“I know you. I’ve seen your insides, and I want to see more.”
I scowled. “I don’t even know how to take that.”
He shrugged. “Me either.”
“Don’t look at my insides.”
“It doesn’t have to be good or bad. It can be both.”
“I don’t want both. I only want good. That’s it.”
“To have the good, there must be some bad.” He spread my thighs wider and got between them. “I promise to make sure it’s more good than bad.”
I leaned back. The cold mirror pressed against my skin. “I don’t want that from you.”
“You do.”
“I want normal.”
“Do you even know what normal is?”
I closed my eyes. “The first year I ran away, I would sit across the street from the supermarket and watch people go in and out. They were happy. And they were absolutely normal.”
His voice flowed within the darkness. “Why did you sit there and watch them?”
“I was hungry.” Behind my eyelids, that memory played. “It started off as a game for me. Imagining I was taking those grocery bags home. I would come up with the meals they were going to make.”
“Did it help you be less hungry?”
“It kept my mind busy. Sometimes that’s enough to drown out the hunger pains.” I opened my eyes. “This one Black woman would come to the supermarket every day at 4pm sharp with her baby girl. She dressed in a nice pants suit. Her hair was always flawless and brushed up into a perfect bun.”
“You think she had a respectable job?”
“Definitely. And she always put her daughter in the carts that had the big plastic things on them. You know the ones that make the cart look like a train, car, or plane.”
“I understand.”
“If she didn’t see the cart, she would stand out there with her baby and wait until it was available.”
“Those were probably the only carts that kept the baby busy while she shopped.”
“I figured that too. That’s why sometimes. . .” I smiled. “When it was a little before 4pm, I would search out the best car or plane carts. I would find some in the parking lot, push them all into a line, and place them right in the front of the store. Just to give her options.”
Cain gave me a sad smile.
“Then, I would rush back across the street and sit under my tree.” I grinned. “She would come, look at all the carts. . .and the biggest smile would appear on her face. And. . .that was like. . .a steak and shrimp dinner for me. I was full.”
Cain gently squeezed my thighs. “Do you think she ever knew you were doing that?”
“Living on the street. . . it’s easy to be invisible to people.” I moved my view to the Roman god encasing the toilet. “But. . .I started following her into the store.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to watch her shop. I hid behind things. But. . .”
He raised his eyebrows. “But?”
“But then one day was different.”
“How?”
“She shopped as usual. I followed. I’d found some of the things she was getting odd, but I figured she must’ve had guests or family visiting in town. I came up with this grand feast in my head.”
“Hold on. You knew her eating habits that well?”
“I watched her shop a lot.”
“What happened different from the other times.”
“She bought everything and came out with the bag boy as usual. I returned to my spot under the tree to watch her drive away.” My stomach twisted. “While the bag boy filled the car, she did something different.”
“What did she do?”
“Instead of putting her baby in the car, she put her in the stroller and picked up two bags from the cart. They crossed the street.” My eyes watered and I shook the feeling away. “Then, she stopped right at my tree.”
“What did you do?” Cain raised his eyebrows. “What did you say?”
“I was frozen in shock. She didn’t say anything either. She left the bags by my feet. The baby waved. She turned the stroller around and then they went away.”
He opened his mouth in shock. “What was in the bags?”
“Tons of fruit. Deli sandwiches. Bottles of water. Chocolate. Really really expensive chocolate with like salted caramel and nuts and dried fruit.”
“That was nice of her.”
“And so. . .” I shivered. “I never went back to that grocery store again. I stayed away, especially during that time.”
Cain frowned. “Why?”
I shook my head. “I was scared to see her again.”
“Why?”
“She made my chest ache.”
“Why do you think so?”
My voice went weak. “I don’t know. I think about that all the time and I feel stupid and embarrassed. I was young. I get it, but still. . .maybe she could have helped or perhaps I was scared that she wouldn’t want to help. . .I don’t like. . .rejection. I don’t know. I just never went back.”