Falling in the Dark | ✓

14 | Feet-ings

"How's your search for the stranger going?"

I think of Liam and without my knowledge, my face changes for just an instant at the thought of our second kiss before I pull myself together. But Astrid catches my slip-up and practically pounces on me.

"You found him!" she shouts, her tone high with excitement. She slaps a hand to her mouth and apologizes, misreading the panic in my eyes. Lowering her voice, she leans forward and shoots question after question at me.

"Who is he?"

"Did you go out?"

"What's he like?"

"Which one on the list was he?"

There is no point in evading Astrid's questions; she'd never give up. The realization hits me that the only way to get her to give up on this is to convince her that I didn't like the stranger.

"He wasn't on the list," I sigh, turning away from her and staring at the array of moisturizers and foot and hand creams behind her.

At this point, Astrid completely abandons her search for hair products and gasps, scandalized. "Oh my god. How did you find him? Who is he?"

"Uh, Matt something," I say, shaking my head in feigned disappointment. "I didn't even bother to ask for his last name."

She tips her head in confusion. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter," I mutter in a hurry to answer her questions. "It didn't work out."

"Why?"

"I didn't like him."

"Why?"

"He was . . . weird."

Astrid, frustrated by my non-committal answers, drops the shampoo bottle back in its place and throws her hands up. "Weird how, Carmen? Give. Me. Details."

"He, uh . . ." I look away from her bright blue eyes, desperately searching for inspiration. My gaze lands on the skin cream bottles again. Before I can fully think about it, I blurt out, "I think he has a foot fetish."

Oh, god. Stupid, stupid grape soda.

Astrid purses her lips before asking, "Did you just say 'foot fetish'?"

I cross my arms across my chest and nod in silent mortification.

"How did you find out about it? Did he just tell you?" she asks, her eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth, painted matte purple in a generous coating of lipstick, is twitching as though she's trying not to laugh.

I might as well lie in the grave I've dug for myself.

"Well, he was quite drunk when I met him last weekend. We talked for a while, and suddenly, he asked if I was wearing socks. I ignored him first, thinking he was just drunk. But he asked me over and over, so I finally said yes. And then he started asking if he could see my feet . . ."

The words materialize out of nowhere and leave my lips in a steady, confident stream that would make even Vera — an expert at concocting ridiculous stories — proud. Astrid lets out a little snort and quickly clears her throat to conceal it. She reaches up with her hands to tuck her golden-blonde curls behind her ears.

"And?" she prompts, peering down at me. The heels of her ankle boots make her loom over me, three inches taller.

"And nothing. I said I had to go and got out of there as soon as I could," I finish, resisting the urge to slap myself on the forehead. "Don't laugh."

"Sorry, I won't," she nods but immediately bursts into hysterical peals of laughter. She apologizes in between giggles, her neck turning the same shade of pink as the bottle of shampoo she had picked.

"Please, can we talk about something else," I groan when she picks up her shampoo bottle again. "Anything else."

Astrid obliges for the next ten minutes as we walk along the store, telling me about a charity concert that is coming up next weekend. I listen to her absent-mindedly, wondering to myself if things would've been easier if my beautiful stranger had been a drunk boy with a strange fetish instead of my best friend's boyfriend.

A little later, Astrid and I meet Karah at the counter. The cashier, whose name is Beth, bills their items in the same effortless and efficient way that she did mine.

Outside the store just before we part ways, Astrid says to me, solemn and sad, "Carmen, I'm sorry it didn't work out with your guy. I know you had real feet-ings for him."

Her mouth is set in a consoling frown, but her eyes have a teasing glint in them. Karah smiles at us in a slightly puzzled, polite way. I pretend to clutch at my heart as though I've been shot.

"Too soon," I say to Astrid. "Way too soon."

I turn around and stagger away, keeling over in deep pain for dramatic effect to the sound of Astrid's loud, tinkling laughter.

❅

"Liam?"

"Finally. Thanks for calling me back."

My eyes flit to Vera's empty bed as I lean against the cold wooden desk. I press my phone against my ear until it hurts. "It's Vera again."

A car passes by outside, its headlights momentarily illuminating the room in a smattering of yellow. Liam lets out a heavy, disappointed sigh on the other end.

"Right," he says. "Hasn't she come back yet?"

"No," I say frantically, waving my free arm about in helpless motions. "And she said she'll be back tonight. I've called her so many times, but her phone's switched off. What if —"

"Hey, hey, stop." Liam's voice is so deep and clear and rich that I find myself calming down instantly. "I know the place. It's a thirty-minute drive from campus. I can drive there and pick her up. I'm pretty sure none of her friends will be able to drive tonight, anyway."

"Thank you, Liam," I reply, my voice filled with relief and gratitude. I feel the sudden urge to see him like a physical tug in the pit of my stomach.

There's a momentary pause when I can hear Liam drawing a breath slowly, as though he wants to ask me something but is unsure. I find myself hoping that he will ask what I shouldn't want.

"Will you come w—"

"Yes."

I can almost hear the small, relieved smile in his voice when he says, "I'll pick you up in ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay," I agree before common sense kicks in and I can change my mind.

❅❅

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please vote and comment if you did. Thank you so much for reading! ♡

Love,

Amethyst