Something Like Shame (BWWM)

Chapter 16

I never was actively desperate for him, as hard as that may seem to believe. I did, on the other hand, fall into a depression, a deep, sallow pit of "what's the point?"

My friends were around constantly because they saw the changes. The baggy clothes and heavy eyes, the slouched posture and nails chewed to the quick. They saw me slowly retract from them and from my work and they saw the apathy. As hard as I tried to conceal it, it was like I was never actually present. Yet, I only functioned because I wasn't in a place where I wanted to die, never so motivated to end anything because I just couldn't be bothered. I distinctly remember thinking to myself that I wasn't worth the effort because, in this case, I'd be too exasperatingly easy to kill. I already won and lost the fight and it wasn't the most eventful one at that.

It was in this state that my mom, hardly hiding her concern, invited me to the Paper Palace out of fear of my being alone. The ride consisted of ill-timed jokes and half-hearted attempts at conversation on my part until thankfully we reached the building which sat between a series of fast-food establishments and hair salons.

My mom let me push the cart as we walked.

I just lied: you see, for us, this grocery store was magic so, naturally, we didn't actually walk. We wandered.

When I was younger, we were that pair that stood in the middle of the aisle for what felt like ages because we just couldn't choose. And why should we? The grocery store was all that you needed in case of an emergency, it was a plethora of potential, and it was over a million different recipes in one single place. At least, it was once.

Stooping down, she grabbed a bag of cereal, "Do you think Marshmallow treats with Grains is a good choice?"

"That should be fine."

Tossing it into the cart, she muttered, "You used to think it was too much of a mouthful."

"What?"

"When we came here, I used to ask you that question and you'd make a little joke about how it was more work to say the name than it was worth eat."

I stared at all those colorful, dehydrated sweets that decorated and tumbled down the bag's exterior and shrugged, "I guess I remember that."

She frowned at me and, through these melancholy lenses, I saw a trace of grief, "What do you want for dinner? Lasagna?" I started to answer but she continued down the aisle, in a hurry as she weaved past other hurried families, "No, you probably want vegetarian lasagna. You loved vegetarian lasagna when you were younger. Oh, and lemon squares? I haven't made those in a while, but that should be great, right?" She didn't waste time waiting for my answer before pacing off toward the dairy aisle, "I'll need milk and mozzarella, right?"

Then, almost by divine intervention, I heard someone say, "Isn't that one of your students?"

Shortly after that, there was his voice, "No, I don't quite believe so."

"Oh, well, I've seen her before somewhere. Wasn't she at the field trip?"

"Let's just go."

"Introduce me."

My curiosity got the better of me and I turned around- only to find Sebastian pleading with some woman.
She was about my height with coiffed auburn hair. Her skin was pale and she was sort of thick and, in her peep-toed wedges, she stood a head above me and looked to be in her late thirties to early forties.

He held her by the hand , murmuring things I couldn't quite hear, and she gazed back at him lovingly before abruptly dragging herself away from him and approaching me. I looked around for my mom but she was no where to be found, so I braced myself for her scorn.

"Excuse me?" She half-smiled and, to my surprise, it wasn't by any means the sort that would intimidate anyone. It was the sort that naively invited you in when it thought you weren't the one that sort of slept with it's other half, cripplingly sweet.

"Yes?"

"You wouldn't happen to be this man's student, would you?" She nodded toward Sebastian who caught my eye and let it go just as quickly, reflecting my anxiety.

"No-" her face fell, then I corrected myself, "Oh, well I am but-"

She nodded, crossing her arms, "Well, what's your name?"

"I'm Henna."

"And I'm Carmen McKeague." She shook my hand and, from this close, I could almost see how average she was. It wasn't my jealously or anything, it was just that she didn't quite stick out, putting aside her bold eyes, "It's nice to finally meet someone new around here. He's had me cooped up in the apartment for ages and-" taking in her surroundings, "this is refreshing. You know, when you follow someone half way across the globe, you might expect a bit more-"

He gently grabbed her hand and edged her away, avoiding me as best he could, "She probably doesn't have time for this, Carmen."

By then, my mom was beside me again and I was feeling sluggish with guilt. My mom didn't exactly notice. She grinned at the thought of getting me to wear something other than sweats and hoodies, "Oh, we're not in a hurry and we do have an extra seat at our table if you'd like to come by some time soon."

She glanced at Sebastian as he stormed to the check-out line and away from the lot of us, in his usual pensive silence, "I'd like nothing more."