Free Never Been Loved by C.M. Kars Page A

after Sera.
    If I’d seen her in the elevator that day, reading her book, oblivious to the world – yeah, I would have asked her what her shirt meant.
    I would’ve asked her what she was reading, and what it was about, just to listen to her talk about it. I’d ask her why she seemed so nervous, and maybe she’d explain to me that the characters are going through a hard time, or whatever. I’d be brave enough then to ask for her number, ask her out to coffee, hell, I’d even offer to buy a book or ten for her, if she’d let me.
    If a girl can understand and feel for fictional characters on the level that Sera seems to feel for them, maybe there’s hope for me after all. Maybe I could be one of her flawed characters she could care for.
     
    I convinced myself all week to leave her alone, to let her live her life without the complication of Matty and me added to it. I made Matty drop the movie off the day after she lent it to him, and I haven’t seen her since.
    I figure it’d be best if I didn’t see her, but I can’t seem to shut my brain off. The sludge between my ears has me wondering what her laugh sounds like, or what book she’s reading right now, or even what her favourite Disney movie is.
    My phone buzzes along the kitchen counter where I’m trying to slice up some broccoli to be steamed for dinner tonight. I have yet to take a shower, and the sweat from today’s work is slowly cooling on my body, and I’m about three seconds from freezing my ass off. I slice the pad of my finger lengthwise, and the idiot I am, I just watch the blood streak its way across the space of injured skin, and hit the vegetable.
    This wouldn’t’ve happened if I was at a hundred percent. I move closer to the sink, put my finger under the running water, and squelch it with paper towel until the bleeding stops.
    I should’ve eaten on the drive home. I had food left over from lunch, even a couple of juice boxes to tide me over. But I like to play chicken with my body, see how far it can go without the sugar it needs.
    My cell’s still buzzing, obnoxious and fucking annoying, I just want to throw it across the room. I snatch it up, and snarl, “What?”
    “Baby, open the door for me.” Takes me a second. A fucking second and a half to realize it’s Aly, and not Sera on the other end of the line.
    “Where are you? The lobby?”
    “Nope. Right outside your door.” I disconnect and toss my phone on the couch, watching as the colours seem to seep out the room, and everything goes greyscale. I blink slowly and watch myself like I’m watching a stranger open the door to my apartment and let her in.
    I need sugar. This isn’t going to end well.
    I blink slowly as she comes into my place, watch the twist in her features as she catches a glimpse of Matty watching our retrieved copy of Peter Pan on the couch. Why was she ever in my life, even for just a second?
    “You didn’t call me. What are you doing here? You can’t just show up for the fuck of it.” I’m surprised words come out of my mouth.
    My stomach’s starting to churn, and I know that if I don’t get something down quick enough, I’m going to feel too nauseous to eat, and I’m heading into dangerous territory. What’s worse than having a diabetic with a sugar low? A diabetic that can’t eat that sugar?
    Matty’s so into the movie, he forgets to con me out of a quarter for swearing in front of him.
    “I’ve been texting you all this time, and you’ve never answered,” she whines, her voice scraping against my skin, and ricocheting around my skull. I close my eyes, feel like my feet are moving in a ghost-imitation like stepping off a treadmill, when I’m pretty sure I haven’t gone anywhere.
    “Maybe there’s a reason for that, yeah?” I open my eyes, feel the cold of my sweat drying on my body. I don’t have the energy for this, the energy to fight her off.
    I’m suffocating in here, like I can’t get enough air, and my body’s shaking too much