I'll Be Holding on to You

pink lipstick

I did go with Mara while she did her mystery shopper job and that was fun. 

At the end of each transaction if they said "Thanks for shopping at Whatever" she replied "Thanks for being shopped!" so they knew they were fucked if they'd been rude. It was awesome. 

Because about half the people were rude. We held hands and did other blatantly lesbian things, though the PDA was clean enough, and that pissed off at least two of the homophobic checkers. Two were just bitchy in general to everyone. One was so stoned he kept stopping and saying "What was I doing? Oh yeah." Four were friendly and one was a girl our age who was interested for sure.

When we were done at the last grocery store it was almost nine, and dark. We got in her car and locked it. She said, "If you want to come over one day, I'll make dinner or something all wifey like that." She half mocked herself, afraid I was going to say no.

Which I was, because just the thought of going to a stranger's house by myself gave me real anxiety, the kind where my heart felt like it was beating too hard and too high in my chest, throwing in an extra beat now and then for the ultimate experience.

"Oh, my God," she said, putting her hand out in a stop motion. "Please, never mind. The look on your face. What happened to you." She put her hand over her mouth as the last question seemed to spring out without her knowing. I tried to arrange my face. "Just ignore me, I am not prying; I did not mean to ask that, I swear."

I took a few deep breaths and got grounded again. Even though I knew it was irrational, I couldn't help but think how I could go to her house all trusting and she could set me up so easily. I would never consider any situation safe again, which fucking sucked. Really put a damper on my life. 

But that was because I knew exactly how something unlikely and irrational could happen in real life, and how fast.

In the dark the words came out almost easily but I still had to fuck with the truth. I knew better than to talk about it at all but I felt compelled. "There was someone. When we were eighteen. Someone we knew." I spread my hands, palms up, shrugged over her sharp intake of breath. "I mean, there aren't really words," I said simply, goosebumps covering me from head to toe. 

She was turned to face me in the dark, her right leg tucked up so her foot was under her. She hesitantly reached out and put her hand on my open left one. 

I allowed my fingers to curl around it. 

Her face was sad. "No wonder you're cautious. I'm so sorry." She reached with her left hand and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the door pocket. My brand. She offered them to me. "I know you don't know this yet, but you can trust me."

I nodded in acknowledgment, wishing I could. "I didn't know you smoke." I took one, put it in position, and used the lighter tucked in with the rest of the cigarettes to light it. I replaced it and set the pack on the dashboard as she turned the key forward to roll down the window a few inches.

"I do sometimes," she said. "Gage knows what brand you like." She winked at me. She was tracing my palm with her thumb and it was like happening in a different world, but taking so much of my attention.

"He'd better," I said absently. Since I'd bought them there for years.

"Did they catch him?" she asked abruptly.

"Yeah, he's in jail," I lied, taking another drag and then handing it to her. I hoped talking about it wouldn't haunt my dreams but it probably would. My stomach fluttered because I really should not be talking about it. To anyone. Ever. What the fuck was I thinking?