Page 7 of Dream Girl

I move to the side, and despite how much I didn’t want to be near that blond-haired man, I had to since the pick-up station is by him. He waits with me, watching me with unabashed eyes, and his face is expectant for me to turn to look at him.

He reminds me of a puppy. An annoying, attention-seeking golden retriever.

The man tries to get my attention by pushing out a hiss through his lips, but I skillfully ignore him, focusing on hearing the order I have given.

“Never thought someone looking like the Scrooge would get something so sugary!” he exclaims with a laugh.

I read the menu to get my mind away from the man. Going through the list of prices and names of the drinks, I have then memorized at the end of my second read.

A name was called. “Eddie!”

“Yo!” The man’s hand shoots up with a happy grin, and he has a skip in his steps.

So his name is Eddie. As soon as that thought comes to mind, it leaves even quicker when my order is being called up with a brown plastic bag next to the drink.

I secure both of them and quickly exit the crowded coffee shop. Crowds aren’t my thing. It’s annoying, loud, and too many bodies near me. I wouldn’t know where to start about the unsanitary things in the air when people talk.

The man—Eddie, my mind supplies—calls after me as the bell on the door obnoxiously rings.

“Hey! Is the hot chocolate good? Heard it’s the best here, but I never tried it before!”

I glare at him, but he’s unaffected as he rambles on about how he loves hot chocolate. He can’t have it because the sugar content is too high for his body, and his doctor would bury him alive if his tests prove he had too much sugar—just like how he talks too much.

“I’m Eddie!” He thrusts his hand out, expecting a handshake that never comes.

I glower at the persistent man when he shakes his hand in emphasis. “What do you want?”

He grins wider, disturbingly big when his eyes practically glow under the sun as the blue in his eyes matches the cloudless sky.

“I want to be friends!”

“No.”

I walk away from him, and I don’t hear his footsteps to indicate he’s following me. I wouldn’t be held responsible for what I do in self-defense if he follows me, and he’s smart to detect a trace of murderous intent radiating off of me to ward off stupid pedestrians.

“See you later!”

That statement doesn’t sit right with me, but I will myself to forget about that man and get home as soon as possible. I want to bury my nose into the collar of my Amelia. She’ll help me forget that there is a world outside of our apartment, and she’ll help me forget about that man who reminds me of a dog.

A sharp throb pierces my right side. Wincing at the pain that I have been accustomed to, I simply hold my hand over the scar and press down on my coat with the crinkle of the brown plastic bag drowning out the bustling street.

It’s fine; I tell myself as I walk quicker.

I’m almost home. I encourage my legs to pick up the pace.

I pause in the middle of the street. People behind me almost run into my back as they side-step me with a curse and disgruntled murmurs. I narrow my eyes to my surroundings, feeling everything on my skin and searching for any eyes that are more threatening than others.

I sense nothing, and I curse myself for being reckless. If it wasn’t for that man—Eddie, I venomously think—I wouldn’t have been distracted. I never return home without securing my ability to trace any amount of danger that might potentially follow me home.

I know to look for the customary signs of being followed and I have felt many in the past, and this time I’m lucky that no one has followed me this long and this close to my home.

My apartment comes to view, and I quicken my steps to basically barge into the door with my keys hanging limply at the keyhole.

Soft footsteps can be heard coming down the hall, and I slam the door behind me, locking it without looking as my eyes take in my Amelia’s disheveled appearance. Her wild blonde hair is bouncing over shoulders, and her big brown eyes blink in surprise as she gradually makes her way to me.

A grin spreads and pulls on her pink cheeks. “If I had known you’d be so excited to see me, I would have pulled out the red carpet to welcome you home!”

I scowl at her foolishness, but I welcome her lips on mine when she tips her head back. It’s a signal that I can’t ignore, and I forget the sharp throbbing in my right side. Her lips are made of magic because everything perishes around me; only Amelia matters, and I’m relaxed when she curls her hands into the back of my coat.

---