Kiss a Stranger (3 page)

             
I swallowed an even bigger lump. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

             
“It means it would do you no good to know.”

             
“Why?”

             
“Your world is too safe.”

             
I inched a little closer to his face. “What’s so unsafe about yours?”

             
“You don’t want to know.”

             
“Maybe I do.”

             
He just stared back at me. I felt a tremor run down my spine. A tight feeling emerged in my chest, and my mind screamed to back away – that I was being drawn into a web I didn’t want to get stuck to.

             
He was dangerous. I didn’t know how I knew that, I just did. And my naivety made it all the more thrilling. I yearned for excitement in my life. Maybe I just landed on it.

             
Disrupting our bizarre moment, the train came screeching to another halt. Realization dawned in his eyes as he moved away from me and looked over at our stop.

T
hen he stood up!

It was like being torn from the bubble we’d allowed ourselves in. Suddenly I remembered we were in a crow
ded space, and now he was going.

Panic flooded
me.
NO!
I didn’t want him to leave me.

             
“This is my stop,” he said, looking down at me as he buttoned up the top of his jacket. “It was very nice chatting with you, little lady.”

             
So that was it? No “what’s your number, little lady?” Seriously?

             
SERIOUSLY?

             
I didn’t respond to him, even though he waited briefly for one. When it was apparent my stunned ass had nothing to say, he shot me a nod and ambled off to the doors. I watched in despair as he stood within steps from leaving.

             
“You didn’t kiss him!” hissed Emily into my ear.

             
My eyes widened. Skank was right.

             
Without thinking, I stood up and took off after him, carelessly shoving aside the people in my way. He couldn’t walk out of my life.
I wouldn’t let him
. He stepped off the train just as I grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. Startled, he looked back. His eyes widened when they met mine.

             
“I forgot something,” I breathlessly said, standing on the threshold of the train.

             
“What was that –” I cut him off with a kiss. My hand gripped his collar as I pressed my lips harshly against his. It was a quick – yet long somehow – meeting of the lips that made my heart race and my body tingle. This… this felt different somehow.

             
To my surprise, he kissed back, moving his soft lips over mine with a lot more delicacy than me. He tasted of mint and all male, and I would have done anything to slip my tongue into his mouth.
Dammit, why didn’t I?

             
I pulled away and smiled.

             
Wow.

             
Un-fucking-believable.

             
“What’s your name?” he suddenly asked. The emotion on his face conveyed an urgency to know. It made my heart constrict and then explode.

             
“Claire,” I answered just as I stepped back and let the doors close between us.

             
He stood still, frozen to the concrete, and watched me in startled fascination. And then the train started again.

             
For the first time in my entire life I felt loss after an encounter with a stranger. My happiness dissipated the second he disappeared from view.
Who was he?

             
I would soon be too distracted by pain to care.

Two
All my u
gly

…
One year later…

“
Were you just fucking my guy, you stupid cunt? I’m gonna fuck you up, you trashy little slut.”

             
Trying to get away, I hurried down the alleyway. But hands grabbed my hair and pulled me back. I fell to the ground, air knocked out of me.

             
“You just fucked him, didn’t you? I’ll fuck you up!”

             
SMASH!

*****

I opened my eyes, barely able to breathe from the fear. I sat up, with a hand over my chest as I fumbled out of the sheets and jumped out of bed. My heart was racing, my skin was slick with sweat, and my mouth wide open. I tried to scream, but nothing came out. An acidic taste swept my throat, and I knew what was coming.

I raced out of my room
and down the hallway, colliding into the door of the bathroom. Shaking, I opened it just in time as puke erupted from out of my mouth. Half of it spilled over the tile floor before I reached the toilet. My body shook violently as I unloaded last night’s small piece of lasagne. Pressure built in my throat and head. All I wanted to do was breathe.

After I expelled everything and then some, I c
ollapsed, half drenched in the vomit on the floor. Not wanting to feel my face, I threw my shirt off and wiped it. I stunk.

I’m vile. So fucking vile.

I groaned and shook. But this time it was sobs coming out of my mouth. I curled up in a ball and pitied my existence for the millionth time this year.

             
My heart hurt. My chest ached. My body felt weak. My life sucked.

             
So I cried. Even though it didn’t make me feel better, I cried.

*****

I spent an hour cleaning up my mess. It would have probably taken ten minutes if I actually gave a fuck. Then I took a shower and sat curled up on
the tile floor. The water pounding down on me was cathartic. I liked to imagine the water had a healing power and could take away all my ugly.

