Heroism (h.s.)

3.

“Ever heard of not lurking in the shadows?” I screech, holding a hand to my forehead. 

H chuckles, his hands returning to his side, “Sorry.”

“How do you blend in so well?” I question nervously, “Is it the spandex?”

He snorts but doesn’t say anything.  I cross my arms and huff out a breath of air, the cold carving a path between the hero and me.  I sense a little bit of awkward silence approaching and I do my best to avoid it.

“So, um…I should probably thank you for dealing with me last night.  And saving my life, I guess.”

“My pleasure,” he responds smoothly, the movement of his mouth affecting the placement of his face mask.  He fiddles with it quickly and I raise my eyebrows.

“Am I ever going to see what’s underneath there?”

“Don’t girls usually want dinner first?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“No,” he says too quickly and my heart sinks.  I’m pretty sure the hurt is plastered all over my face because he splutters, trying to reword his rejection.

“I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to.  I just…can’t.”

“Right.”

We continue to stand awkwardly, like two brackets framing the entrance to the alley.  I hug my arms closer to my chest, the frigid air beginning to seep into my skin.

“Well, as much as I would love to stay and win this awkward staring contest we’re having, I should probably get home soon.”

“You’re not walking alone again, are you?”

“I won’t take the alley this time, I promise,” I tease.

“Not good enough.  I’m coming with you.”

My heart begins to hammer in my chest, “Don’t you have someone else to save or something?”

“Not at the moment.  Just you.”

I clear my throat, my cheeks blushing viciously, “Alright, um…okay.”

I begin following my regular route home and strike up a conversation with him, “So, what does ‘H’ stand for exactly?  Is it like Henry or maybe Hercules or like…Heroman, or something?” I wince at how unintelligent I sound.

There’s no response.  I frown before turning around, only to find nobody behind me.

“Really!?” I call out incredulously, gripping my purse and gazing around wildly.  If anybody else were on the streets right now, they’d send me to an insane asylum.

“I’m still here,” H whispers from my left, sending shivers down my spine once more.  I peer into the darkness and catch a sliver of an outline, his body resting against a nearby garbage bin outside of a storefront.

My nose crinkles on instinct, “Gross.  Why can’t you just walk beside me?”

I faintly see him shake his head, his curls brushing softly against the garbage can, “Too risky.”

“Ooookay,” I say with a sigh. 

This boy keeps getting weirder and weirder. 

We continue the walk home, passing the grocery store, the library and eventually heading out of downtown and into my neighbourhood.  He travels silently along beside me, fitting perfectly into the shadows as if he were created from the dark.  Occasionally, I try to squeeze more information from H (like who the hell he actually is), but my words fall on deaf ears.  Or stubborn ears, more likely.  By the time we arrive outside the apartment I share with my sister, I’ve exhausted every topic I can possibly come up with and discovered absolutely nothing about this guy.