Page 65 of Falling Backwards
Oh no.Oh, God.
My chest is on fire.
My heart is pounding, frantic, making my chest feel like it’son fire.
If I thought I was afraid last night in my bed—
But no, no, no.This is not real.It can’t be.
Please don’t be here.Please, God, let me be imagining this.Let it be another nightmare.
It’s real, though.
Kyleishere, at the same grocery store I’ve been at for the last fifteen minutes.
I was only just starting to get over my anxiety about how things went at Merritt’s.Now he’s where I am yet again.
I can’t tell that he has actually seen me—he appears to be minding his own business in the poultry section, pondering packages of chicken with his hands in his pockets like a normal shopper on an ordinary Thursday afternoon.But I still turn and speed away down the aisle closest to me, not caring that I needed chicken thighs.
I don’t care about anything anymore except leaving.
What do I do?I think wildly, my entire body feeling hot now, my grip tight around my basket handle.What do I do?Should I ask someone for help?
I look behind me and don’t see him.He’s not following me or even peeking around the corner.
No need for help.A coincidence—once again, it’s just a coincidence that he’s nearby.
Yeah.Yeah, it must be, right?He’s not here to bother me, right?Or else he would have already?
Unless he’s staying back on purpose to avoid my attention so I don’t cause a scene.If it seems like a random encounter, he won’t look suspicious.
“Motherfucker,” I puff out.
A woman close to me turns shocked eyes my way.“Language, young lady!”
Well, it’s not an expletive I use very often, but I don’t have time to apologize for how harsh it sounds.Also, her chest.Is not.On fire.
As I approach the registers, I peer around again—and find Kyleiscoming into view now, and looking around, too, but not at items, and he’s not holding any chicken.
Don’t see me.
I leave my basket with an already-busy cashier and bumble out, “I’m so sorry—an emergency—” but she doesn’t seem to hear me because she’s chatting with her customer.
A cart attendant is just outside the entrance.I ask him to walk me to my car, making sure I’m heard this time—in fact, I have to apologize anew right after because my tone is brusquer than intended.He forgives me easily when I quickly explain what my matter is.
My eyes drink up our surroundings on our way across the parking lot and even after I’m in my car, despite that he keeps a lookout.Kyle hasn’t come outside.I buckle up in such a rush that I piss off a fingernail, but there’s no time to baby it.
“Coast is clear,” I assure myself.“Kyle’s not out here.I looked twenty times.He’s still in the store.He’s not following me.”
These things may be true, but they don’t stop me from watching my rearview mirror once I’m on the road.I obsess about making sure no cars behind me look iffy.
Thank God none do.
The trembles in me won’t settle down, though.
In the sudden clutter of my mind, I manage to wonder what the dinner plan is now.It had been for me to start some soup in the slow cooker before going to work so Emma and Joy can eat it when they get off.Now my burst of anxiety refuses to let me drive to a different grocery store.It doesn’t want to do thatorgo shopping for better workout clothes like I intended to—it wants to hide away at home.
That’s what I’ll do.Something else can be figured out for dinner; the girls will understand.And exercise clothes can wait.
