Drinking Numb (The Numbing Series #1)

Chapter Two

<"Ԁȏṅṭ ɞȗʟʟṡһıṭ ṃє. ıṃ ʟıҡє ѧ ṅȏ ɞȗʟʟṡһıṭ Ԁєṭєċṭȏя һєяє.">
•ᖇᑌE•
•July 9, 2015•
I stare down at the application I've been pondering over for to many valuable moments- I grabbed it yesterday on the way out of Yaks. I have two blank emergency contacts with nothing to write. I figure it's time to get a job for a car or college or, well, I'm not sure. I don't even know if I'm going to college. I do know that I've just turned seventeen about to start my senior year and will feel more grounded if I have some money of my own to put towards whatever future I have- at least that's what I tell myself; really, I just need something that will keep me busy, take my mind off of... things.

After all these years, Mom and I have worked out a system: Mom is paid a minimum of 9 dollars an hour plus 1/4 of any money coming in due to her baking. She puts what she is paid weekly into the bowl we have hidden in a cabinet in the kitchen. I take what I need for our groceries and taxes for the week along with some change I put away in my own savings for emergencies; on Fridays, my mom takes what I left out of the bowl to put towards her so called religious-orthodox even- donations to the bar.

I guess this morning went noticeably better then yesterday. I didn't have to get out the bat this morning, but the day is still young. I finish filling out my application and tuck it away in my binder full of copies of taxes and etcetera.

I sigh standing from the table. Today's grocery day. Putting my binder into my book bag, I go to see if I can convince mom to come with and get out of the house.
•

I walk down the unfortunately short and limited isles of our small town Wal-Mart. It seems that I got the worst buggy in the entire freaking place. The back wheel won't move, it steers cricked, and it squeaks. Its wonderful really.

I never buy much making sure to get just enough and come back if we need more. I already have some much needed toilet paper- apparently that man yesterday didn't only use a lot of our water but also tried to clog up our toilet- eggs, a half gallon of milk, bread, bleach- I go through a lot of from continuously having to clean the vomit off the toilet seat-, along with some new sketch pencils I want to try out- for me.

I took a few extra dollars from Mom's cash this week to see if she would notice, so I stop in front of the candles. We could really use them, especially in Mom's alcohol smelling room. Sometimes this whole situation makes me sick. Who am I kidding? It always does; I just ignore it.

Eventually I settle on three green apple candles and place them in the cart and start to the register. We only have six registers which are all always open for some reason. The only reason I can figure is that the teenagers have to have some job, and what better one than to stand behind a counter staring at their phones or playing with money.

Number six is available, so I head that way fiddling with the bandage on my wrist thinking Great, now everyone is going to think I'm suicidal. This is a small town. People talk. I make sure to pull my long sleeve down extra hard. I look behind the counter to see short slender girl with freckles scattered over her nose and green eyes. Her hair is light brown framing her face. She looks to be about my age, but I've never seen her before. Weird. Her name tag says Ira.

"You new here?" I ask with a polite smile emptying my cart.

"Yes. Moved in last week sometime. I'm Ira, and you?" She asks courteously back holding out her right hand. I shake her hand responding with my name and place my candles on the table.

"Nice to meet you," Ira says and goes back to her job paying no attention to me. I look over the racks. My eyes pass greedily over the gum, lip balm, and land on the aiming flames up high on the hooks. Now that I think about it, we don't have any at the house.

Ow, shit. My bandage all the way to my cut somehow manages to rip open causing blood to spill through the jagged cut that I ripped open. I hiss as I put my hand over it in an attempt to hide it from unwanted attention. My jacket sleeve must have rose up just enough for my bandage to catch on the metal.

Eyes prickling with tears, I yank my sleeve back down thinking maybe if I get out of here fast enough I'll be able to hide it. I get the aiming flame with my other hand and put it on the counter before going back to holding my wrist. I see someone walk up beside me, and I turn my back towards them.

A crap load of paper towels are pushed into my vision. I look up to see a guy my age with dark brown hair and brown eyes accented with a few light freckles scattered across his nose in hot kind of way. A weird feeling of recognition and panic tickles my consciousness causing confusion to flash over my face.

Focus. It's a small town. You've probably seen him somewhere like everyone else. Just because he is noticeably attractive doesn't mean you know him. Geez, get it together. You're bleeding.

"For your wrist," he explains farther. I reach for the paper towels then. I guess I wasn't fast enough though because he takes the liberty of taking my wrist in his own hands and pressing the paper towels to it. I wince a little and awkwardly take back my wrist.

"Thanks," I mumble and clear my throat. I look down at my wrist to see blood already starting to show through the wad of paper towels. Damn it hurts. My eyes threaten to flood and I squeeze them shut taking a deep breath. When I look up, I find the guy handing over money to my cashier girl paying for my groceries, and I stare speechless. He gathers all of my four bags of groceries into his hands and looks back at me.

"Where to?" He asks with a small smile of amusement. I imagine it would have been bigger if his eyes weren't so full of concern. I have an odd feeling that they're like that a lot.

"You didn't need to do that. I- what-?" I jumble up my words with a little shake of my head. I settle with asking, "Do I know you?"

"No, I guess not," he replies, the corners of his mouth tilting down a bit. "you can pay me back if it's that big of a deal to you, but I assure you that it's unnecessary."

"I can pay you back." He shrugs.

"Lead me to your car?" He asks questioningly.

"I walked here," I say looking back down at my wrist, applying more pressure and swallowing the pain.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry guys, but you two are going to have to take this somewhere else please," Ira says motioning to the line waiting behind me. The hot stranger leads me to the front of the store and through the automatic doors.

"I have a car. Let me give you a ride."

"I'm fine. I can walk. If you just give me my groceries, I'll be on my way," I say. I don't know this guy. It's always the nice and hot ones you have to watch out for.

"You aren't fine, and I'm not letting you walk home much less carry your groceries with that wrist of yours," he says as if it's the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Crap, it's really bleeding through everything. I'm starting to feel a little light headed even. I look down to find a string of blood drip down my hand, tickling my fingertips. I stare at it transfixed in wonder. How did this manage to happen? I can't even remember what really happened that night. Did I really get weak enough to cut myself? Apparently I did.

I'm woken from my trance to find extra hands pull back the blood-soaked paper towels revealing the skin torn, and flimsy looking. The hands replace the old towels with new ones applying hard, consistent pressure to my wrist. I let my head fall limp unwillingly and feel my cheeks drip with several tears.

"I'm okay," I breathe squeezing my eyes shut.

"Bullshit," the guy whispers in my ear holding me to him.

"I feel like this has happened before," I whisper mainly to myself as an image crossing my mind of him knelt in front of me.

"It has," he says lightly in my hair, his breath fanning my neck. "I'm Kohl."

In this instant I'm grateful for his solid chest in front of me. It was either him or the ground that I would fall against.