by Kayla Krantz
“Erica:” Of course! Anytime, anywhere.
Blaine: Cool. I’ve got some things in mind. Off tomorrow?
“Erica:” Yeah?
Blaine: I’ll pick you up around 7.
“Erica:” That sounds wonderful.
“You got you a date, girly,” Kara says, helping me back onto the barstool.
Another one, a voice in my head corrects. One that has nothing to do with compulsions or obsessions. A normal date, the kind regular people go on. My eyes are still on the phone as I murmur, “So it seems.” I click it off but the message replays in my mind before a blush takes over my face.
14.
THE WORLD HAS a way of balancing—for every time something good happens, something bad has to happen and vice versa. With the thought of my date with Blaine, I mentally prepare myself for the blow of something bad that I’m sure is headed my way. I’m not prepared for how bad the actual outcome is and how quickly it comes to me. My phone buzzes, and I realize it’s my manager calling.
My face deadpans and I’m glad that I’ve only had one shot. “Yes, sir?” I ask right as I answer the call.
“Erica, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Is there any way you can make a trip by the store? I’d rather talk about this in person.”
I find it hard to swallow, and I wonder if it’s actually physically possible to choke on your tongue. My mind races, trying to figure out what I’ve done wrong, but I can’t pull up an answer. I haven’t been late, I haven’t missed a shift, and I’ve done my job exactly as Camilla had shown me to do.
“Y-yeah, sure,” I say at last but in the back of my mind, I’m crying with panic. I can’t really be fired, can I?
“Okay. I’ll see you soon, Erica,” he says, and the line goes dead as I listen to it.
Kara senses the change in my mood instantly. “What’s wrong?”
My eyes well up with tears that make me feel truly pathetic as I reply, “My boss wants to talk to me.”
“Uh-oh,” Kara says.
The look on her face is too much to bear.
KARA IS FAR too drunk to drive. I do it even though I’m sure my nerves put us in just as much danger of an accident. We make it to the store with no incident, and I leave Kara in the car, cracking the window like she’s a puppy. With my heart sending SOS signals all the way to my brain, I enter the store and hurry past the front, shielding my face with my hand. I don’t even want Camilla to see me when I’m like this.
I rush to the back and breathe in deep, flashes of my last job in my mind, as I finally make it to the office and knock hesitantly on the door.
“Sir? You wanted to talk?” I ask, cracking the door just enough to pop my head inside.
Greg looks up from the papers on his desk and smiles grimly. Suddenly, I miss his shark-like grin more than anything. “Yes, Erica, please take a seat.”
I obey and glance at the paper at the top of the pile—it’s a chart of some kind.
“Before I begin, just know that this is a very difficult situation for me to approach,” he says.
I nod as if I understand, even though I don’t. My mind is still paralyzed with fear, waiting for him to drop his bad news on me, whatever it may be.
“You see, the store has been doing wonderfully since the holidays began, but after the recent few weeks, I see there’s been a decline.”
That sickening lump in my stomach feels stronger, like it’s growing in size with each word he says. “So, how does that affect me?” I force myself to ask almost knowing the answer.
“Unfortunately, I’m not going to be able to provide you with the hours you need. I’ll be able to spare maybe fifteen or twenty a week, but I can’t offer full time, as I originally said I would. I am so sorry, Erica.”
“That’s…fine,” I choke out feeling sick. Somehow, this is much worse than being fired. I can’t pay my bills with such a low number of hours a week. I’ll have to work two jobs…if I can even find another one willing to work with me for a schedule, that is.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I don’t answer. How can I when all the thoughts in my head are flying around at a ridiculously rapid pace? Instead, I give up trying and get up to walk away.
Kara is surprisingly sober by the time I get back to the car, and her eyes are wide with anticipation. “What happened?” she asks.
“Th-they’re going to have to cut my hours. It’s now going to be just a part-time position,” I say, sticking the key in the ignition to avoid eye contact.
“They didn’t fire you, though,” she says as if I’m not already aware of that fact.
“No, but he might as well have. He said there was a decrease in profit, so he can’t afford to have me.”
“Oh, honey,” Kara’s face softens, and she sets a hand on my arm. “At least you still have something for now.”
It occurs to me that she doesn’t understand exactly why this is bad, and I don’t have it in me to explain to her. “Yeah,” I say, barely concealing my sigh.
OUTSIDE IN THE parking lot, I take my time plodding back to the car, letting the cold pierce through me just to try and regain myself. I look up, staring at the black sky, the only real evidence of night time. The lights from the city blur out the stars, but the ominous black of nothingness still looms overhead. Sometimes, I imagine it’s what fills me up during my moments of self-hatred, that if maybe I could see the stars, then sometimes, the blackness wouldn’t be so overwhelming, so all consuming.
But, we don’t always get what we wish for. In fact, some never do.
I don’t want to be around anyone right now, but I can’t get rid of Kara to save my life. Even though she’s quiet for the rest of the drive, she perks up once we get back to my house.
