Memories That Still Haunt Us

Chapter Thirteen:

Moving through the store, I grab cream soda liters, butterscotch syrup, a tub of vanilla ice cream, and everything else needed for the butterbeer before moving onto the sweets for the trolley. I grab a cheap office supplies organizer that I'll use for the trolley, then pile gummy frogs, jelly beans, and other candy into the cart.

When I approach the alcohol aisle, I linger for a moment. Would Ellis be mad if I suggested adding vanilla vodka to our butterbeer? I'm not quite twenty-one yet, but I'm almost twenty, and he didn't seem to care that I was drinking underage the other night, only that I was a complete mess. But I want him to see that I'm not always that way. I can drink and still be civilized.

Not thinking any longer about it, I grab the bottle of vanilla vodka and also slip in a bottle of wine before making my way towards check-out.

Lately, since getting the job, I find my thoughts drifting to areas I've kept somewhat under control for a while now. Desolate, forbidden areas that my mind has not traveled to in quite some time. Every now and then, it would creep in, but just as quickly, I'd banish it back to where it belongs. Lately, I'm finding it harder to banish the thoughts. They creep in and settle in, making themselves comfortable. For a long time, I created this version of myself. One that appears to have everything figured out, like nothing really bothers me. This cold, selfish version I created in order to protect myself.

Buying butterbeer for a kid, wanting to impress a guy, and wanting him to think highly of me is not the version I created of myself. It's the old version of me. The one that was lonely and desperate for love in every area of the world I could find it. Only bad things came from it. It allowed people to see my weaknesses and snake their way into my life, using my insecurities to their advantage. So they could use me as they pleased.

I decide the alcohol is for me, not anyone else. If Ellis wants some, he can gladly have some, but I'm doing it for me, not him, and I'm a lot stronger than I once was and a lot wiser. Never again will I allow someone to hurt me as I have in the past.

My pathetic thoughts have me completely forgetting what I'm doing as I walk past the checkout and make my way through the store entrance without paying for a thing. Someone begins hollering after me, and I freeze in place. Turning slowly, I see a teenage boy who is working behind the counter approaching me with a shocked expression, probably wondering what the hell I'm doing and if I actually thought I'd get away with stealing a cart full of items. He has a red apron tied around his neck and the style of hair that is popular amongst high school boys right now. It's shaggy and unkept, to the point where he's developed a tic of shaking his head to the side so his hair moves away from his eyes. There's a pimple on his chin; my eyes stare at it with disgust. He reminds me of so many of the high school boys I despised. Reminds me of everything that is gross about them.

Even still, I place a hand on my forehead, giving him a look of shock as well.

"You have to pay for that." He says, as if that isn't already clear. His voice cracks slightly at the end, and I grimace.

I nod quickly, flashing him my smile, and watch as his cheeks change to a bright red, his eyes scanning over my body without an ounce of shame. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm so sorry; I was so lost in thought. I can't believe I did that." When his eyes fall on mine again, I plaster my smile on my face again, making him smile sheepishly in return.

"It's okay." His voice is unsure, but he tries to hide it with fake confidence as he stands straighter and takes the cart from me. "Here, I'll push it for you."

I put my hand to my heart. "You're so sweet. Thank you. I feel so dumb."

His eyes widen. "Don't. You're fine. It happens." He follows alongside me as we make our way back over to the checkout. He begins scanning each item and placing it into a bag. "Do you have kids?" He asks me when he looks at all the candy. After looking over my body, he assumes there's no way I can sit and eat all this candy. His cheeks turn a shade of pink again, as if he's realized his question is evasive.

"I do." I lie. "He's six." The lie comes easy, as do all the others. I've become a master at lying. I don't even need to think twice. I can come up with entire stories on the spot. Nobody ever suspects anything. I started doing it when I was young and wanted a different life, so I created one in my head. Strangers whom I knew I would never see again, I'd tell them a completely fabricated story of my life. The random older man in the grocery store who asked if I was alone, I told him I'm a foreign exchange student from France and I'm here with my host family. Lies swept out of me, and I knew nobody would catch on because it's not like anyone ever saw my parents. It's not like anyone ever came to my house; I always went to theirs. To everyone, I lived in the nice historical home on the same street as the historical Ropes Mansion, also known as Allison's Home from the film Hocus Pocus, which is always packed with tourists. Friends begged to come over to see my house and how I lived, but I simply lied about why. They made sense. Nobody second-guessed it. Nobody looked too far into it. Because I was popular and pretty, and nobody wanted to second guess me.

I was hardly ever home for people to suspect anyway. I spent all my days and nights at Lake's house, which made sense since he was my super hot football boyfriend, and all the girls envied that I was allowed to stay the night at my boyfriend's house while their parents would never allow it. The days I wasn't with Lake, I spent them with other friends, hopping from house to house, going unnoticed.

The high school boy looks surprised. Clearly, I don't look old enough to have a six-year-old, but who is he to question it? I'm probably only a few years older than him if he's sixteen. I'm closer to his age than Ellis. Yet somehow, I feel so much older than this pimply-faced, shaggy-haired boy in front of me. How can anyone find high school students attractive? Ellis is gorgeous. Ellis is mature and smart and sophisticated. He's a man. This is a boy.

"Oh...that's awesome." He sounds disappointed, as if he had a chance.

"He's a real cutie." When he finishes bagging my groceries, he wheels the cart over to me, and I gingerly place my hand on his shoulder, making his cheeks inflame again as a smile sprouts on his face from my generous touch. "Thanks so much again. I really appreciate it."

"Of—of course!" He says too high-pitched. "Have a great day."

"You as well." I smile brightly, then make my way out of the store, my smile washing off almost instantly. I want to burn my hand after touching him.