He hums thoughtfully . . . darkly . . . sinisterly. Then he dips and brings his mouth close to my ear. ‘Sweet girl,’ he whispers. ‘We finally meet.’ I jump back on a gasp, my hand flying to my hair and brushing away the traces of his breath while he remains slightly dipped, a malevolent sneer pulling at the edges of his thin lips as he regards me closely.
‘Olivia?’ I hear my name being spoken in the distance, unease in the familiar tone, and watch as the stranger straightens and casts his eyes over my shoulder, that smirk widening. Spinning on the spot, every breath leaves my lungs when I see Miller striding quickly towards me, his face straight but a wealth of emotion in his clear eyes – relief, fear, caution . . . anger.
‘Miller,’ I breathe, energy surging through my dead muscles and firing my legs into action, taking me a few paces forward until I’m hiding in his chest, my arms bunched between our bodies. He’s quivering. Everything about this situation is shrieking hazard.
Miller’s chin is resting on the top of my head, one arm holding me tightly against him, and there’s a stone-cold silence amid the hype of activity around us, like we’re stuck in a bubble and no one except the three of us are aware of the peril and hostility polluting the supermarket air. I don’t have to look to know he’s still behind me; I can feel his presence as well as I can feel Miller trying to squeeze some comfort into me, and the hardness of Miller’s tense muscles against me is a clue. So I remain concealed in my comfort zone.
It feels like a lifetime before I feel Miller relax a little, and I chance a peek, looking over my shoulder. The man is strolling down the aisle, his hands resting casually in his trouser pockets, browsing the shelves like he frequents the supermarket daily. But just like Miller, he looks out of place.
‘Are you OK?’ Miller asks, placing me at arm’s length and scanning my blank face. ‘Did he touch you?’
I shake my head, thinking it very unwise to tell him anything that could set my human bomb ticking. I don’t think I need to, anyway. Miller knows that man and he knows what I’ve just encountered without my confirmation. ‘Who is he?’ I finally ask the question that I really don’t want to know the answer to, and if I go by the pained look on Miller’s face, it’s clear he doesn’t want to tell me. Or confirm it. He’s the immoral bastard.
I’m not sure whether Miller sees me make my silent conclusion or whether he simply doesn’t want to settle it, but my question goes unanswered and he’s quickly pulling his phone from his pocket. One push of a button and a few seconds later, Miller’s talking down the line. ‘Time’s up,’ he says simply, before hanging up and making a grab for my hand.
But he pauses his urgent string of movements when something catches his attention.
Something in my hand.
Every defeated bone in my body gives up on me. I make no attempt to hide what I’m holding. I make no attempt to conjure up an excuse. He’s blank, just gazing down at the box for the longest time before he eventually lifts empty blues to my watery eyes. ‘Oh Jesus fucking Christ,’ he exhales, the tips of his thumb and index finger meeting his forehead, his eyes clenching shut.
‘I don’t think the morning-after pill worked.’ I choke over my words, knowing I don’t need to elaborate and that he won’t demand it.
His hand rakes through his waves, pulling them all back from his face, and his cheeks puff out, adding to the display of shaken actions. ‘Fuck!’
I flinch as a result of his curse, my earlier terror being replaced by nerves. ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.’
‘Fuck!’ Miller seizes my nape and pushes me towards the end of the aisle, where I find our full trolley waiting. He chucks the box in carelessly, takes the handle of the trolley with his free hand, and starts leading us to the checkout.
My movements are automatic, my muscles working without instruction, maybe appreciating the delicate situation or maybe noting Miller’s explosive mood. I’m placing things on the conveyor belt at the checkout, quiet and wary, as Miller repositions everything according to how it should be. Leaving him to it, I go to the other end and begin packing the bags, but I’m spared that task, too, when Miller takes up position beside me and begins to remove and repack everything. So I stand like a spare part while he does his thing. His jaw is a constant source of ticking, his hand movements fast but ever precise as he shoves our buys into carrier bags before dumping the full ones in the trolley. He’s trying to restore some calm into his crumbing world.
After paying a dopey-eyed cashier, the trolley and I are reclaimed and we’re being pushed on firmly until we escape the confines of the bustling supermarket. But Miller’s unease doesn’t lessen, though I’m uncertain of the main cause now – me and my shocking revelation or that creepy man and his unnerving surprise visit.
At that thought, my eyes start darting everywhere.