As we walk into the store, his hands tremble, and he tries to tuck them into his sweater pockets. His eyes lock ahead. Sweat beads on his forehead and slips down his temples. He looks around every aisle, his posture tense and rigid. I think he isn’t breathing until he lets out a forced breath.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, let’s just hurry up.”
When we pass aisles, he speeds up, clearing them in nearly a single step. His eyes scan the building as he goes. I’ve never seen anything like it.
My hand grabs a box of cookies just as the sound of a falling box reaches my ears. Kevin jumps and whirls around. The noise rattles the shelves, echoing in the large store. He clenches his eyes shut, his body shaking.
“Alcohol. I need it. All of it,” he whispers.
“You can’t buy it with me here. I’m not twenty-one.”
“Then go wait in the fucking car,” he snaps.
I’m taken aback by his harsh words. They rolled off his lips as if they burned his tongue.
He takes out his wallet, thumbs through it, and tosses me a twenty-dollar bill. He leaves me alone in the aisle, skulking off with the same overly alert posture.
I grab a couple snacks and head to the checkout. I ask for a pack of cigarettes, and the woman behind the register casts a judgmental eye over me before she cards me and hands them over. I’m not technically old enough to buy them, but my last name trumps the law. I take one more glance around the store for Kevin before heading out the door.
I slow down as I approach the car. He has his head buried in his hands. When I open my door, he flashes his glassy eyes up at me. I sit without speaking and put the paper bag between my legs. We keep silent as we drive home.
He pulls into our parking lot, and I climb out of the car without waiting for him. I don’t have a key, so I awkwardly wait at the top of the stairs with my eyes on the shitty brown carpet covering the steps. I glance up and see that he doesn’t have any alcohol with him. He didn’t buy any. He opens the door and enters the apartment without me.
When I walk inside, he’s disappeared. Vanished. I place my bag on the table and head toward his bedroom—the one we slept in together last night. He lies motionless on the bed with his eyes closed.
I lean against the doorframe. “Hey.”
“Don’t right now.”
“What happened at the store?”
“I said don’t.”
“Well, I won’t take that as an answer. You snapped at me for no reas—”
“In however long we have known each other, have you ever seen me go into a store?”
I think for a moment. “No.”
“Do you have any idea why? Why I get everything delivered or to-go?”
I think again. “No, I don’t.”
“Because places with a lot of people are a nightmare for me. The aisles feel like a fatal fucking funnel. It’s terrifying,” he says in a whisper.
I don’t know what that’s like.
Or do I?
Involuntary things happen to me when I see someone who looks like him. I pissed my pants at the sight of gray-haired men until I was ten, for fuck’s sake.
“What’s a fatal funnel?” I ask.
He groans. “It’s a narrow area of combat where you can easily see ahead of you, but it’s hard to get out of the way when shit goes down. And shit always fucking went down. If you get trapped in a fatal funnel, you're as good as dead.” Kevin turns away from me, rolling onto his side.
I take a breath and sit behind him on the bed. I put my hand on his hip, and he jerks. He still doesn’t turn to look at me. I lay beside him and curl my body closer, wrapping my arm around him.
“I understand,” I whisper.
“No you don’t. You won’t ever understand what it’s like.”
Ouch. But in his defense, he doesn’t know everything that’s happened to me.
“I do. Why do you think I didn’t want to go into the store by myself? Being alone with men is my fatal funnel.”
Kevin melts into me before turning over. “What happened to you?” he asks.
I tense with fear. I’m not ready to answer him. I should, but I can’t. Not yet.
“I can’t,” I whisper, clutching my stomach as it tightens.
He looks at me with sad eyes that pour into me. I swallow hard.
“Let me in, Skye.” His hand cups my cheek, rubbing with a tender touch.
I’m fucking terrified to let him in. I told him I was sexually abused—which is bad enough—and look at how he babied me after. He hesitated with every sound that left my throat. He feels the need to check every move his hand makes on my body. I can’t imagine if he knew the truth. Would he still want me?
“I told you already. I was sexually abused.”
“And I have PTSD, but that word alone didn’t help you understand me.”
I take a deep breath. “It started when I was three years old.” A shiver takes over my body, settling in my ears with an eerie vibration.
Kevin’s mouth drops open. “Oh my god. You were—”
“A child. I know.”
“Smaller than a fucking child. Oh god.” His expression twists. “Who did this to you?”
I look away. “No one.”
“Someone did!” Kevin’s posture grows rigid again, and his hand clenches into a fist.
“I can’t even say his name, Kevin, but when I close my eyes, I see his face.”
“Who the hell is he? Tell me where to find him.” Kevin sits up.
“About six feet underground and hopefully burning in hell with the devil himself.”
His eyes flash at me. “He’s dead?”