She bends down to, what I assume is, pick up the broken pieces, and I scowl.
“You’ll cut yourself,” I tell her, taking a few steps forward, the tips of my shoes stopping just before the puddle of fancy red wine.
The smell is strong and acidic, causing me to grimace, my nose stinging.
Emmanuel rounds the corner with saucers for eyes. His mouth downturns into a frown as he glances at the liquid seeping into the cracks in the flooring.
He’s a good person, and he doesn’t deserve to lose out on money, especially because his shop isn’t exactly a booming business.
The woman turns to him with pursed lips. “Shit, I’m sorry, I—”
“Here’s the money for the wine, Emmanuel,” I say, reaching into my pocket, pulling out some cash, and handing it to him.
I’m doing this for him. The sad look on his face is causing my stomach to twist in a harrowing way. It has nothing to do withher.
I nod once, my eyes shifting to her for the last time. It’s hard to drag them away, but after a few seconds of studying her, I do, turning my attention back to Emmanuel. “I didn’t mean to drop it. I apologise.”
And with that, I turn on my heel and walk out of the store, unable to stay inside another second.
One: because the stench of the wine is sending me into a spiral.
And two: because I can’t bear to be around that woman any longer; otherwise, I’ll want to know her name. Where she’s from. What she does. And I refuse to get attached to another woman just for them to let me down again.
The prospect of that is far too dangerous.
3: Mae
One condition. There was one condition to me returning home. I had to join my mom’s fucking cheerleading squad. And I, being as desperate as I’d been, had agreed.
I’m seriously debating whether I’ve made the right choice, though. Granted, I’m only going to be a fallback, but I’m still required to attend every practice and learn every routine.
Apparently, the fallback had a family emergency and had to leave the state. I’m hoping there are no more issues with anyone, which means I can hang out on the sidelines instead of performing in front of everyone.
The thought of that makes me want to be sick.
My mom has been coaching the Missarali Storks cheerleaders for the past five years. I was an enthusiastic dancer when I was younger, but I gave it up when I reached the age of fourteen, and that didn’t bode well with her.
Our relationship has always been rocky. We’ve never seen eye-to-eye—with her being a very materialistic and uptight person—but over the past few years, her dislike for me has grown.
Cam, my brother, is her favourite. He’s a physiotherapist for the Storks—a job he managed to get because of her. In her opinion, he’s making the most of his life, heading down the right path. He has his ducks in a row.
I have ducks. They’re just in an unorganised huddle right now.
Safe to say, she didn’t appreciate the wine as a gift. I’d scratched off the price tag—since the cost is very much a deciding factor on whether she likes a present or not—but her face had told me immediately that I’d made the wrong call.
“Red wine gives me headaches,” she’d said before setting it down and reviewing the house rules.
My mind was somewhere else, though.
I’d vaguely recognised the man from the wine store, but I couldn’t pinpoint who he was. His olive-coloured eyes had caused my heart to skip a beat, the noise around me having faded to a distant hum for a few seconds. I couldn’t quite focus on what the worker had been telling me about his extensive wine selection.
The clothing of the mystery man had fitted him well. A littletoowell. He was muscular, but not in an overdone way. Lean. Athletic. And all I could do was imagine myself running my hands down his—what I assume would be—chiselled abs.
But then reality set in and wine was suddenly all over the floor.
It seems the Gods above refuse to give me a day when nothing goes wrong.
All I want is a day, and then they can go back to wreaking havoc.
