on-purpose jumped off a cliff with the intention of dying and then saved by a boy on a boat who made me pancakes that I didn't eat.

Sneaking back into my house at 2 in the morning, my parents hadn't even noticed that I wasn't there.

I wipe away the sweat on my forehead and stand on my trembling legs. When I emerge from the bathroom, the devil himself is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and a smile on his face.

"I thought that was you," he says. In the normal world, not the drown-induced one of that night, he's kind of beautiful. Fair skin and heavy lashes above light eyes. I think that maybe his shirt is stretched a little too tight across his shoulders... but then I think that it's actually ok, the amount of tightness across his chest is perfect. And his lips. God. They're pulled into a lazy smile and I wonder if he gets a lot of free things with that smile.

It spreads wider as he looks me up and down.

I decide that yeah, he probably does.

"Um, yeah," I stutter. "It's me. Not dead yet," I wince and think, Jesus Ro, could you be any more morbid?

Despite my macabre statement, his smile widens. "I see that. You look great, by the way."

I look down at my sweater and jeans and flush because I definitely do not. But I guess I look better than our previous meeting. My cheeks warm anyway.

"Thanks. So do you," I say but I realize I just said that he looks good so I stutter, "I mean, for a t-shirt and hat, you pull it off well." And then I realize that I just made him think that I was looking at him which I was but I blush harder. "I mean, it's just, I like your shirt."

He laughs, loud and it bounces around the small hallway, warm and deep. I pull my sweater tighter around me.

"Right," he grins down at me. "So, what are you doing later?"

His eyes dart down to the box of tampons in my hands, his face flushing a bright pink.

"Oh, never mind. I mean, if you have stuff to do then maybe we can hang out another time..."

"They're for my mom," I smile faintly at the flustered splutter coming from his mouth.

He chuckles nervously and scratches the back of his head. "I mean, if they were for you, then that's ok. I totally don't care. Honestly. Women stuff. It's so natural."

"Shut up."

"Got it." He smiles thankfully at me. I look at the end of the hallway to see his basket is packed with boxes. And upon closer inspection, I see that they are actually cake mixes. Dozens of Chocolate, Vanilla, Lemon, Red Velvet, Devil's Food. And frosting jars. Loads of them.