Page 100 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

My shoes scuffed against the pavement as I entered the town’s dimly lit streets. Most of the shops were closed this late at night, but there had to be something open. Something that wasn’t just overpriced keychains or tacky tourist souvenirs.

Something that actually felt like Ethan.

I sighed, stuffing my hands in my hoodie pockets. “What the hell do you even get for a guy like him?”

The night pressed down on me like a thick, suffocating blanket.

I walked with purpose, my steps echoing faintly against the pavement. The town was quiet—too quiet. The only sounds were the occasional flickering streetlight and the distant rustling of the wind through alleyways.

Then, I heard it.

Footsteps.

Perfectly in sync with mine.

I slowed. They slowed.

I stopped. They stopped.

A shiver ran down my spine, the weight of something invisible pressing down on my shoulders. My breath hitched, and for a moment, I felt like I was there again—back in that house, listening to the creak of the floorboards at night, knowing someone, something, was awake when it shouldn’t have been.

My chest tightened.

It’s just your imagination. Just paranoia.

I turned around so fast my shoes scraped against the pavement.

Nothing.

No one.

Just the dimly lit road stretching behind me, empty except for the eerie glow of the street lamps. The shadows stretched unnaturally long, twisting into strange shapes. I swallowed hard, rubbing my palms against my jeans.

Get a grip, Clark.

Forcing my legs to move, I quickened my pace. But my nerves were frayed now, my senses hyper aware of everything. Every shift in the wind. Every flicker of light. Every phantom sound that might have just been in my head.

I needed to get back to the others.

I rounded a corner—only to nearly collide face-first into a vending machine.

I stumbled back, heart pounding.

Then I exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to my forehead. You’re losing it.

After a few seconds, my pulse started to slow. My eyes drifted to the vending machine, scanning the snacks inside. That was when another memory hit me—one that made my lip twitch despite everything.

Ethan.

That idiot had once stolen from one of these—the day I had unprecedented cardio running away from a guard. I had been horrified. He had been delighted.

The memory lingered in my head, softening my nerves.

Maybe I was being stupid, but… in some weird way, this felt right. I had been debating what to get him, and now, fate had handed me an answer wrapped in aluminum and artificial flavoring.

I pulled out my wallet, counting through the money I’d earned from freelancing. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Sliding the bills into the slot, I punched in the code for the chips I remembered Ethan stealing last time.

A mechanical whirr. A dull clunk.

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