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I grit against the discomfort. “I might, but I didn’t see a man.” After a millisecond of a pause, I add, “But I did see a pathetic excuse for an overgrown little boy.”
“You fuckin’ bitch!” His other hand swiftly moves to grip my jaw, and he squeezes so hard it begins to ache.
Fuck me. I let out a frustrated grunt, because I’m over this shit. Pressing my thumb and finger together only takes a second.
Everything stops, immersing me in darkness. Weak paths of moonlight streaking through the front windows crowded by displayed goods fail to illuminate much inside the store.
Extricating my hair from the asshole’s grasp takes a few jerking yanks of my head and muttering, “Fuck!” multiple times because of the strands wrapped so tightly around his fingers.
Once I’m finally free—minus a few hairs, courtesy of Ronnie’s hand—I set my beer on the floor at my feet and pile my snacks on top of it to free my hands.
Withdrawing my phone from my pocket, I turn on the flashlight, and track down where my hat had landed. Scooping it off the floor, I tug it back on my head.
Tonight’s a goddamn anomaly, because I’ve never used my ability twice in the same day, let alone less than an hour apart. With a sigh, I tip my head and stare up at the ceiling, as if expecting divine guidance even though I know I won’t get any.
I’m not the type to delve into the religious aspect of things, but I find it hard to believe that whatever it was that made me like this—whatever gave me this ability—was good and not evil.
Mentally, I shake off those depressing thoughts, because they’re pointless and do me absolutely no good.
Shining the light around me, I take advantage of the silence and stillness for just a moment and let my eyes wander over my surroundings.
After the loudness of the bar and the chaos of my day, the blanket of darkness the evening brings combined with the quiet pause of everything is almost soothing.
The woman ahead of me stands frozen in place, in mid-swipe of her credit card through the reader. Where’s she off to after this? Is she in a hurry? Is she heading home to someone who loves her? Who can’t wait to see her?
Travis’ finger is poised over a button on the register, but his attention remains on where I’d stood, concern etched on his features. I wonder if he’s ever taken a moment to realize that life’s too short and to consider leaving this place and living freely. Away from the family that scorns him.
The analogue clock mounted high on the far wall of the store has stopped, the hour, minute, and second hands no longer moving. Everyone’s always in such a hurry with their busy lives, and I think they forget how precious life is.
They don’t know how lucky they are, because they never have to worry about waking up with no recollection of how they got there. With no one around who cares or who’d offer them comfort.
They don’t have to worry about scaring little kids and adults by just looking at them, or have to go through life being rejected, alone and lonely, starved for touch.
If I weren’t scarred and didn’t have a mind that feels like it’s perpetually fucked up, I’d be tempted to stop time more often. To remind myself of the possibilities still out there for me.
I’d freeze the moments when I see an older couple holding hands as they slowly venture along the sidewalk, still so obviously in love, or to bask in the joy of a smiling, toothless baby. Far too many people take these moments for granted, their noses stuck in their cell phones, disregarding the very things I wish I could have.
With a shudder, I mutter disgustedly, “Shit. Next thing I know, I’ll be sobbing while listening to “Fix You” by Coldplay on repeat.”
I’m about to press my thumb and finger together once again but stop. Fuck this. I’m feeling extra feisty tonight, especially after dealing with a goddamn asshole convention tonight.
With swift movements, I unfasten Ronnie’s jeans and tug them to his knees, revealing his nasty-ass tighty-whities. His hand is still outstretched from where I’d disentangled my hair from his grip.
A smirk plays at my lips before I murmur, “Who’s the fuckin’ bitch now, huh, Ronnie?”
Using the flashlight to count my cash, I fold it around the lotto ticket and tuck it in my front pocket, leaving the top portion sticking out slightly and easy to grab.
After scooping up the case of beer and tucking it beneath my arm, I clutch the beef sticks and bag of chips in one hand before sliding my phone in my pocket. Ensuring I’m exactly where I was only a moment ago, I start time.
At once, the lights illuminate the entire store, cool air wafts from the ceiling vents once again while background music softly drifts from the various speakers affixed to the ceiling.
“The fuck?!”
“The hell you doin’, Ronnie?!”
The cacophony I’ve instigated is comical, especially Travis’ reaction and the expressions on the other customers’ faces. I march up to the counter, reaching past the lady who’s gawking at Ronnie as he attempts to cover himself, and hand Travis my money and lotto ticket.
I wink at him. “Keep the change.”
