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Authors: Eva Carrigan
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Trevyn’s laptop that sits before me, our database open. I scroll the mouse wheel up and down.
“Why are you here?” Dylan asks again. He casts a puzzled look around the store. “And why are you behind the counter. Where’s Trevyn?”
On cue, Trevyn steps out from the last aisle with a friendly grin. “Behind you.”
Dylan and he exchange fist bumps then Trevyn holds out a hand to Aiden. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
Aiden meets his hand with a firm shake. “Aiden Crosser.”
“I apologize for my cousin Delilah here,” Dylan cuts in, “who seems to have no respect at all for people’s personal property.” I get the feeling he’s hinting more at the fact that I put salt in the bristles of his toothbrush last night and less at my position behind the checkout counter.
I smile sweetly at him. “I wasn’t the one who stole a man’s expensive bottles of wine, was I?”
Dylan’s nostrils flare in response, and Aiden shifts awkwardly on his feet.
“No apology is necessary,” Trevyn says, speaking up to ease the tension. “Your cousin is actually my new employee.” He places a hand on my shoulder, a reassuring gesture, but I see Dylan’s eyes look to the spot where Trevyn’s fingers innocently graze the end of my collarbone, and they widen a little. Then he laughs, more like a scoff, and spins in a circle with his hands in his pockets.
“What, did she sleep with you or something?” he remarks when he comes full circle.
“Whoa.” Trevyn raises both hands. “Hey, man, it’s not like that at all.” His eyebrows dip low together.
I step forward so that I’m right in Dylan’s face, jaw jutted, eyes burning holes into his. My hand twitches once at my side before I slap him square across the face. He recoils and brings his hand up to cradle his cheek, where a red mark emerges in the form of my handprint. He stares at me, astonished I did it, while Aiden and Trevyn bite into their knuckles to dampen their laughter.
But I’m not laughing. Not at all.
I grind the words with my teeth. “Don’t think for a second that you know me.”
When I get to the stockroom, I slam the door and lock it. With my back to the door, I slide down and let my head fall into my shaking hands.
I breathe once, twice, three times, trying to calm myself. I shouldn’t have slapped him. It didn’t make me feel any better. But I heard those kind of assumptions all through high school, from kids and adults alike, so why does it hurt so much coming from him? Is it that it hurts me he said it, or is it that it’s painful he said it in front of Aiden and Trevyn, the two people who have yet to judge me?
My heart thumps in my chest, louder and louder until it sounds like a fist knocking on wood. I scramble to my feet, wiping my mouth. Someone is at the door, knocking. I don’t want to open it, but if there’s one state I have no desire to return to, it’s that of a pathetic little girl, wallowing in self-pity. I unlock the door and step back, turning my head away.
“You okay?” The voice belongs to Trevyn. I know it without even looking at him. The rock music in the background shoves its way through the opening as he steps inside, and becomes muffled once more when he shuts the door quietly behind him. “I sent them away,” he says. “If it helps.” He tucks one hand into a pocket of his faded blue jeans and runs the other over his curly hair.
I suck in a shaky breath. “I hate him,” I say.
“C’mon, Delilah, I know that’s not true.” His fingers graze my shoulder, offering comfort. I bite down on my bottom lip and shut my eyes.
“It is true. He’s horrible to me, and he doesn’t personally have a reason to be.”
“Aren’t even the best of friends sometimes the cruelest to each oth—”
I laugh, and he stops short. “We are not friends. We share blood and nothing more.”
“Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Obviously not to him.”
“He cares for you.”
“No…No, he
“Why are you here?” Dylan asks again. He casts a puzzled look around the store. “And why are you behind the counter. Where’s Trevyn?”
On cue, Trevyn steps out from the last aisle with a friendly grin. “Behind you.”
Dylan and he exchange fist bumps then Trevyn holds out a hand to Aiden. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
Aiden meets his hand with a firm shake. “Aiden Crosser.”
“I apologize for my cousin Delilah here,” Dylan cuts in, “who seems to have no respect at all for people’s personal property.” I get the feeling he’s hinting more at the fact that I put salt in the bristles of his toothbrush last night and less at my position behind the checkout counter.
I smile sweetly at him. “I wasn’t the one who stole a man’s expensive bottles of wine, was I?”
Dylan’s nostrils flare in response, and Aiden shifts awkwardly on his feet.
“No apology is necessary,” Trevyn says, speaking up to ease the tension. “Your cousin is actually my new employee.” He places a hand on my shoulder, a reassuring gesture, but I see Dylan’s eyes look to the spot where Trevyn’s fingers innocently graze the end of my collarbone, and they widen a little. Then he laughs, more like a scoff, and spins in a circle with his hands in his pockets.
“What, did she sleep with you or something?” he remarks when he comes full circle.
“Whoa.” Trevyn raises both hands. “Hey, man, it’s not like that at all.” His eyebrows dip low together.
I step forward so that I’m right in Dylan’s face, jaw jutted, eyes burning holes into his. My hand twitches once at my side before I slap him square across the face. He recoils and brings his hand up to cradle his cheek, where a red mark emerges in the form of my handprint. He stares at me, astonished I did it, while Aiden and Trevyn bite into their knuckles to dampen their laughter.
But I’m not laughing. Not at all.
I grind the words with my teeth. “Don’t think for a second that you know me.”
When I get to the stockroom, I slam the door and lock it. With my back to the door, I slide down and let my head fall into my shaking hands.
I breathe once, twice, three times, trying to calm myself. I shouldn’t have slapped him. It didn’t make me feel any better. But I heard those kind of assumptions all through high school, from kids and adults alike, so why does it hurt so much coming from him? Is it that it hurts me he said it, or is it that it’s painful he said it in front of Aiden and Trevyn, the two people who have yet to judge me?
My heart thumps in my chest, louder and louder until it sounds like a fist knocking on wood. I scramble to my feet, wiping my mouth. Someone is at the door, knocking. I don’t want to open it, but if there’s one state I have no desire to return to, it’s that of a pathetic little girl, wallowing in self-pity. I unlock the door and step back, turning my head away.
“You okay?” The voice belongs to Trevyn. I know it without even looking at him. The rock music in the background shoves its way through the opening as he steps inside, and becomes muffled once more when he shuts the door quietly behind him. “I sent them away,” he says. “If it helps.” He tucks one hand into a pocket of his faded blue jeans and runs the other over his curly hair.
I suck in a shaky breath. “I hate him,” I say.
“C’mon, Delilah, I know that’s not true.” His fingers graze my shoulder, offering comfort. I bite down on my bottom lip and shut my eyes.
“It is true. He’s horrible to me, and he doesn’t personally have a reason to be.”
“Aren’t even the best of friends sometimes the cruelest to each oth—”
I laugh, and he stops short. “We are not friends. We share blood and nothing more.”
“Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Obviously not to him.”
“He cares for you.”
“No…No, he
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