Love Novice (Completed) Season 1 In Ben and Am's Romance

Chapter 13: Questions

Ben's departure is logical. He's done shopping. My job is to help the customers, not hold them hostage and talk their ear off, because they are superb listeners. But tonight went too fast. I shouldn't have rushed through his list. I didn't even have time to tell him about making the salmon again or asking him for side dish suggestions. My gray matter searches for a plausible excuse to keep him here longer, and a perfect solution comes to me.

Delighted with my cleverness, I shout after him. "Hold on. Let me grab my stuff, and I'll help you load the bags into your car."

"Thank you," he says.

Ben's shoulders relax. He leans on the cart, and waits. Chris gives me a thumbs up in approval, so I run to the locker room to take off my uniform and put on my jacket. I grab my purse and am back by his cart in record time. I follow Ben's slow and awkward gait, pushing his cart in front of me. He appears to be in pain. This is not right. The block that held my control falters, witnessing more of his discomfort.

"What happened to you? Did you get beaten up by a girl?" I regret my joke as soon as I say it.

"Not this time."

"That must've been awful. Sorry, you had to go through that." His back doesn't stiffen, he doesn't indicate my stupid joke was inappropriate. Maybe I should keep my mouth shut instead of prying into his life.

"But that actually happened to me the first year of middle school," he continues. "It was the reason I started taking Taekwondo classes—gain leverage against the bullies." He points to the flying figures on his bag.

A twelve-year-old Ben taking blows and not fighting back is not something I want to imagine. I wasn't part of the popular crowd at school. Bullying is a distant concept, something they talk about on TV, not part of my life, but it's been Ben's reality. My hand reaches towards him. The urge to comfort him overriding the fact touching a virtual stranger is inappropriate. I stop just in time, jerking the errant limb back to the handle of the cart.

"I wanted to hit her back the first time she hit me, but I've been told many times I could not hurt others. Ever. Especially girls—no matter how angry I was. So, I just took it, until one time Josie broke my nose. The teachers and my classmates knew it was happening all along, and Mom complained to the principal several times when it went beyond teasing and became physical. But the school did nothing."

"Why did the girl do it to you?"

"Josie? Many reasons. I thought it was because I asked her if she liked me in front of her friends, because when the kids started teasing her about having a weirdo crushing on her, she found ways to make them laugh at me instead, then escalated to tripping me up, and finally she hit me in the face with her lunchbox. Every time she did something to me, I got agitated, and people assumed I was the instigator." Ben's breaths grow quick and shallow, and I'm sorry I've asked.

"What happened next?" Bitterness coils in the pit of my stomach.

"Mom quit her job and homeschooled me, but I continued going to the dojang. Mom says I should be grateful to Josie for getting me into the martial arts."

It sounds like a load of bullshit, even though my dad would've said something along the same lines. Why did those kids behave like animals and treat Ben horribly? Why did the adults allow for it to happen?

My heart goes out to Ben and even Josie, but I still don't know the reason for his injuries.

"So, if it wasn't a girl bully this time, how did you end up at the hospital?"

Silence.

"Were you in an accident?"

"Can we talk about it some other time? Please." His voice is clipped, and his less injured hand opens and closes as if he's squeezing a stress ball.

"Sure."

I put a lid on my interrogation and stop pushing my luck.

"But know, whatever happened can't be worse than what my imagination is conjuring. In my head, you've either been hit by a semi or saved an old lady from a vile mugger."

Silence.

"Can you at least tell me if you're going to be OK?" I'm not joking anymore.

"I am going to be fine. It'll take several weeks for me to heal. And I promise to tell you the complete story later."

He stops by a small electric car that blinks as he unlocks it and pops the trunk. Not the SUV I've pictured. I expected something more substantial, bigger maybe. With his groceries loaded, I'm ready to head home.

"Will you keep helping me until my body is fully operational again?"

"Oh, yeah. It'll be my pleasure to hang out with you — to help you out, I mean." Nice save. "See you next week, Ben."

I take a couple of steps in the direction of where I parked, when he says, "I will walk you to your car. It's late."

"No need. I do it every night." He's too sweet. Or is it gallant? Chivalrous? Do people do things that way these days? Or am I in one of Austen's books, if they had cars and parking lots. "It's a safe neighborhood."

"I think it'll make me feel more comfortable if I walk you to your car."

"With your limping, it'll take us hours."

"Please."

"Oh, OK." I'm not in a hurry.

We walk side by side. I pace myself, suspecting his every step must hurt. The routine process of returning the cart to the corral in silence in his company is the calmest moment of my day. The lamppost works for once and we dive into a pool of light only to disappear back into the darkness of the mild August evening. My car isn't as far as I wish it were. I open the driver's door.

"Good night, Amélie."

"Good night, Ben."

I get in and watch him limp back. The unfamiliar warm tingles spread from my chest into my head, and I know tonight I'm not going to cry myself to sleep.