Page 19 of The HalloQueen

I took extra time with my hair, masking it before adding my color depositing conditioner to refresh my purple. I could hear my phone blowing up in the bedroom, seemingly having charged enough to turn on, but I decided to enjoy washing off the scuz of the night before - well as much as I could with the plastic fondling me. I made sure to flip every roll and pull my body in every direction to make sure that I wasn’t injured in any way, but the only thing I could find were perfectly shaped finger bruises on my love handles, and for some reason that didn’t upset me at all. We must have done something, but what happened? Did he rob me? If he didn’t assault me then why can’t I remember anything?

Once I was dry and in a pair of black lounge pants and my favorite crop top (it had the sweetest little bats on it), I sat on my bed to begin going through my phone. Holy hell. It was 11:45 in the morning.

Nothing was making sense.

I opened a text thread from Shannon, but they were all her gushing about her fuck fest with Trae last night and didn’t provide any clues about Thomas and me. I made the conscious decision to not tell her something might have happened until I spoke to Thomas because I was going to speak to him and quickly texted her that I was okay but not feeling the best for brunch. Besides, it was September. Brunch in Quaker's Wharf on a Saturday in the fall? Yeah, good luck with that.

I thought about simply texting Thomas to ask him what happened, but realized that I wanted to see his face. I wanted him to look me in the eyes and tell me how we spent our night. Unfortunately for him, I didn’t know where he lived, so he was going to have to be okay with me crashing his shift at work. I didn’t even know if he worked at the store on the weekends, but I did know that I was going to find out. I braided my long hair down the side of my head and went to go find my sandals.

With the power of ginormous sunglasses, I was able to walk the block to my car and headed toward the fast food place for something greasy and an orange juice in hopes of releasing some of the cramping in my stomach. Sadly, the queasiness was replaced with nerves. I had genuinely liked Thomas; I hoped down to my toes that I was wrong and assuming the worst.

I psyched myself up in the parking lot and was amazed at the number of people already swarming the store. Part of me wanted to be meek and come back at closing, but the other part of me wanted to go embarrass him in front of everyone if he had the balls to try to hurt me. I finished my orange juice with a gulp and burped up a clump of acid that made me want to die all over again. I flipped open my glove box and sifted through the small sewing kit, condoms, and medicine bottles until I found the antacids. Always be prepared.

Using the slippery fabric of my lounge pants, I slid out of my tall Jeep and locked it behind me. My anxiety climbed with each step toward the store and I felt my throat closing. I may be a strong, independent woman, but I was horrible at confrontation. Any time I mask into a boss bitch who is all party and confidence, I can sell more clothes and do a better job, but I have textbook rejection sensitive dysphoria. Just ask any of my grade school teachers; they’d all made me cry while they tried to give me constructive feedback on my assignments. It is by far one of the biggest things I hated about myself. It was embarrassing to burst into sweat and tears because I have to lay the hammer down or defend myself, and the fear of criticism does prevent me from putting myself out there a lot; if I didn’t put myself in criticism's way, there’d no criticism to give me. That was the reason I worked for myself - if I’m the boss, I’m never wrong.

I took off my sunglasses and went inside, the store was darker than most for ambiance’s sake and my hangover was delighted about it. I looked around for a minute and saw him talking to a teenager in a purple polo with a neon pumpkin on the back. God, I did not miss having to wear uniforms - it’s like companies pick the most unflattering thing they can find on purpose. I had only been hiding behind a shelf for like two seconds before Thomas seemed to sense me and glanced up from his conversation and began looking around. He patted the acne-ridden boy’s shoulder and mimed that he’d be gone for one minute and he began to walk toward where I was hiding.

I knew I’d be found whether I wanted to be or not, so I stepped out, immediately seeing his eyes light up and then a deep frown etch down his face.

“Annabel, what’s-”

“I need to talk to you. Alone.”

He looked around as if he was assessing if the teenagers could manage to burn the building down in ten minutes before he nodded and went to take my hand. I crossed my arms instead, despite desperately wanting to feel him against me - to feel his calming, smooth touch, but if the dude had fucking roofied me there was no way I was ever letting him touch me again.

He walked behind the cash register and opened a curtain, and waved his hand to welcome me through.

“To the left,” he said when I came to a split in the maze made of black fabric, and then he stepped ahead of me to open another fake door.

I stopped short when I entered his…place? Clothes were hanging on metal retail racks and an air mattress with disheveled bedding - there was even a little tv and fridge. I spun to look at him, “Do you live here?” I hissed, quietly enough for no one to hear us in the front of the store.

He shrugged, passively putting his hands in his pockets, “mon coeur, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” I snapped.

He tilted his head to the side and studied me, “I…you’re angry with me? Why are you angry with me? I thought we had a great time last night.”

“Did we have a great time last night?” I didn’t know why I was poking him, it wasn’t like anyone would volunteer the information that they drugged their date.

“I thought so… but you are…very, very angry,ma chérie.” He extended his arms to me for an embrace, “come here.”

I stared at his arms longingly, feeling my anger dissolving into anxiety and fear, but shook my head, “I have a urine sample in my car.”

He scrunched his face like the idea was disgusting, “ehhh…. Why?”

“This is your only chance to tell me the truth, and I know you didn’t rape me.”

He released a loud anxious laugh, “What?Merde, amour, what, why-”

“Did you slip anything into my drink last night? Did you roofie me or help anyone else do it? Tell me the truth before I drop the urine off at the lab and I will not press charges. If you lie to me, your ass is going to jail.”

He blinked awkwardly fast for a moment and then pushed his shiny brown hair back with his slender hand, “I…No. No, I didn’t ‘roofie’ you. We went back to your place and were watching tv and kissing and you passed out. I assumed you were drunk so I tucked you in on the couch and I left. That’s all that happened.”

“So if I check the security cam-”

He scoffed angrily and began to pace back and forth in front of me, radiating tension, “check whatever the fuck you want, Annabel, you will not find a damn thing from me.”

“Then why are you looking at me like you’re sorry!” I said slightly louder than intended, “why are you pacing with your arms crossed like you’re not willing to talk to me, or curling your shoulders in or getting defensive? I’ve watched enough crime shows to know those are all signs of regret and lying.”

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