Page 8 of Madness Blooms

I’m still in shock as my feet carry me to the mall. Excitement sees me through the dull ache of my ankle, and I only feel a little pain until I’m a third of the way there. I slip my hand into my pocket, re-read the number, and giggle like a silly schoolgirl. As I shove the paper back into my jeans, I resist the urge to squeal. Not even passing by the path to the abandoned shopping center can dampen my joy right now.

I can’t help but wonder if Luke giving me his number is an invitation for something more. I hope so. My last boyfriend and I started dating in high school and were together until after graduation. Then he dumped me for some girl he met during college orientation out of state. To say that I’m not touch-starved would be a lie. The only thing keeping me company at night is my trusty vibrator.

So yeah—screw you, Jimmy.

Maybe I shouldn’t get my hopes up, but I can’t help but yearn for affection. I want someone to call me after a long day at work, to be there for me and cuddle, to tell me that everything is going to be alright. And, of course, sex would be a fantastic bonus. I crave intimacy; after all, I’m only human.

After everything that’s happened, I could really use a distraction, someone to help meforget.

I make my way across the parking lot, dodging cars coming in and out, and finally step inside the mall.Where to first, I think. Picking up my paycheck is an option, but most of it will end up going to Mom to help with bills. I force back the bitterness and remind myself that I said I was going to visit a friend. I’m pretty sure Kyla has a shift today.

Navigating through the crowded mall, I make my way to the record store. As I weave through the rowdy kids loitering around the food court, a teenager launches into the air to catch a Frisbee—before promptly crashing into me. I almost lose my balance, though most of my weight slams into my ankle as I attempt to remain upright.

“Sorry about that,” the boy apologizes sheepishly before running off to join his friends.

“No worries,” I mutter through gritted teeth, leaning against a table and breathing in through my nose to manage the pain. Once it subsides, I compose myself and continue to my destination. Thankfully, I make it to Arbor Spins with no further incidents.

Being in the record store feels like being transported to another realm, disconnected from the outside world in the best way possible. The CDs and cassettes are arranged alphabetically and by genre, with vinyl having its own unique section deeper inside. Band posters adorn the walls, while shelves display t-shirts and other merchandise.

I sigh contentedly; music has always been my escape from everyday drudgery and misery.

Nine Inch Nails plays from the speakers—and that’s how I know Kyla is definitely working today. There’s no one at the register, so I decide to check out the ‘new releases’ section. As I pass by a display of trendy, sarcastic stickers and magnets, I double back to check the new stock:Time Flies When You’re Sick and Psychoticis in red, scratchy text on one. I snort and turn the rack. On another sticker,I Hate This Townis scrawled in angry white font.Same, I think, and I briefly consider picking it up.

I wander over to another section of the store, where Nirvana merchandise has been selling like hotcakes since Kurt’s death. My heart clenches; I can’t help but wonder if our shared birthday or similar feelings about existence played a role in my connection to the band’s music.

“Hey, Grace!”

I poke my head around the display to see Kyla waving at me. “Howdy!” I greet her, returning her gesture.

I always thought Kyla was super cool, like one of those alt-rock chicks. When we first met, I even asked her if she was in a band. She laughed and said she didn’t know how to play an instrument or even sing. She moved here from Massachusetts a while ago. Despite being only a couple of years older than me, I’ve always gotten the impression that she’s already gone through a lot in her life.

Though she refuses to say what, and I refuse to prod.

She wears her long platinum hair in a ponytail for work. Her bold style makes me wish I had the courage to bleach my hair like hers. Then I notice the loose red strands framing her face. “That’s new,” I say, going over to her. “What’s with the hair?”

Flicking her ponytail back behind her shoulder, she answers, “Trying something new. You like?”

I nod. “Totally bad-ass.”

Kyla picks up a box and places it on the counter. “What are you up to this fine Saturday afternoon?”

“Nothing too exciting,” I answer truthfully. “Getting away from home for a while, picking up my check …”

“Oh?” she says, brandishing a box cutter before slicing into the tape on the box. I flinch, but if she notices, she doesn’t mention it. “Briar and I are gonna go to the movies later. Maybe you could join us?”

Briar Blackwell is Kyla’s boyfriend. If it sounds like a fake name, that’s because it kind of is. He’s a member of a local rock band and I’m ninety percent sure he legally changed his name to his chosen stage one. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding,” she says, flipping open the flaps of the box and pulling out a stack of shrink-wrapped albums. “You never are. You shouldn’t be afraid to take up space.” She looks at me pointedly. “Be confident in who you are, Grace.”

Easy for you to say, I think, spite sour on my tongue. “Yeah, err … Thanks for the advice.” I stare down at the carpeted floor and swallow down that acrid taste. “What movie are you two going to see?”

“After my shift is over, we’re heading to the cineplex for a Friday the 13th marathon,” she replies, sorting the CDs into separate piles. “Do you like horror movies?”

I feel the cold steel of the knife against my neck, the killer’s stubble scraping my cheek. A tremor crawls down my spine as I try to bury the memories and think of something happier.

Luke’s face comes to mind.

With shaking fingers, I rub my nape and stitch on a lame smile. “Horror movies aren’t my thing. I’m more of a romcom sort of gal.”

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