My head hits the headrest with a thump, and I curse out loud when I pull into the parking lot and notice how full it is. Just what I need, a store full of people. I pick one of the only available parking spots by the entrance and get out.
There's a long line at the check-out, so Remi doesn't see me when I first enter. Everyone else does, though. The entire atmosphere in here changes in an instant, like a vacuum sucked out all of the cheerful conversations and laughter, leaving a quiet void. The chattering ends, and glares filled with hatred come out.
Remi must notice the change around her because she looks up, and our eyes lock for a moment. She doesn't have the same look as everyone else, though, and it kind of annoys me. I'd much rather her hate me just like the rest of them. It'd be easier to deal with.
I look away and continue onwards to get my milk, ignoring every hushed whisper filled with venom along the way. But, of course, with the way today has gone, I'm not surprised when I see Jolene, the store owner, restocking the very milk I need to get. There's no way she's going to make it easy on me by handing me one. I think she would rather see me starve to death than help me out in any way.
Seeing as she's almost done filling the shelf, I decide to stand off to the side and wait. I'm sure if she noticed me standing here sooner, she'd have taken her time, but a few minutes later, she's finished and stacking the crates onto a trolley.
The scowl she graces me with as she passes me by is lethal, but I just stare right back as if I'm looking right through her. It probably pisses her off, even more, to think she has no effect on me.
There are four people in line when I make it to the check-out with my one carton of milk, and I don't miss the not-so-subtle step away from me when I get in line. The same type of shit has been happening since the people here found out about me.
Zoning out, I ignore everything around me until I'm next in line at the check-out. From a quick glance under my cap, Remi looks to be okay. As much as I want to just leave it at that, the fucking guilt festering inside me won't allow it.
My throat almost burns as I clear my throat and force out the words, “You okay?”
I don't say anything more than that, but she must get what I'm talking about because she answers quietly, “Yeah. Thanks.”
A head nod is all the acknowledgment I give back to her. She's fine. Now I can finally stop thinking about it, and hopefully, the little pricks of guilt will go away.
“That's two-fifty-two,” she tells me after scanning the milk.
I pull out my wallet, but besides the check that I haven't cashed yet, there are only two measly dollar bills in there.
“Shit.”
I feel around in my pockets for any loose change that I may have forgotten about, even though it's highly unlikely. Every cent is precious these days.
When I come up empty, I rub at the back of my neck, trying to relieve some of the tension.
Just fucking great.
Remi must read my face because just as I go to pick up the carton to put back, she says, “It's okay.” Then she's reaching into her back pocket and pulling out another dollar, adding it to the ones I already gave.
What's more is, she even tries to give me the change. I shake my head 'no,' mumble out a 'thanks,' and go to leave with my milk as quickly as possible.
Before I even get a few steps away, she calls out to me, “Jacob.”
It's weird hearing my name said in a manner that isn't pure disgust. I turn back to face her but almost wish I hadn't. I realize now that she wasn't saying my name with disgust, because she was saying it with pity.
In her outstretched hand is a handful of tissues. From where she's standing, she has a clear view of my truck. She would have seen what they must have done to it. If I didn't actually forget to grab a napkin when I got out of my truck this time, I'd just ignore her and turn around and leave. But because today keeps getting shittier and shittier, I did forget.
I snatch the tissues out of her hand, well aware I'm still being an asshole, and get the hell out of there.
The day isn't done messing with me yet, though. After walking a few feet out of the store, a little boy comes running around the corner, tripping over right in front of me. He looks to be maybe three or four, and the tears are instant.
Normally I'd ignore him and keep going. Nothing good ever comes from helping people, and this could get me into trouble. But just like yesterday, there is no one else around, and dammit, I feel bad for him. I crouch down and offer my hand.
“You okay, buddy?” He grabs my hand instantly, pulling himself up. Snot and tears cover his face, and the sight of it has my insides twisting up. I don't like seeing it. “Hey, it's okay. You're a tough guy, right?” I ask.
When he stops crying and cracks the tiniest smile, I almostdo too. He's too young to be tainted by stories about me. Too young to form opinions on what I must be like. I give him one of the tissues Remi gave me, and he takes it without a care.
Whatever good feelings I had, are gone in the next second when the mother – presumably – walks around the corner of the building.
“You get the hell away from him!” she shrieks, her voice high and shrill. Then she rushes to pull him away as if I was physically assaulting him right here on the sidewalk.
I'm once again reminded about why I don't bother. I get to my feet, turn away and walk to my truck, then use the remaining tissues to open the door before speeding back to the safety of my home.