She didn’t recognize me… her accent was local, but she had no earthly idea who I was.
That realization hit me harder than I expected it to.
She’d gone to public school, I deduced, Stonewood High, probably, which meant she was from the part of town I rarely had a reason to visit, if ever. My family all went to Stonewood Preparatory Academy, the private school on the rich side of town.
My side of town was all gated driveways, country club banquets, and legacy wealth. This girl and I might’ve lived five miles apart, but we’d grown up in two entirely different worlds.
And yet here she was — hands warm, movements sure — patching up a stranger like taking care of others was second nature to her.
She dropped to one knee and set the open kit on the floor beside her like she’d done this a hundred times. She pulled out the pair of latex gloves and put them on.
I hissed through my teeth as she cleaned my cut with the antiseptic wipes she pulled out of the kit.
“Sorry,” she grimaced, but didn’t let it slow down the work she was doing on my cut.
“It’s fine,” I grunted. “Thank you.”
She moved quickly but carefully, not even blinking at the blood as she pressed gauze against my cut and wrapped my hand with that tape they use to hold gauze in place when you give blood.
“You’re lucky. The cut is shallow.”
“Yeah.”
Way to sound like a monosyllabic idiot, fucknut.
“Boy, you’re a real chatterbox, aren’t you?” She glanced up at me with a wry grin. “What’d you cut your hand on?”
“A metal bracket. I got distracted by that one girl chewing and popping her gum loud enough they could probably hear her all the way across the bay in Mobile, and when I turned to look at where all the noise was coming from, my hand slipped and I cut it.”
Red beanie girl chuckled and shook her head.
“You gotta keep your eyes up in this store, buddy. Everything’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
She wasn’t looking at my face. Or, if she was, she didn’t show it. No staring. No flinching. Just hands on my skin like it was normal… like I was just another guy.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
She shrugged.
“No problem. Sorry about the airhead twins over there. Most people in this town were raised better than to act like that.”
I huffed out a husky laugh. I couldn’t help it. She didn’t even know who I was.
“What’s your name, stranger?” she asked.
I paused. Just long enough to make it weird.
“…Jacob.”
Why the fuck did I give her my middle name? Smooth move, asshole.
She smiled up at me, soft and crooked.
“Nice to meet you, Jacob. I’m Chrissy… Chrissy Jones.”
I stared down at her for a beat too long.
Because Chrissy didn’t look at me like I was broken. She didn’t look at me like I was cursed or tragic or some local legend or a scarred boogeyman.