             
I stood up on numb legs after and stepped out. I didn’t glance in the mirror once as I dried myself off and headed back to my bedroom. I threw an overgrown sweater on and baggy pants. I tied my hair up and slipped into my beaten up sneakers. Then I grabbed the keychain off my desk and threw my backpack strap over my shoulder.

             
The day was still young as I moved through the still house. I grabbed my lunch from out of the fridge and slipped out. I put my hood over my head and ambled down the sidewalk. It was a chilly morning. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared down at my feet as I walked. Despite the early start, cars were motoring down the roads speedily on my way to the bus stop.

             
I saw the same few people waiting when I got there. I felt their momentary stares, but never was there a word spoken. It was okay like that. Strangers weren’t very friendly, and that was exactly what I liked about people these days. They kept to themselves and were too concentrated on having their eyes plastered to their phone screens.

              I didn’t even have a phone anymore. That was my own personal choice, and one that Mom forever scolded me about. There was an irony to that.

However, I wasn’t some electronic boycotter
with a message to send. I did have an MP3 player, and it was my most treasured item I carried with me wherever I went.

When the bus came bounding our way, I slipped the headphones into my ear and blasted
Everloving
by Moby. Oh yeah, this was the shit.

             
I took a seat on the bus and pulled my enormous sunglasses (ones that made me look like a life-sized bug) from out of my bag. I put them on and stared out the window. I watched the world go by. Watched the countless faces through car windows alongside the bus. The tired, angry looks of some. The bored, discontent looks of others. All so generally unhappy.

What they didn’t realize was I’d give anything to trade places with them.

*****

The morning was painful
. The classes went by at a dismally slow pace.

Colle
ge sucked.

I kept my face down, my hood over my head, my eyes on my notes as I scribbled away. Halfway through History, I opened my sketchpad and continued filling in my latest creation’
s face. I sketched the soft curve of Mum’s chin, the distinct lines of her high cheekbones, the crinkles around her eyes. I omitted a lot of wrinkles because, well, I didn’t want to remind her she was fifty three. What kind of fucking daughter would I be if I did?

“Well d
one, Miss Landon,” said Mr Finch before placing my essay in front of me.

             
I didn’t respond to him as I glanced numbly at my mark.
A-

             
Whatever.

             
He moved along and I continued filling in the contours of her face. My lips curled up slightly at the mole on the corner of her mouth. She always hated the look of it. Always wished it wasn’t there. Of course she conveniently stopped complaining about it after the incident.

When class ended, I hurried to the nearest handicapped restroom. No, I wasn’t handicapped, but I didn’t want to go to the female restroom and surround myself with chicks who spent minutes on end re-drawing their make-up, hiding their ugly I would have given the world to have.

             
So I locked myself up and did my thing. Then I washed my hands and finally looked at myself in the mirror for the first time in four days. Avoiding my reflection was a norm for me. My record was ten days.

I swallowed as my eyes danced around my face. I grabbed the sketchpad out of my bag and flipped to the page I longed for to be real. I placed it against the left side of my face, right down the middle where my sketch beautifully illustrated the perfection I used to be.

              When it got too hard to breathe sometimes, or if my morning round of puking was especially brutal, I did this. I looked whole this way. I wasn’t ruined. I wasn’t disgusting.

             
I was me again.

             
A tear fell out of my eye as I threw the sketchpad back in my bag and looked at what I’d become. At all my ugly. The marred features always felt like a physical slap to the face. The still pink scars ran deep and thick. Jagged and impossible to see past.

             
Scarface.

             
I spat at the mirror. “Disgusting,” I told my reflection on my way out.

*****

“Pick a card,” Emily pressed, flashing the splayed out cards in my face.

I batted her hands away so I could watch the television.
“Not right now,” I told her irritably.

“Oh, come on. Screw
Jeremy Kyle
. Watch
me
.”

“I like
Jeremy Kyle
,” I replied. “Their shit lives remind me that mine isn’t so bad.”

She sighed and threw the cards on the night table before crashing on the bed next to me. Chewing her gum loudly, she watched the show for a few minutes.
Then she pulled out her phone and started her texting regime, with fingers that looked like they had little motors on them.

“Do you want to go see a movie?” she then asked. “It’d be nice to catch up with you somewhere that’s outside of your fucking house.”

“We can see one in here. Look at all the movies on my shelf.”

