When Love Walked In

Chapter 22

 Chapter 22

            I took my time walking. Our house was one of the big ones atop a hill, surrounded by tall trees and nature alike. But during the Winter, all the trees and shrubs were bare, flowers gone, grass covered in snow. At night, the environment was a bit intimidating and I’ll admit it. I was scared. But once I was out of the woods and off the hill, I started to relax at the sight of other cars.

            With every step I knew I was getting closer to Damien. It made me nervous as I withdrew my hands from my pocket despite the cold. I turned my left hand over so that it was palm up and traced the faint white scars on my wrist. They would always remain permanent memories from that summer, as if I didn’t already have enough of them. Damien’s words brought back too many dark memories. One’s of returning home for the first time after the incident had occurred, and others of sitting in the corner of the bathroom with a razor in hand, willing all the pain to go away as the sharp blade severed the soft flesh of my wrist, exposing the vain.

            I had never gone out on my own without Gustavo before so I had no idea where I was or if I was even going the right way. But Gustavo had programmed Damien’s address into my phone so at least I had an idea of where I was going. Damien’s house was much farther than I had anticipated. I realized as such when I passed by our school and the playground.

        I was getting closer and I still had no idea what I was going to say. Would he even want to see me? I don’t know what I’d do if he turned me away. I stopped by a small grocery store to waste some time and work up some nerve. I inhaled the scent of fresh fruit and sweet berries. I was so lost in my thoughts that I accidently knocked into someone. Her basket of groceries went flying. “I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed. I bent down to retrieve the fallen apples and cans of tomato paste.

        “Oh no, it’s alright sweetie. Accidents happen,” she said kindly. She graciously accepted my help. But then she got a good look at my face, and her expression became worried. “Are you alright? You look awfully upset.”

        I self-consciously brought a hand to my face. “Does it really show?”

        “Are you upset from something? If it’s from the apples, don’t worry. They’ll live,” she joked.

        I laughed a little and shook my head. Then I looked at the woman. She was petite, with a slim figure. Her hair was ash blonde and pulled into a high ponytail. Her skin looked fresh and new. But if you looked closer, you could see the faint lines of age after years that became more pronounced when she smiled broadly. Her green eyes stood out, making her whole face twinkle. She could be someone’s mother; someone’s wife. She probably was. But did I want to dump my problems on some stranger?

        Something in her expression clicked, and she gave me a sympathetic look. “Don’t tell me. It’s a boy.” It wasn’t a question.

        I looked at her. “How did you know?”

        “I have boys of my own. I know when they upset a girl,” she said. “So, what has he said to you?”

        I sighed. “Well, it’s a little complicated.” But I told her anyway. As we walked the aisles, checking off her grocery list, I told this stranger all my problems. I told her why I felt so guilty and why we were fighting.