“I keep forgetting to tell you, but your lights are perfect,” she says in way of compliment.
I can’t smile, and I hide that fact from Kara by climbing out of the car. She is right behind me, frowning with her hand on my shoulder as we shuffle up the path to the house. Out of spite, I knock over the nearest light-up reindeer as we pass it.
“Hey, you’ve got your date tomorrow, still.”
“Yeah,” I say softly, eyes on the porch. It’s a true statement, but I don’t see it in the same light as I did an hour ago with tequila and happiness in my system.
Kara’s frown twists back into a playful smile. “Do I need to give you the talk?”
I smile at her, but she can tell I don’t mean it. So, she changes her approach.
“Hey,” she says, wiping a strand of orange-red hair from my eyes. “Want to have a sleepover tonight? Like we did when we were kids?”
I don’t know why she asked because she didn’t mean it as a question. She’s already decided. With an excited squeal, she goes to my bedroom and pulls out two pairs of pajamas—one for me and one for her. I gawk at the mess in the drawer, but Kara either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because she pushes me to the bathroom to put on the clothes, and the next thing I know, we’re sitting on the couch watching Snow White, Cinderella, and whatever other fairytales she can get her hands on.
Her presence helps, it does. It would almost be a good night.
Except, I can’t stop thinking about my messed-up drawer.
15.
FOR THE REST of the night, every time my phone goes off, Kara insists on knowing who it is—she’s practically glued to my hip for fear that I might get another phone call that will destroy this tiny cheer she’s worked so hard to create in me. She’s stubborn, and I love her for it.
The next morning comes before I can process it, and then it’s time for my date. She dresses me—another thing I’m grateful for since it takes out another part of my usual routine. That is, until I get to the shoes. Kara hadn’t planned that far ahead, surprisingly. When I manage to rummage through my choices, I feel sick. My mind is getting tied up at the thought. Every pair I have, I have to try on three times before tossing them aside. The longer I search, the worse I begin to feel.
I collapse onto my bed, burying my face in the covers.
The shoes are the straw that breaks the camel’s back. As soon as they clatter to the floor, everything comes loose. I can’t stop thinking of my compulsions telling me that I need to take the shoes off and put them back on two more times before I can be sure if they work or not. Unfortunately, my mind is very much like a chain, one thought looping to another until I’m back to hating myself for losing my original job when my life had been perfect.
I’m spiraling, so deep and so fast that I don’t know how to get out. What’s wrong with me that I can’t even get ready for a date? This is new, and my body doesn’t accept it. It isn’t usual for me to get “stuck” in my rut but it happens occasionally, and I can’t get out of it. Not on my own anyway.
Kara rushes to my side, murmuring sympathetic words in my ear as her hand presses to my back, but I hardly notice. All I can think is that I’m a blubbering mess, and I’ll have to cancel the date—why would Blaine even want to date me to begin with—and when he finds out the reason, if he does, he might never talk to me again. He had seemed disgusted enough with his own obsessive tendencies that I doubt he’ll have the patience to deal with mine.
Sniffling, I lift my hand to wipe away the layer of tears and snot on my face before reaching pathetically for my phone.
Kara’s eyes grow wide. “Girl, don’t do it. Just take a breath and cool off, and we’ll try something else, okay?”
I don’t acknowledge her as I pull up the conversation with Blaine, sniffling again when I quickly skim over our last few messages before sending him a brand new one.
Erica: I can’t make our date.
I turn off the phone as soon as it sends. I don’t want to read his response.
16.
I CRY MYSELF to sleep, so wrapped up in self-hatred that I can’t even show my face to the light of my bedroom. When I wake up, I realize Kara is curled next to me, dead asleep. She didn’t move an inch all night. I smile at the top of her blonde head as I stand up, wiping at my puffy, swollen face. For all her craziness, she can be sweet sometimes. Remembering my predicament makes the happiness short-lived. On shaky legs, I approach the pile of shoes and clothes, going through the same wave of despair that I had the previous night, though with less intensity.
I strip off my clothes again and look for pajamas to pull on, but everything is everywhere and my despair is overwhelming once more. I drop to my knees, digging through the few outfits left in my drawer before I find my pajamas. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and breathe a sigh of relief as I slip them on, feeling the hold of my compulsion clear away.
I glance at Kara on the bed, but she’s still sound asleep. Then, I catch sight of my cellphone in the bed beside her and remember—Blaine and the canceled date. The thought comes to me like a punch to the stomach. Winded, I rush to scoop up the damn device and turn it on, watching the screen come to life. As the home screen loads, I find myself holding my breath. A moment later, a notification pings in my phone and I don’t have to look to know what it is—Blaine’s response. Through narrowed eyes, I swipe open the phone and read it.
Blaine: Why’re you standing me up?
