Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
There’s no stopping worry from crossing my face.
“You cannot keep wearing one outfit.”
Bewilderment replaces the previous emotion. “What?”
“You need clothes. Ones that didn’t come out of a dumpster, that were made to fit you, and will inevitably remind you that you are a wanted part of this society even if you have convinced yourself you’re not.”
So sweet, so sexy, and so fucking wrong.
“We’re gonna go by G-Street, the mega grocery store that has the clothing and house goods section too. It lets us get food and things for you to wear and new books for us to read and-”
“I don’t think you’ve said and enough.”
“Andddddd I get a discount there. The CEO or CFO or something close to those letters has a grandkid that goes to my school. All educators who interact with her have a special discount card, which comes in super handy considering how often I bake cookies.”
“How often is that?”
“Um…few times a week.” Her lips pull together to one side before she confesses. “I have a tendency to stress bake. And unlike a normal human who can make a batch, I have to make at least four, every time I bake.”
“Why?!”
“The first batch is always weird shaped and then the next batch is overcooked and then the following batch is under because I second guess myself, so it isn’t until that fourth batch comes out with all my mistakes nonexistent that I find that relief I’m looking for.” She flashes me a small smile. “In other words, I hope you like the smell of cookies.”
“Who the fuck hates the smell of cookies?”
“People I can’t trust.”
We exchange a few laughs, part our separate ways to get ready, and wander out to her car just in time to see Mr. Prescott arriving home with a large bouquet of roses.
Most likely an ‘I’m sorry you caught me fucking around on you again’ gift. Personally? I don’t think flowers should ever be given as an apology. It shits on the sentiment meant to express love or affection or devotion. But what do I know? I’ve never been married, and my longest girlfriend fucked me out of so much money I barely had enough to eat when I got discharged.
Our car ride to the store is filled with unexpected music. While Jaye is upbeat by nature, her choice in tunes is quite the opposite. Every song we listen to has some pretty strong emotional undertones. Bands like Incubus and Nirvana are ones I’m familiar with; however, The Script and Georgian ArKtecture – Irish bands I’m told – are brand new. Sadly, Fall Out Boy is the most upbeat shit we listen to, yet even the ones that come across her playlist have tragic themes.
Maybe this shit is like therapy for her? I know it’s how St. Clair used to work through some of the horrific shit we dealt with.
Parking takes forever, and as my stare roams around the busy lot, I helplessly zone in on the weakest shoppers.
The one whose basket would be easiest to grab a box of crackers from.
A two litter of soda.
Perhaps a precooked meal that simply needs to be heated.
Sometimes that’s really more recommended than required.
In spite of my best efforts to stop the train of thoughts, I can’t. Instinct to always be prepared and ready to take what is necessary to survive another day ruthlessly kicks in. Leads me to glaring. Judging. Shaking my head at how careless and gluttonous some people are.
Fuck, they don’t have a clue how good they have it. At least Jaye seems to have some grasp of that concept. Afterall, she’s temporarily housing me.
Inside the building, my attitude doesn’t get any better. I’m immediately blinded by the bad lighting, annoyed by the people talking loudly on their phones, and unable to ignore the number of individuals who scoff at the very sight of me.
How could they not? Fucking look at me. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong at her Real Housewives of Highland Mansion. I don’t belong anywhere but in the shadows. In the unseen. Fuck, why did I ask to come to this place? Why did I think in doing so that maybe I would be momentarily seen as human by the masses instead of subpar. Fuck, this was a terrible idea. Come to think of it…us being friends or anything related is a terrible goddamn idea. What if she starts to see me like they do? What if she begins to become embarrassed by the sight of me? Is that the real reason she wants to get me new clothes? So that she hates staring at me less?
Jaye’s just finished guiding us away from the area they keep the carts when I offer, “Maybe I should just wait in the car?”
“Why?” My eyes don’t find hers until she waves a hand in front them to assist in redirecting. “Why would you ask to come and then wait in the car? Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose? Plus, how am I supposed to buy you clothes you like when I don’t know what those are because we’ve never been shopping together before?”