Page 10 of Don't Watch Alone
She pokes her head out. “It just doesn’t look right on me. I feel weird.”
“You’ve gotta tuck the blouse into the jeans. Trust me. Let me grab you a belt. Also, hereare some accessories.” I hand her a few thick bracelets and a loud scarf.
When I turn to get the belt, he’s there. Standing way too close to the display, close enough I can smell him—something stale, unwashed, like damp clothes forgotten in a gym bag.
“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my voice even though every nerve in my body tells me to take a step back.
He just stares at me. He doesn’t blink, no nod, no human response at all. His eyes bore into me like he’s trying to memorize every line of my face.
Then, without a word, he turns and slips away into the racks, disappearing as quickly as he appeared.
I grab a belt from the display and make my way to the dressing rooms, my fingers curled tight around the leather strap like it’s the final puzzle piece. “This is what you need to pull it all together,” I say, handing it over to Janice. She disappears behind the curtain, which swishes closed, and a moment later, she struts out andsettles herself in front of the full-length mirror, one hand on her hip, and her chin tilted up.
“I totally look bitchin’,” she says. And honestly, she’s right. The outfit looks playful, a little rebellious, and impossible to forget.
“You really do,” I say, watching how her posture shifts now that she believes it. Janice has that nervous energy, but in this moment, she seems relieved and stronger somehow.
“Thank you so much for helping me,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that makes me pause. It’s not just appreciation—it’s that fragile, wide-eyed hope that the right outfit might make a person feel deserving of love. Or at least, ready for it.
I leave her at the mirror and head to the register, my heels clicking against the polished tile in a sound that usually calms me, but today it feels loud and too exposed. I glance out into the mall, just to ground myself, and that’s when I see him again.
Leaning against a pillar by the food court, arms crossed, his eyes locked straight on me. He doesn’t flinch when I catch him looking.He doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not staring at me.
“Mary,” I mutter without turning my head, “he’s out there again. Just watching.”
Mary’s rearranging a pile of graphic tees, completely unfazed. “Maybe he thinks you’re hot,” she says, flashing me a smirk before turning back to her rack.
“Yeah, or maybe he’s a fucking creep.”
Janice snaps me back to reality, her arms full of clothes, a smile drawn across her face. “Ring me up, please! I’m so excited!”
I start scanning her items, the familiar beep of the register feeling oddly distant. My brain’s still out in the mall, circling that man like a hawk. Janice is talking—I know she is—but I’m not registering a single word of it.
“Blaiz, did you hear what I said?”
“Sorry, got distracted,” I say, lying through my teeth. I’m not about to tell her I’ve got some random guy watching me, like I’m part of his afternoon entertainment or something.
“I asked what kind of shoes you think would go best with this outfit,” she says, tapping her foot and raising an eyebrow.
I step out from behind the counter and gesture toward the shoe display. “What size are you?”
“Seven,” she answers.
I hold up a pair of cherry-red ballet flats in one hand and a chunky heel in the other. “These red flats would look killer with that outfit. Unless you’re feeling brave enough for a heel?”
“Oh no, I’d probably fall on my ass before the end of the night,” she laughs, her eyes sparkling as she points at the flats. “Definitely those.”
We head back to the register, her arms swinging slightly with excitement, and I sneak another look outside. He’s gone. Relief washes over me, but it’s mingled with something darker, something I can’t name. Did he leave? Or is he just somewhere else now, watching from a new angle?
I finish ringing her up, folding each piece carefully into the bag like it might shield her from whatever weird energy is lingering around today. She gives me her card, the printer prints her receipt, and then she signs it.
“Good luck tonight. You better come in tomorrow and give me the full recap,” I say, pushing the bag toward her. I don’t know this girl well, but right now, pretending to care feels like the most human thing I can do.
“Oh, I will,” she promises, already walking toward the door. “And thank you for this totally rad outfit!”
I watch her disappear into the flow of the mall crowd, and I can’t help but wonder if she’ll be okay. If any of us really are. What do we ever really know about the people we walk past?
“I’m taking my break,” I say.
