“Try these on.” Her voice has a slight tremor to it, and I want to grab her chin and tell her I want her, I need her, I’m dying to kiss her.
But I don’t. Come on, I’m not that stupid. So I take the pants and go to change.
***
Although I’ve been to a few stores and bought stuff, it feels weird. I try not to stare at the amount I’m paying for the shirt and pants, plus a pair of faded jeans and two plain T-shirts Amber helped me pick out.
She says what I’m paying is not expensive.
Hard to believe it when a year ago that amount would have covered my expenses for weeks. Granted, expenses only included food—and condoms, because dying of STD isn’t a good way to go, and they never gave us enough at the centers—as I could take free showers at the shelter where I stayed whenever there was a free bed. During winter, I would even hang around the shelter, even if there was no place to stay.
I hate winters. Too fucking cold.
I shiver and find Amber’s hand on my arm.
“Okay?” she asks, and it makes me wonder how long I spaced out.
Not that it’s unusual.
“Yeah, let’s go.” I grab the paper bag with my folded new clothes, wonder briefly if I need shoes but decide I don’t give a damn, and stride out of the shop. Enough for one day. I turn to keep the door open for Amber, who ambles out, giving me a brief, inquisitive look.
“Told you shopping isn’t my thing,” I say by way of explanation—and since when do I feel the need to explain myself? Fuck this.
“It’s okay.” She cuts into a narrow side street, a different
one this time, her own bag with the silver dress dangling from one hand. “We’ll get another bus. If that’s okay with you.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“It didn’t go so bad, did it?”
“It was okay.”
“I thought the prices were fine for what you got. The fabric is good quality. My mom used to sew, and she taught me quite a bit about textiles. These are clothes that will keep. That’s what you wanted, right?”
“Hm?”
“JJ.” I realize Amber has stopped walking, and I almost plow into her back.
We’re standing on the street, crowded in by buildings, their dirty windows looking in on us. Graffiti sprawls around us. A sun. A skull. A winged demon. A green dumpster looms a few feet away, a crimson stain barely visible in the gathering gloom.
The world narrows, darkening at the edges.
“Hey.” She’s staring at me. “You normally talk a mile a minute, and instead I’m the one chatting away. Is everything okay?”
My skin is crawling as if with a thousand insects. Dizziness hits me, and I stumble back a step. Fuck. Bile rises in my throat.
I know this place, this dumpster, that graffiti. It lives in my nightmares.
I need to get away. Right the fuck now. If only I can move my legs, but my feet weigh a ton each.
“Jesse.” Her hand touches my face and I jerk away, the past and the present mingling, bleeding into each other. “What’s the matter?”
“Can’t,” I hiss, my breathing shallow. Can’t get enough air. Can’t focus. Can’t talk about that night.
Blood. Pain. Yelling. Screaming. My arm burns. My head rings. The world darkens for a moment, and when I blink again, I find myself pressed against the wall with the smell of piss and decomposition, Amber’s face an inch from mine.
“JJ. Can you hear me? Jesse!”