Kiss a Stranger (4 page)

             
I looked at Emily’s determined face. When she was stubborn like this, nothing in the world was going to stop her from having her way. So I sighed dramatically and picked a random card. I turned it over and read her writing, noting already that the marker she’d written with looked awfully fresh.

             
Party this Friday with your best, most beautiful friend =)

             
I glared at Emily. “Your desperation is just sad.”

             
“What does it say?” she asked innocently.

             
“Don’t look at me like that. You know what it says because you planted this card.”

             
She gasped, insulted. “I did not!”

             
“Then show me the other cards in your hands.”

             
She moved away and quickly put the cards back into her purse. “You know that’s against the rules. We’re not meant to look at the cards.”

             
“And making a whole batch with the same dare is against the rules too.”

             
She stuck her tongue out at me. “You have no proof. You picked the card, you read the card, and now you must do as the card says or else the Dare Card Gods above will smite you to death and subject you to an eternity of grovelling to a million Emily clones.”

             
“And if I prefer that to this?”

             
She rolled her eyes. “We’re going to go out this Friday, and we’re going to have a lot of fun. I promise. Once you’re over this stupid fear of showing people a few little facial scars, then you’re going to be yourself again. I just know it.”

             
Emily was too optimistic. Too glass half-full type of person. She thought any problem could be rectified easily with a little persistence. Which made this whole situation difficult, because I knew my life would never be the same again. It wasn’t just the scars – and they were far from little as she just stated – it was to do with who I was. I knew myself before the attack. I’d had an identity. And while I wasn’t very proud of that identity, it was all I knew.

             
Now I was just lost. So scatter-brained with life, I sought refuge by escaping in everything. From studying, to sketching, to reading those smutty books she laughed at me for. It kept my mind off life. And the truth was, I wasn’t ready to confront the world just yet. But then again, when would I ever be?

             
Maybe I needed to be pushed out of my comfort zone. Maybe to stop being afraid, I had to confront my fear.

Haven’t Forgotten You

The house was a tomb. It was so freaking cold, it was warmer outside than inside.

             
After another round of puking in the morning, I washed myself and sat down in a lawn chair in the backyard. Directly under the sun and feeling its heat, I did a bit of sketching before turning my Kindle on for a light read. It wasn’t long before last night’s lack of sleep caught up to me. I fell into a light doze, until the sound of the front door slamming shut jolted me awake.

             
“Claire,” Mum called. “Where are you?”

             
“Backyard!”

             
She opened the sliding door to the yard and stepped out. She looked exhausted after a night shift in her nurse’s uniform and her chestnut hair in a messy ponytail. Her face looked a little rundown, the bags under her eyes dimming the green of her irises. She stopped in front of me with a few bags of groceries in her hands and said, “What are you doing today?”

             
I shrugged. “Homework. You?”

             
“Was a really long shift,” she said with a yawn. “We’re short-staffed too. Awful. Might sleep most of the afternoon away. Was thinking we could go to the shops and do something. Thursday is late night, so everything’s still open. A bit of perusing might be fun, right?”

             
“Perusing for what?”

             
“I don’t know. Cold weather will pass soon. Do you need any clothes?”

             
“No.”

             
“Well, you can’t wear sweaters through summer and you’ve slimmed down a lot. You’ll need some things, right?”

             
“I guess.” I really didn’t care.

             
She sighed and pulled up a chair. She sat next to me and looked out into the well-manicured yard. It was all my doing. I liked keeping the grass short and the plants watered. It gave me a good enough excuse to be house-bound.

             
“Did you hear about John Macht?” Mom then asked.

             
John Macht was some rich businessman in Perth who had been accused of murdering his wife three years ago. The trial had come to a close, and Mom had been reading into it every step of the way.

             
“No,” I answered. “Guilty?”

             
“Not guilty.”

             
“Are you serious?”

             
She nodded severely. “Can you believe that? It won’t be long before someone shoots him in the face. I bet you any money. There’s no way he didn’t kill her, and there’s no way someone out there isn’t plotting their revenge to kill the bastard for it.”

             
I shrugged. “They found nothing on him. Plus they never even found her body. It was all circumstantial, so I can’t say I’m surprised.”

             
“They found her blood in the trunk of his BMW!”

             
“Still not enough. They couldn’t determine how old it was.”

