The Fighter

Chapter Eight

Locking the door behind them, I connect to the Bluetooth speakers and begin to blast my music loud enough to fill the house but not that it would disturb anyone.  Deciding to pick up the house since someone I don't know is showing up soon, I start with the living room while blasting my music so that it wasn't just me in the house with my thoughts and nothing else.  The room was fairly easy, nothing of excitement other than a couple of stray socks that I don't believe to be all Derek's.  Gagging at the smell of some of them, I throw them into a trash bag set aside for stray laundry that might be around the house.

"Gross, Derek," placing the bag down, I head into the kitchen as gasp at what I see:  the concrete dinner table covered in red and brown from last night and I almost start crying while thinking about how it must have affected Derek to see me like that.  Running into the bathroom, I grab a bottle of peroxide when I realize that it won't be enough to clean the whole of the table.  "I need to go to the store and pick up some more.  And now we're talking to ourselves and referring to ourselves as 'we'."

Changing into a pair of jeans and a tank top, I pull on one of Derek's jackets and head to the store.  Driving the Impala to the local store, I go in with my headphones blaring my music when I accidentally run into someone while changing the song and looking for another to play while heading to the first aid aisle.  Looking up abruptly, I come face to face... well chest, with a man standing at six-foot-four with unruly black hair, bright green eyes and tattoos covering pale skin.  Apologizing to the firm faced man and quickly evacuate to the aisle that I need to before grabbing five of the largest bottles that they have available along with white rags and some bleach.  When I turn around, the same chest greets me and I squeal in surprise and grip my chest in shock before pulling out my headphones and glaring at him.

"Can I help you?"  The man tilts his head to the side and I squint up at him with my own head tilt.  "You're staring at me, why are you staring at me?  Do I have something on my face?"

The man shakes his head but remains silent, understanding what I am saying but choosing not to respond to me.  Is this how I am to other people?  Nodding to the man, I give him a mock salute and begin to back away from him.

"I  am sorry for bumping into you, I didn't hear you come up behind me.  Goodbye."  I start to walk away when he grips my arm and I glare at the hand which he immediately releases.  "What?"

He looks into my eyes deeply, as if looking for something.  When he seemingly doesn't find it, he releases me and I glare a bit at where he touched me in the first place.  Without even apologizing, the man walks away swiftly and without another look back toward me or anything else in the aisle.  His silence was angering but refreshing, knowing that there was someone else who chose not to talk but could.

I continue to the check out where the woman there looks at me with a judgemental stare which I just ignore and continue to pay with the cash that I won the other night.  The woman once again looks at me with a glare and I raise a brow at her when she glances to my right with a dreamy look; slowly looking over and up, I am once again greeted with the green eyes of the stranger. 

"Small world."  He nods and motions to the store.  "Small store."  He nods again.  Grabbing my bags, I make my way to the car quickly when I notice a motorbike sitting next to it.  Getting in, I begin to pull out of my parking spot when I see the stranger straddling the bike and I laugh at the fates and their sick and twisted ways of making someone appear in your life.  Driving back to the house, I prepare everything to clean the table, leaving the liquid alone for thirty minutes before scrubbing it down with the rags and a bleach solution.  Finishing up, I spray down the room with a heavy-duty air freshener and begin on the rest of the house.  Looking at the clock, I notice that it read that I have half an hour until noon and I curse to myself while thinking of something that I can make for lunch that will allow me to impress the guest without causing any major food allergen breakouts.