Chapter Eight
Demetri
Four days. I watched her for four days. What kind of stalker
did that make me? I mean she had the ugliest clothes I’d ever seen.
She was so small, she practically swam in them, and I’m sorry, but
there’s a reason guys don’t dig Uggs. They gave her legs no shape,
and I couldn’t figure out if she had really nice ones or cankles, and
then it pissed me off that I was thinking about cankles in the first
place.
Ever since Tuesday when I ran in to the competition’s store
and tried to find any excuse to talk to her, I’d been out of sorts. Not
the out of sorts that just leaves you when you fall asleep at night.
No, the type that had me eating so much taffy that I was convinced
I was going to have ten cavities by the end of the year.
I shook the bucket, but my heart wasn’t in it, not that it had
ever been truly in it, but still. I felt off. Clearly, I needed another
hobby, or friends, or something, because my behavior was
bordering on stalker-ish. Yesterday I’d even gone in her parents’
taffy store and asked about her schedule.
I swear her mom almost fainted.
When she introduced herself, she almost seemed too eager
to get her daughter into my clutches, which really should have
been my first clue that something was off. I mean, unless they lived
under a rock, they knew exactly what I was about. Spoiled rock star
who nearly killed himself in an accident, troubled past, man-whore
of the century, blah, blah, blah.
I’d pasted on my best smile, careful not to give her mom a
stroke, and asked about Alyssa.
All I found out was what I already knew. She worked every
freaking day, just like me, which just reinforced the conclusion I
had come to earlier.
She was lonely.
I asked her mom about friends.
Again, yes, I’m very much aware how creepy I was being,
but I had Bob, that was it. I was desperate for some sort of
companionship, even if said companion wanted to stab me in the
eye.
After no convincing whatsoever, I discovered that Alyssa
had Saturdays off and didn’t often go out with friends.
I could be her friend.
Lame. Maybe that’s how I should start the conversation.
“Hey, Alyssa, I’ve been watching you for the past four days. You
have a pretty face even though your clothes suck. Wanna hang out?
Oh, and by the way, I’m so bored and strung out about not being
able to get high, that if you say no, I just may kill myself.”
Promising.
Clearly, I’d been out of the game for far too long. I couldn’t
even remember how to talk to a normal person.
I kicked the ground and looked across the street again.
Tomorrow was Saturday. Tomorrow I was going to pursue the first
girl I’d pursued since Nat.
And look how well that turned out.
The familiar pang of rejection hit me square in the chest.
Why was I even putting myself out there when I literally had
nothing to offer, but baggage?
Hell if I knew, but damn if I didn’t still want to try.