Page 24 of Was I Ever Free

With his eyes still fixed on the pages of his book, he takes a long drag of his cigarette and shrugs. “Have you?” he drawls.

“I’m not the one smoking at eight in the morning,” I state.

His gaze shifts, his head slowly tilting half an inch my way. His nose ring glints in the morning rays, and I can almost imagine the flicker of the metal as a wink—but not quite.

“Can’t wait to discover one of your vices, Luce,” he says while stubbing his cigarette in the ashtray on the small rusty table beside him.

My ability to process what he just said malfunctions for a few crucial seconds and I am left staring at him, mouth slightly agape. I might be inexperienced, but I can still pick up on tone. And that was… that is…

Is Bastian flirting with me?

He stands up, clearly unbothered by my surprise or lack of response, and stretches his arms above his head, squinting at the sun. My eyes dip to his hips, and the same sliver of skin I have witnessed before sends butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

“Car won’t be ready for another day, but I got some of our bags,” he says impassively.

That finally snaps me out of it. “Oh.” I look at the ground, then back up at him, not quite knowing how to react to the news. Or the thought that we will be sharing a bed for another night. “What are we going to do until then?”

* * *

I endup convincing Bastian to come walk around town with me. Not that he has much of a choice, since he is basically stuck with me. The thought does not necessarily make me feel great. It leaves me mostly confused, never really knowing if the man—who acts more like my shadow—even likes my company.

The town center consists of one main road with one-story businesses and shops on either side, looking like any other small town we have encountered since this road trip began. It is surprisingly busy and filled with tourists aimlessly wandering the sidewalks. The clerk was not kidding about the circus being in town. I told Bastian we should get tickets, but the idea died a swift death as soon as I saw the daggers shot my way at the suggestion.

After lunch, I find a small boutique that sells cowboy paraphernalia and smile wide at Bastian while pushing the door open. The bell above signals our entry and the salesperson behind the counter greets us with enthusiasm. The smell of leather is heady, my eyes roving over all the merchandise, not knowing where to start. I leave Bastian to his quiet grumbling and peruse the aisles, my hand slowly trailing over the multitudes of cowboy boots I pass.

It reminds me of all the westerns I have watched with Lenix since I left the commune. She never really understood why I loved them so much, I do not either. I just know I like them and that is good enough for me.

My gaze falls on a cowboy hat on a top shelf. It is baby blue, and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I let my fingers trace the felt, my heart squeezing in delight. I look right, then left. When I am convinced no one is watching me, I pick up the hat and march my way to the mirror only a few steps away. I place it delicately atop my head, my one braid falling over my shoulder, and study my reflection.

I am suddenly overwhelmed with a bright, intoxicating feeling seeing myself like this. Just as quickly it is replaced by a small hiss in my head telling me this is too frivolous and completely unnecessary—the harsh tone of my brother’s voice still telling me I should not desire such superficial things. My smile drops, and I hastily remove the hat. Feeling foolish, I look around, making sure no one spotted me, especially Bastian, and place the hat back on the shelf where it belongs.

I find him in the back of the store looking at the hunting knives. With one look and a small nod of the head, I tell him I am ready to go. He follows me out without a word. We spend the next hour shopping and wasting time, while my mind is still on the baby blue hat I did not allow myself to buy.

13

The box I’m holding is burning my hands. I place it delicately on the ugly comforter before it scalds the skin of my palms clean off. My heart races as I move away from the bed, pacing in front of it, my fingers raking through my hair.

This is so fucking stupid.

I sit down in the old wingback chair in the corner and then immediately stand back up. I’m about to slip outside for a breather and a much-needed cigarette when I hear the bathroom door open behind me. My heart slams into my chest, then stops entirely before I slowly turn around to face Lucy. I’m convinced my face is unreadable but by the look of her questioning gaze, she might be picking up on cues I thought I was skillfully hiding.

Her light brown hair is still dripping from the shower, already curling at the ends, staining the cotton of her t-shirt over her shoulder. She’s wearing my old band tee again. I swipe my hand over my face and clear my throat. I say nothing but point to the box instead.

“What is— I mean what’s that?” she asks. The curiosity in her tone creates an odd feeling in my chest.

Shrugging off the discomfort, I look away and mutter, “Just open it.”

She drops the white towel she was still holding on to the wooden dresser and steps closer to the edge of the bed. She shoots me a quick glance, eyebrows furrowed, and then looks back at the box again. She hovers over it, observing, and I grow impatient.

“It’s not a bomb.”

Her lips pull into a small grin, her eyes still fixed on the box until finally, her fingers curl over the lid, pulling it up and off. Her soft smile disappears as she grows unnervingly still.

I swallow hard.

This was a mistake.

I’m about to tell her that I’ll return the damn thing, that it was a dumb idea in the first place when she finally turns to me, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

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