She glanced at my bookshelf where the very bottom shelf was occupied with movies I hadn’t watched in a millennia.

She grunted in disdain. “Fuck, there’s like one inch of dust on those things. It’d be like recovering a fossil digging around for something to watch.”

I laughed, and she smiled widely. “See, I can still make you laugh, skank. You’re still human after all.”

“Yeah, well, I certainly don’t look it,” I muttered under my breath.

Her smile dropped from her face. An uncomfortable silence ensued before she said, “I’m going to grab something for us to watch from your mother’s collection. They’re more up to date
, which is kinda sad because you’re meant to be the hip one and all. Did you want me to grab some more pieces of pizza on my way back?”

“Not hungry,” I replied.

She sighed heavily and walked out. She knew better than to try and shove food down my throat the way Mom did. My appetite was non-existent, so it wasn’t like I was trying not to get fat. I didn’t give a shit about my body anymore.

When she returned, she popped in a sappy romance movie and feasted on a box of pizza.

“You know,” she said after a few silent minutes, “other people have it a lot worse than you, Claire.”

I knew that. I told myself that every day. But it didn’t make me
feel better.

She looked at me sprawled out on my bed with the
covers up to my chin and continued. “Some people have burns on ninety percent of their bodies. Or have lost their limbs in some horrible accident. And you know what? They’re still living their lives. They’re doing what makes them happy. They don’t bunker down in their house like a survivor on doomsday.”

“I’m trying to watch the movi
e, Em, so can you shut up?” I retorted.

“Your scars aren’t even that bad.”

I scoffed in disbelief. “I look like I’ve been mauled by a bear.”

“If you actually tried with your appearance – like nice clothes and make-up – then you wouldn’t feel as bad as you do right now.
A lot of it can be hidden.”

“But they’d still be there.”

She shook her head, looking defeated. “I don’t understand you! You don’t like the sight of them, and you know with good make-up you can reduce their appearance, yet you don’t want to because they’d still be there?”

I didn’t reply.

She let out an annoyed grunt and turned the television off. “We’re talking! I’m not having a fucking couch potato friend who is more interested in fiction than her own friend!”

“I’m not more interested in fiction.”

“If you’re not watching television, you’re reading on your stupid Kindle. You’re a filthy reader too.”

             
I made a face. “Filthy?”

             
“You think I don’t know about all those smutty novels on there? Fucking BDSM shit. Rich billionaires with mommy issues who suddenly have an interest in clumsy, too-stupid-to-live-heroines.”

             
I laughed out loud as she continued. “You know the reality would be so much different, right? I mean, these fucking women shriek when they’re having sex. Shriek, Claire. And then they squeal, and
squawk
during their orgasms. What does a squawk even sound like? And then they stare into the eyes of their muscular men while fucking. I’ve never looked into a man’s eyes as we screwed. It’s just awkward. Like, ‘what are you looking at? The goodies are down below. Stare at that instead, you weirdo.’”

             
I was bent over laughing, tears streaming down my face. “Shut up, Emily! Seriously.”

             
She grinned ear to ear. “It’s true, though. So stop with that rubbish and actually live a little, yeah? Make your own smut stories out of your real life. You used to jump the hottest men. I swear. Remember the guys at last year’s Royal Show? Oh, my God, I’ll never forget them lining up to you like that. You’d have thought you were the ride instead.”

             
Still laughing, I looked back on that day. “It was such a cold day.”

             
“Yeah, and I ended up paying for everything, asshole.”

             
“It’s not my fault someone pickpocketed me. I bet you it was that granny that snarled at us too.”

             
Now she laughed. “Maybe it was that hot guy you were sitting next to.”

             
My heart squeezed at the memory of Stranger. I thought of him often. I didn’t know what to call him, so Stranger sort of just stuck. Fuck, he had been a sight to behold, but I thought more about the conversation we had than anything. I’d never had such a bizarre encounter with someone before – and even after.

             
“No, it wasn’t him,” I said with certainty on a dreamy sigh. “But he was extremely sexy, wasn’t he?”

             
“The sexiest.”

             
I swallowed my disappointment at having not seen him again. I really thought I would. That he was interested in me enough to reach out.

             
When cards interrupted my vision, I groaned in irritation. “God, Em, I don’t want to pick a bloody card!”

             
“Yes, you do. You know somewhere inside of you there’s still that crazy, rebellious babe. The sooner you pick a card, the sooner she’ll return to me.”