Page 239 of Phobia
Naturally, when I went to bed, I looked for him, watching through the window for minutes on end hoping I’d see him. But I didn’t. I can see just the very edge of his bed from my window, but it didn’t even look like he was in it. Of course, that worried me even more.
I hope he didn’t hurt himself… He wouldn’t do that, would he?
It’s hard to say, since I have absolutely no idea what his issue is. I don’t know if it’s mental illness, drugs, some form of PTSD… Not a clue. I’m completely in the dark here.
But as the hours pass, morning turning to afternoon, I’m not finding any peace or clarity in just sitting around.
I need answers. I just want to know that he’sokay, and if he needs help, well… Maybe I could help him.
I know, it sounds stupid. I barely know the guy. He’s not my boyfriend, and he’s certainly not my problem. I barely even know if he qualifies as afriend, since we’ve only known each other a few days.
But we hooked up, in spectacularly delicious fashion…That’s gotta count for something, right?
By around three-thirty, I just can’t wait around and do nothing anymore. I tell my mom I’m going to check on Asa because he wasn’t feeling well, and I stalk out of the trailer, wandering next door.
The amount of times I’ve knocked on his door are adding up, making me feel like a huge stalker. Especially when the amount of times he’s run away from me are also increasing. But still, I force myself to buck up, and I knock.
Then I knock again.
Andagain.
But I don’t hear anything.
“Asa…?” I call quietly through the door. “It’s Jules. I just wanna talk…”
Complete silence.
Sighing out of defeat, I spin around, shuffling down his steps, kicking rocks past his flamingos.
“You lookin for Asa?” A voice calls, and I glance up the way.
It’s Mr. Fielding, the guy who lives to Asa’s right.
“Yea,” I answer, trotting over. “You seen him?”
The guy nods, spitting brow sludge into a cup full of more brown sludge. “S’at work.”
“Oh… Okay,” I murmur. “Where does he work?”
“John Johns.”
My brow lifts. “What’s that?”
“Butcher shop,” Mr. Fielding tells me, a simmering distrust in his tone that I wish I wasn’t familiar with. “‘Bout a mile up the road towards town. Hit the gas station, you gone too far.”
I nod. “Thanks a lot.”
Rushing back to my place, I dart inside to grab the keys to the truck, checking on Mom to make sure she’ll be okay for a few before I’m out the door again, climbing into our old Chevy pickup. The truck engine roars to life, and I peel out in the dirt, passing that car that’s always parked at Asa’s house. It hasn’t moved since I’ve been here.
Why doesn’t he take that to work instead of walking?
More questions, I guess.
The drive takes less than five minutes. I spot John John’s Butcher Shop, a small place that looks exactly like what you’d expect from a butcher shop in Theriot, and pull into the parking lot. I’m nervous as I hop out of the truck and head inside, hoping like hell Asa won’t freak out and call me a psycho stalker for showing up at his job unannounced.
I have to admit, it doesn’t look great. Which is bonkers, because Ineverdo stuff like this. I’m used to being the popular kid, the football player, the sought-after attendee for every party, with a phone loaded with messages at all times.
I’m chased. I don’t chase.
