Page 13 of Beautiful Scars

The morning air is thick with humidity as I step outside. I make sure to lock door behind me before I stop and count the money one more time, planning out each purchase in my head. We need real food, but I need to be smart about it.

The Food Xpress parking lot is even emptier than I expected. Perfect. I grab a cart and head inside.

The fluorescent lights make everything look harsh and washed out. The sale items are always in the back, making you walk past all the expensive stuff first. I head there first, not letting myself get distracted.

I do the math in my head as I walk through the store filling up the cart. Weighing cost against all the other considerations. Chicken is on sale, good protein. Rice is cheap and filling. Frozen vegetables are better than canned. Mom's voice whispers in my head, working as a guide. There was a time, not that long ago really, when she cooked dinner for dad and I and did all the shopping.

Mrs. Roberts is working the deli counter. She used to live next door, but moved not long after Garrett moved in. She pretends not to recognize me, but I know she does. I used to help her in her garden every day in the spring. It's better this way though—less awkward. Her eyes are kind behind her thick glasses.

"Half a pound of turkey," I say, keeping my voice steady. "And half a pound of the ham, please."

She nods, her movements efficient as she works. I watch the numbers on the scale. I pretend not to notice when she hits the button, prints off the sticker and then adds a few more slices of meat to each package. I thank her. She nods.

I'm comparing prices on pasta when I hear the whispers. Two women, cart parked at the end of the aisle, looking at me like I'm some sort of freak.

"I'm telling you that's her," one says, not being nearly as quiet as she thinks she is.

"I heard..." the other starts, but I tune them out.

I grab the cheaper pasta and move on. I can guarantee that anything they've heard isn't nearly as awful as the truth. Their words won't fill the fridge, keep my mom sober or make Garrett disappear for good. So, does it really matter?

At checkout, I count out exact change, ignoring the disdain on the cashier's face. My fingers don't shake as I zip the money into the inside pocket of my backpack. They used to, but I've gotten past it.

The plastic bags cut into my fingers as I push through the automatic doors. The humidity is like a wall when it hits me, and I adjust my grip.

"Sun-ny."

My stomach drops at the voice. Zack Thompson leans against his truck, surrounded by his usual group of friends. Of course. Because this day needed to be even harder.

I keep walking, eyes forward, arms steady despite the heavy bags.

"Hey, I'm talking to you." Zack pushes off his truck and comes to stand in front of me, blocking my way. "What's wrong? Too good to say hello to an old friend?"

The laughter from his friends makes my skin crawl, but I don't let him see it. Don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Come on, Sunny baby." He takes a small step forward, standing over me so close I can feel his breath over my hair. "Don't be like that. We used to be friends, remember?"

I keep my eyes focused on the concrete behind him. Eight steps to the sidewalk where there will be eyes and traffic and safety. Seven if they're big steps.

"I heard Garrett's going to be gone for a while," his voice drops lower, meant just for me, "Might be fun to try something new."

My breath stops and my mind goes blank. Shame burns hot in my chest, mixing with something else. Something that tastes like rage.

"Leave me alone Zack," I say quietly, still not looking at him. The bags are heavy in my hands, the plastic cutting deeper. "Move."

"Or what?" He steps closer, and his friends' laughter dies down, sensing a shift. "What are you going to do if I don't? There's no one to tell Sunny. No one to step in and save you."

I finally look up at him. Really look at him. And something in my expression makes him take a small step back.

"No," I say, my voice steady and clear despite my hammering heart. "But he'd find out wouldn't he. He's not going to be gone forever Zack. He'll be back and then what? How long did it take your nose to heal?"

His face flushes red. One of his friends snickers but is quickly silenced by Zack's glare.

I sidestep around him, my movements deliberate. Not running. Not afraid. Even though my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.

"You're nothing but a whore, Sunny," he calls after me, but his voice lacks conviction. “Garrett’s dumb little whore."

"Maybe," I say, not turning around. "But I'm still too good for you."

---