I'd started running because it was the only thing that made me feel alive. I was addicted to the wind rushing through my hair. I'd stopped using hair ties because they lowered the thrill. I needed the wind through my hair, not through my ponytail. It made the cookie-cutter wives stare at me with dissatisfaction. But I didn't care. They didn't know how badly I needed to feel alive. How badly I needed Thursdays.
Maybe that was something else I liked about him. The way he stared at me made me feel desired. Him staring lit something inside of me. Especially since I knew we'd never interact. Since I knew it would never be more than a wave. Or a smile.
I reached the dead end and placed my hands on my knees. The woods stretched out before me. I stared at the trees as I caught my breath. I used to want to run through them. I thought running so close to nature, tucked away from suburbia, would help ease my worries and fears. A natural trail made with my own footprints starting at the back of my house. A trail just for me. But the one time I ran through the trees, I had been more terrified than ever. Because it was tucked away from suburbia. And there was definitely no one there to hear my screams. Not one soul. The thought irked me so fiercely that ever since then I'd never been able to look at the woods the same. Not to mention how the branches had cut my skin. I had come back to the house looking like I'd just escaped from the set of a horror movie.
I took a step back from the woods. They were why all the blinds in the back of my house were always drawn close. The trees gave me an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. No, I didn't want to run through them ever again. I'd stick to the street. Worse for my knees, better for my mind.
Besides, my knees had never been fragile. But my mind was. That was basically what the doctor said when she'd prescribed me the pills. She ended up being right though. I felt better when I took them. They weren't helping anyone in the garbage disposal where I had originally put them.
Fragile yet stubborn at the same time. I ignored the inconsistencies and started running back the way I had come. I always ran faster on the way back to him, even though I was dreading my silent goodbye. Part of me always worried he'd be gone early. That he'd just disappear.
One day that might happen. He might stop cutting the lawn at that particular house. Or he might change the time he did it. I couldn't exactly camp out on the street and wait for him. When his disappearance ultimately happened, the one day I looked forward to would disappear. Every day would be exactly the same. And then what would happen to me? How had I existed without this one thing to look forward to? I couldn't even remember.
I turned the corner and saw him in the distance. His had stripped off his shirt. The sweat on his chest made his skin glisten in the sunlight. It made him look otherworldly. I laughed silently at the thought. Otherworldly? There was only one world. The current hell that I was living.
He lifted his hand and waved, that dimple appearing on his cheek. My world didn't feel like hell when I passed him. It felt airy like the breeze through my hair. Like anything was still possible, even though I knew in my gut that it wasn't. I lifted my hand to wave back.
I was completely distracted by his perfect imperfection on his cheek. It was all I could see. And I didn't want to look away yet. What if I couldn't wait till next Thursday? What if I was the one that disappeared?
The look on his face changed in a heartbeat.
I didn't understand the look.
I mistook it for anger. I always mistook expressions for anger.
Panic constricted in my throat.
What had I done? Had I stared too long at him? I had, hadn't I?
He called to me, but my mind blocked out his words. Something I was used to doing. A defense mechanism. The same doctor that had given me the pills had told me that's what it was. So all I saw was the supposed anger and his mouth moving fast. The words were drowned out by my own panic.
I crashed into something and my legs flew out from underneath of me.
Chapter 3
Leaves fluttered into the air as the bags deflated beneath me with a hiss. I reached my palms out to catch myself but my right wrist collapsed under my weight. I felt my hand skid across the pavement, ripping at my skin. Ow! I landed hard on my side as my wrist completely gave out. I tried to take a deep breath to access the damage. I'm okay, I tried to tell myself even though tears were biting at the corners of my eyes. I'm fine. I needed to run away. I needed to stop lying in this pile of leaves I somehow managed to explode everywhere. There didn't appear to be any leaves left in the bags. God. This was worse than the time that I didn't wave back. So much freaking worse.
The pain that seared across my ankle as I tried to stand was significantly worse than the pain in my wrist. No. I rotated my foot in a circle and the pain only increased. No, no, no, no, no! I needed to run. I had to be able to run. My Thursdays depended on it. My sanity depended on it! I turned to push myself up but the pain was blinding. Son of a bitch. I couldn't do it. My body betrayed me and collapsed back down on the bags. The air in them hissed again and a few more leaves fluttered into the air. I swallowed down the curses on the tip of my tongue.
I smelled him first. There was no doubt in my mind that he was standing above me. Because that smell could only belong to him. It was the only real sensation of him I had experienced beside sight. And God, he smelled better than I had ever imagined. Sweet cologne mixed with salty sweat and something else that could only be described as all man. Dirt and grass and everything that exuded sexiness and...strength. How could he smell like strength? That wasn't an odor. I bit my lip as I tried and failed to stand again. This can't be happening. He's not really standing above me. I'm just dreaming.
"Ma'am, are you alright?" If he smelled like strength, he also sounded like strength. His voice was gravely and deep. Something about it made my own throat feel dry. Or maybe I was just parched from my run.
The sensory overload was jarring. Wait. Did he just call me ma'am? I pulled out my earbuds even though they weren’t affecting my hearing. I had silently been pining for the man for months and the first time he talks to me he calls me ma'am? Did I look 80 years old? This was a mistake. I shouldn't have been here. I shouldn't have timed out my runs so perfectly. I never should have seen him, let alone been close enough for him to call me ma'am. My throat was definitely dry because I tried to speak and nothing came out. I awkwardly cleared it. "I'm fine," I grunted. Leave me alone in my misery.
Then it was touch. His palms were rough from mowing lawns and they slightly scratched my skin. I already thought I was experiencing sensory overload. But his touch was what sent shivers down my spine and goose bumps up my arms. His touch is what made me finally look up at him.
"You don't look fine," he said.
My lips parted. There were words floating around in my head, but none of them seemed like an appropriate response. He had insulted me. So why were my eyes fixated on his lips? His perfectly kissable lips. I should have been giving him hell. Telling him to get his hands off my shoulder. Screaming at him to mind his own business. Instead, I stared dumbly. Apparently I became mute at the sight of perfection.
"Let's get you to your feet," he said. He didn't wait for me to respond. He hoisted me off the bags of leaves I destroyed without a flinch. Like I weighed nothing. And my brain finally processed the fact that his touch excited me instead of frightened me. I looked down at his hands on my upper arms.