My throat tightens and suddenly it doesn’t matter how much better I felt a moment ago, I’m back at the bottom of the pit now, beneath the dirt and stones, just as low as I can possibly go, and I have that urge to start crying all over again. I stare at the message, pondering what to do. I can’t ignore the situation I’ve created. Better to get it over with quickly, like tearing off a band-aid.
Erica: Want the truth?
Blaine: Yes.
I blink and stare at the single word. So cold, so precise…so impossible to guess what he’s thinking.
Erica: When I was getting ready for our date, everything I’ve been dealing with hit me and I-I got stuck and couldn’t pull myself out of it. I tried for hours but…nothing worked. I’m so sorry.
That punch to my stomach is back again as I hit send. I barely let myself think of what I’ve just written—it’s a risky text if I’ve ever sent one before. A long minute passes and another. Suddenly, my grief and uncertainty hardens to anger. How dare he? Who is he to judge me in my moment of despair? I had opened up to him, showed him a side of myself that makes me feel insignificant, and he takes it as a sign of weakness? I feel so used that I’m ready to throw my phone against the wall when I realize it’s buzzing with his response.
Blaine: Really, sweetheart? I owe you an apology.
My heart. It catches in my throat, and I feel guilty for the anger, for how quick I was to assume that he was a bad guy, impossible of understanding.
Blaine: When you wrote me that message last night, I was so mad at you. I thought you changed your mind…because of everything you know about me, and I wanted to hate you for getting my hopes up. You should’ve just told me the truth, what was really going on. Like you told me, our compulsions are nothing to be ashamed of. I would’ve come over in a heartbeat to help. And if our date is what caused it, I would’ve said we could hang at your place if you wanted! No problem.
Stunned, I collapse onto the bed next to Kara’s still sleeping form, heart full of more emotion than I’m comfortable with. This boy, this person who only a week ago had been a stranger to me, could very well be my other half, building me up in the places I’m determined to tear down.
I can’t contain my surprise and get up again, walking into the bathroom.
Erica: Really?
Blaine: Yes. I’m gonna be brutally honest with you. I like you. I wouldn’t have told you the truth about me if I didn’t.
I think of Camilla on my first day, talking of Blaine’s “mysteriousness” and I know he’s telling the truth. That brings a smile back to my face. My fingers clench onto the sink, and I find myself grinning stupidly at my reflection, the bad vibes from the incident already long forgotten.
Blaine: Let’s go get some coffee, my treat.
Erica: Sure thing.
I set my phone down to splash water on my face and hear it rumble with his response.
Blaine: <3
In the back of my mind, I can hear Blaine’s voice. It’s like the OCD games or something, he had said. In a way, he’s right. For once, I’m not frustrated as I go to wash my face for the third time that minute. For better or for worse, I am who I am. Every time I get to a point where I don’t think people can surprise me anymore, they do. They always do. As I stand, grinning stupidly at my reflection and wiping bitter tears off my face, I don’t expect to hear a knock.
At first, I assume it’s Kara getting up, searching for me, but when I go back to my room, I confirm that she’s still lying there, curled on the bed. Instantly, my face crunches in confusion as soon as the sound rings out again. Then I realize it’s coming from the door. I wipe at my puffy, swollen eyes with the back of my hand and see the smudges of mascara on my skin.
I barely pay attention to it as I approach my front door. The knocking sounds again, more confident than before and I throw the door open, fully ready for whatever kind of confrontation waits on the other side.
Then I freeze as I realize it’s Blaine.
His hair is tucked under a red beanie which leaves his eyes to appear enormous in the low light. He smiles at me sheepishly, holding up a small sprig of mistletoe high up in the air. A few snowflakes cling to the crisp green thing, making it look like a plastic decoration because beauty like that is hard to maintain for real.
My eyes travel from the mistletoe to Blaine’s f
ace.
He doesn’t speak, just gives me time to observe the scene. “You know what they say about mistletoe,” he says so softly that I almost don’t hear him say it.
I laugh, and tiny twin tears fall from the opposite corners of my eyes. I don’t give him a chance to say anything else before I throw my arms around his shoulders and press my lips to his. I hear the soft thump as the mistletoe meets the snow, and he pulls me tighter into his embrace.
In that moment, I feel whole. It’s as if the parts of who we are, the pieces that aren’t affected by our compulsions are singing, happy to have found one another. When we break apart, we’re both smiling with the warmth of new affection flushing our faces.
As I stand here, staring into Blaine’s face, I know one thing is for sure: I’m going to be just fine.
About The Author
Kayla Krantz is fascinated by the dark and macabre. Stephen King is her all-time inspiration mixed in with a little bit of Eminem and some faint remnants of the works of Edgar Allen Poe. When she began writing, she started in horror but somehow drifted into thriller. She loves the 1988 movie Heathers. Kayla was born and raised in Michigan but traveled across the country to where she currently resides in Texas.
She has ideas for books in many genres which she hopes to write and publish in the future.
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Other Works By This Author
The Council