She hated him. He hated her. And that was alright in their world until one night. Everything changed then, conversations exchanged between drags of a shared cigarette having developed a mutual respect between enemies.
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Slowburn enemies to frie...
I sort the last stack of records, dividing them up by genre then filing them into labeled boxes. I haven't had a single customer in my whole eight-hour shift. When Off The Record was busy, customers would come in and often scatter records all over the store. Nowadays, I've got endless free time to reorganize.
As I pack the records away my mind wanders. I haven't spoken to Steve in three days, since Davis showed up at my house. Something about it all felt wrong; the way a dead man suddenly wasn't, and Steve was comforting me for hours on my living room floor. I don't know why I'm avoiding Steve. I just feel like I should, the idea of seeing him makes my hands clammy and my mind fuzzy.
Steve isn't the only man I've been avoiding like the plague.
I hardly go outside, worried about running into Davis.
The only boy I want to see right now is Dustin. But I can't avoid my problems forever.
I look up at the clock on the wall above the register counter. 5:01, it reads. My shift's over, and Mom and Dustin should be home within the hour. If I want to be there when they get home, I've got to be quick. I reach into the back pocket of my jeans, pulling out the card Davis gave me. I mull over it.
"I'll be back before you know it," he told me quietly, knelt beside my bed.
"Promise?" I whispered, careful not to wake Ivy from her bunk above mine. She stirred a bit and I flinched. He rubbed my cheek softly.
"Promise."
My chest burns and I blink back tears. "Fuck." I hiss, rolling my eyes and tossing the card onto the floor. I wipe the pooling tears from my water line.
I consider calling Steve for a ride, but my pride won't allow it. After my humiliating breakdown, he'd sat at the foot of my bed and consoled me from afar. For how long, I'll never know, but he was gone when I woke up in the morning. I haven't recovered from the embarrassment, and I'm not ready to hear Steve's teasing remarks about it.
Pulling on the long, spindly cord of the store's wall phone, I dial Eddie's house number.
"Munson household," a gruff voice answers, clearing his throat of phlegm simultaneously.
