The Man Who Can't Be Moved

Two~

Gonna camp in my sleeping bag, I’m not gonna move…

I wake up later than usual and I’m late for work. I don’t plan on going. I have a splitting headache but not even that can wipe away memories of what happened yesterday. Flashbacks of when I met her, flashbacks of the dim lights following me home. Her voice in my head. It all comes back in quick, short, embarrassing clips. I know how to get her back… I have to. I have to. I have to.

My knees are bruised from when they hit the ground and I have to limp downstairs, careful not to bend them too much. I go over my plan and hope maybe it’ll work out of my head. In my mind, it will go just as planned. She will come back, hug me, kiss me, touch me… Tell me she loves me. And we will be okay. But I cannot rely on just simply hoping and wishing. If I want this to work I have to actually do something. Something that could a.)Give me everything back. or b.)Make me lose even more. I’m kind of rooting for a.

I rummage through a couple of closets looking for specific things. For some reason this house had countless closets. Hide and seek would be a breeze in this place. So so so many closets. Most of them didn’t even have anything in them. We didn’t have all that much shit to put in them anyway.

Blankets. Will I need blankets? I toss them in my backpack. I should probably bring some food with me. A few granola bars is all I have left in the pantry so I toss those in too. I make sure my phone had enough battery left. I think I have everything I need, fresh clothes. It’s summer anyway. I finish off by grabbing a piece of cardboard, writing down quickly: If you see this girl can you tell her where I am? And I walk out. Going back there will be painful but if I survived coming back here—an empty house that still, after eight days, smells like her perfume—then I can go back to an empty side walk. I just have to make sure to avoid looking at the sign. If I see that fucking sign I’ll rip it off.

The walk here was, surprisingly, more pleasant last night when I had no idea where I was going. Last night all I noticed was the empty bottle in my hand and the dark alleys that hid who-knows-what dangerous things. Now I am forced to take it all in. The alleys, now bright and visible; the street art that plastered numerous walls. She always admired the street art. But it’s illegal, I’d say. But it’s so pretty, she’d reply.

I reach the same spot at the 7-Eleven where I’d collapsed yesterday. I’m surprised my knees hadn’t left their mark on the pavement like it left its on me. I drop my backpack in front of me and pull out my sleeping bag, laying it down messily. Making sure not to look back at the cashier, or at that fucking sign, I sit down. People walk by and give me strange looks as if asking why I’m sat here. On a sleeping bag. In perfectly broad daylight. Maybe I don’t even know what I’m doing here but it’s worth a try. Leaning back against the wall I sigh and stick my hand in the backpack, idly moving it around, looking for something. I clasp my hand around it and pull it out. An old, warn out copy of Wuthering Heights that I found in one of the closets. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her things.

˜

I figured she worked early in the mornings since she wasn’t there when I came back from work yesterday. I should stop by… I could buy something. Did I eat breakfast this morning? I get there and smile slightly to myself when I see a familiar figure at the register. She is hunched over the counter, elbows on the flat surface, hands in her hair. She’s reading something. I decide to walk around the store a bit until she finishes since I wouldn’t want to interrupt her and that way it won’t look like I just stopped by to see her. Even though that's exactly what I did.

After a few minute of walking around, looking at candy, drinks, junk food. More candy, more junk food and occasionally some women’s sanitary products (also known as Always Infinity, so I learned), I look up and she’s still reading. I guess she won’t actually stop until she’s interrupted so I walk up to her. Her eyes are big and bright when she looks up at me and her smile takes up most of her face right then. “Good morning!”

I smile back. “Morning…”

“Good thing I wasn’t out back again today, yeah?” she straightens up so she’s no longer in her reading position. So she does remember me. I chuckle and nod.

“Lucky me.”

“So what can I help you with?” she looks at my empty hands and I stiffen slightly.

“Uh, some coffee please.” I don’t even drink coffee.

She nods and walks to the machine, making it the same way she did yesterday. I can’t help but smile when she spills some and groans, mumbling a quick apology.

“Don’t worry about it,” I smile and take it, giving her the money. She smiles and nods, “Have a nice day.” And she goes back to her book.

I spend the rest of my walk to the office beating myself up over this. I should’ve asked her what she was reading. Hi, I’m Liam. That isn’t too hard to say, I could’ve easily said that. I could’ve easily started a conversation but I didn’t. And I want to. But I don’t know how. I could come back another time maybe... If I could find something to say... There's only so many coffees a guy can buy until something seems off.

I run into Bo when I walk into my office. “You look tired.” he says.

“Here, " I say “I got you some coffee.” I hand him the cup and sit down. He grins.

“I always knew you were secretly in love with me.”

˜

I bite my lip and look down at the book on my lap. I run my hand over the cover and sigh.

I hope this works…