Page 44 of Someone Like Me
And I don’t want to take anything from her. Even if she’d never know it.
That doesn’t mean Evie doesn’t cross my mind when I’m in the shower, taking matters in my own hands. She does. I’m not a monk. Even when I try to think of nothing, just feel, something of hers will flash through my mind. The fall of her curls… the pale green of her eyes… the weight of her laughing body against mine…
And I’m gone.
I don’t need to walk into Champagne’s with a tent in my coveralls, so I shove these thoughts aside, make my way to the end of the block, and cross Souvenir Gate. I push open the door to the corner grocery and deli. This place has been here forever, and though this is my first time being inside since getting out, little appears to have changed. It’s small, and it smells like what I’d imagine 1950 smelled like, and the Saint Streets wouldn’t be the same without it.
I can see at once I’m the only customer. An older woman with long, white hair smiles at me from the register, and I can hear a radio coming from the kitchen behind the deli, but otherwise, the store is empty. They’ll close in twenty minutes, but I take my time. Grandma Q wants boudin, and I don’t, and if this is the first meal I get to buy for myself as a free man, it’s going to be something I actually want.
The chalkboard sign by the first deli case announces hamburger steak as the plate of the day. But after walking over here and working all day in the garage, I’m too hot for hamburger steak.
Then again, I definitely need a shower before I sit down to dinner. I’m filthy. Maybe after I’m clean, I’ll be able to stomach something heavier.
Without any further prompting, thoughts of a shower bring Evie to mind, and I close my eyes and smother a groan.
The bell over the door chimes, announcing another customer, and I remind myself where I am. I focus on the coolness of the air conditioning on my skin and the sound of the store clerk greeting whoever has come in.
“Hi,” the customer greets back, and I open my eyes. I stare blindly at the glass case in front of me, and my heart rate climbs.
It’s her. I know it’s her without even turning around.
In fact, I don’t turn around. Instead, I hold perfectly still and listen to each of her footfalls as she walks without hesitation to my side.
I look down at Evie. She is all the beauty. All the beauty in the entire world.
She aims a timid smile up at me, half hopeful, half wary. She is so innocent. I feel like one of Satan’s bastard sons standing beside her. Like I’ve climbed up from the large intestines of hell and belly-crawled out of the sewer to stare up at an angel.
Someone like me should not have the power to hurt her. But I do. I have. I can see by the way she looks at me that I left her bruised the other day when I sent her away.
I want to fall at her feet. I want to beg her forgiveness. I want to stand outside her door as her bodyguard so no one else unworthy can get close enough to touch her.
At the same time, I want to erase all memory of me from her mind.
I want to remove all her curiosity. All her compassion for me. And, yes, this crush of hers I can’t begin to understand.
And I want to grab her. I want to crush her against me and kiss her hard. And long. I want to tell her how goddamn good it is to see her. How seeing her is torture, and not seeing her is torture.
How as much as I want her to forget me, I never want to forget her. I want to worship her, and tuck her image — her perfection — deep inside of me. Carry it with me and make it my own, so I can believe that something within me is good.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is low, hoarse. I know she’s not here to shop. She’s not picking up dinner or a bag of chips.
I watch her swallow. “I was on my way home from class. I saw you cross the street,” she says, her eyes widening with that wariness. “I parked my car at home and walked—” she stops, bites her lip, and begins again, “—ran over.”
I’m about to tell her I’m not worth crossing the street for when the deli clerk emerges from the back.
“Can I help you?”
“Just a minute,” I tell him without taking my eyes off Evie. He watches us stare at each other for a long moment before taking the hint and stepping away.
“Go home, Evie.” It takes all of my strength to speak those words.
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Go home, Evie.”
Her expression hardens, and she tilts her head to the side. “I will if you come with me.”
It’s like a punch in the gut. The temptation nearly takes me down.
