Page 8 of Wreck Me
Slumping back down into my chair, I continued working on the email to a veterinary clinic hiring for a part-time receptionist, attempting to make myself sound more knowledgeable and enticing. I was failing miserably. I could feel the tears welling up and lining my lashes, threatening to spill over.
My heart ached.
I was pathetic.
Twenty-two years old and I had never felt more like a child.
Is this how I was going to let life pass me by? Feeling reliant on my parents, who were determined to keep me in a gold cage my entire life? I couldn’t even go to veterinary school like I wanted to, all because my father wouldn’t allow it.
Why wasI, a grown adult, allowinghimto make my decisions, like I was still under his roof?
Because without him, you have no money.
The intensity from the feeling of being watched still had my spine tingling, but with more determination I returned my focus to the email in front of me and set to work on making myself sound like I knew my worth, even though I was still adding up all the pennies in front of me.
CHAPTERSIX
Standing in the middle of the bread aisle, I looked down at the pathetic excuse for groceries I’d stacked in my hand basket. As a grown man, I should have eaten healthier than I did when I was a preteen boy, but processed junk was less expensive than healthy foods. So, there I was with a basket full of instant soup, granola bars, chips, pre-packaged pastries, and a package of hot dogs, longing for a home-cooked meal. I made a mental note to watch some cooking videos online and teach myself some easy recipes.
Without looking up, I continued down the aisle in the direction of the produce section, on a mission to add something green to the pile.
What did I need to make lasagna? When I was younger, my grandmother would make lasagna for us, and my stomach would be full for days. She packed it full of cheeses, meats, and spinach. Seemed easy enough, maybe I’d—
“Caleb!”
My head whipped down the aisle I had just meandered through, toward the shriek of her voice. I felt my blood run cold when my gaze landed on her. Over the last couple weeks I had tried to convince myself she meant nothing and I’d never see her again, knowing as much as I wished otherwise, it was for the best. I hadn’t anticipated how it would feel to actually see her again.
With fury in her eyes, Isla stomped down the aisle, not stopping until we were chest to chest. I had to admire her tenacity. She certainly wasn’t afraid to back down, and by the looks of it, she was currently out for blood. My blood.
With a loud clunk, her hand basket hit the floor. I couldn’t help but glance down at it, stuffed to the brim withhealthyfood. Things that could make a full meal.
Taking my time, I slowly raked my eyes up her body as I figured out what to say to her. I had hoped to avoid a run-in like this—and after two solid weeks passing, I thought I was in the clear—but I should have known better than to continue shopping at places that were near the library.
I guess it was only a matter of time.
“Isla,” I stated, trying to remain aloof, even though my stomach was doing backflips. Theneedto reach out and touch her clawed at me, but I refused to let myself.
“We need to talk.”
“We don’t. There’s nothing to say.” I watched her face fall, and I gritted my teeth, hating I was the one contributing to that look. I should have no feelings for this girl, yet somehow the pain I had just caused her physically hurt me, too. Against my better judgment, I twisted the knife I had just stabbed her with. “We had a little fun. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Her sadness transformed back to anger before my very eyes, her features morphing into the fiery look she had walked up to me with. “That’s bullshit, Caleb, and you know it. It wasn’t one-sided. If it were, you wouldn’t have told me your name.”
Shit. She wasn’t wrong.
“What is it exactly you want from me, Isla? I have nothing to give.”
Her gaze cast down to the basket sitting beside her feet, seemingly lost in thought. I wasn’t sure what she was going for when she marched up to me, looking for a fight, but I wasn’t going to give her one. She wasn't my girlfriend.
She could never be my girlfriend.
We stood in silence for a moment before she finally answered my question, avoiding my gaze. “I just want to talk.”
Her melancholy tone of voice sent a frigid blast through my veins. What was it about her that made me give a damn? Letting out a huff of air, I bent to pick up her groceries. “Then talk.”
Weaving through the aisles, I made my way to the check stand, not turning to see if Isla had followed. I knew she was right behind me, keeping up with my long strides. Removing the items from my basket and hers, I placed them onto the conveyor belt without placing a divider between. The desire to take care of her and pay for her groceries consumed me, regardless of whether it drained my bank account to do it.
I refused to turn and look at her and instead directed my focus on the cashier, who began scanning our items. The incessant beep of each item being scanned grated on my nerves as I watched the dollar signs climb.