             
She let out a sound of disgust. “Well, deep enough pockets and you can get out of anything, huh?”

             
“Yep.”

             
She sighed and sat idle for a short while. She closed her eyes and let the sun beat down on her. Exhaustion after a long shift made her body look like jelly in her chair.

             
“I love you, Claire,” she said quietly, her face solemn as she opened her eyes to look at me.

             
“I know,” I replied, trying not to get agitated by the guilty sound of her voice.

             
A few tense minutes passed before she said, “I’m not sure if you remember, but I’ll be flying to Melbourne tomorrow –”

             
“To see Kevin,” I interrupted with a nod. “I remember.”

             
“Okay.” She stood up and on her way to the door abruptly stopped. “Oh, right, I picked up the mail from the post office. You have a parcel.”

             
When she handed me it, she gave me a kiss on the top of my head. “I’ll see you tonight and we’ll go shopping.”

             
I waited until she disappeared back into the house. Then I set my Kindle and sketchpad down on the outdoor table. I picked up the small bagged satchel and felt the content. It was something thin and square-like in size. I checked the return details on the back, but there was nothing written save for my name and address on the front.

             
Huh.

             
I tore it open and looked inside. What I saw froze me in my chair instantly. My heart felt like it’d been dipped into an ice box. A million thoughts blazed through my mind, yet I couldn’t tell you a single one of them if I tried.

             
Stunned and speechless, I reached into the bag and pulled it out. Was this really…? I turned it over and saw the familiar scratches and pen marks it’d been inflicted upon over a year of use.

             
This was indeed my wallet.

             
The wallet I slipped into Stranger’s pocket the moment I kissed him.

             
“Holy shit,” I whispered.

Before opening it, I put it to my nose and inhaled
. It certainly didn’t smell like me anymore. While the leathery odour was still present, it had an earth like smell to it, and a mild cologne I recognized as an expensive brand.

             
It was a very plain, black leather wallet, and suited for men. I preferred it due to its small size. I could store it in my pocket and not have to worry about losing it, unlike the ladies sized wallets women stored in their purse. If you gave me a dollar every time I left behind my purse somewhere, I’d be richer than Croesus.

             
I opened it and saw my ID card I’d since replaced. Back when my face was perfect. I couldn’t believe I used to hate this picture. I’d give anything to look like this again. There was a “Finder’s” card just beneath it too where my name and number was written. This had been the reason I slipped it into his pocket. I had wanted him to have no choice but to call me. When he didn’t, I’d felt disappointed for days – and that was an emotion I wasn’t used to.

             
Looking into the pocket of the wallet, I let out a short laugh. Two twenty dollar notes sat inside, along with a stick of bubble gum. It was good to know Stranger wasn’t a thief…

             
I pulled out the cash and immediately spotted a folded piece of paper inside. Grabbing it, I absently tossed the wallet and cash aside and hurriedly unfolded it. My heart clenched in my chest when I saw the writing –
his
writing. I feasted on the words hungrily.

             
I haven’t forgotten you.

             
Friday, Club Zero – 10pm

-B.C.

*****

The note was stuck to the edge of my mirror among pictures of Emily and me. I stared at it every time I walked into the bedroom.
Then I’d stand there and stare at my reflection and remind myself why I couldn’t go and see him.

             
I scoffed. Why would I anyway? The warning signs were punching me in the face, and I was
not
a stupid girl anymore.

             
So why was I still considering it?

             
Simple. You’re still stupid, Claire.

             
“You’re going to wind up in some alleyway with your throat cut,” I whispered to myself. “The guy waits a year to send you back your wallet? A year? That’s bullshit. And crazy. No, wait, the crazy part would actually be that he knew your damn address, and it wasn’t written anywhere!”

             
A wave of goose bumps ran down my spine. I shivered and crossed my arms over my chest. Fuck, that was the scariest bit of all, wasn’t it? He knew my address!

             
I’d asked him who he was, and the cryptic answer he gave me always haunted me at night.
“Someone that’s no good for you, beauty.”

             
I leaned over my dresser and read the note for the millionth time. The writing was in perfect cursive, and I was spending an unusual amount of time admiring it. He wrote this. And then he walked to the post office, purchased a satchel, placed it inside and sent it out to me.

That was so…
normal
.

             
“B.C.” My brows pinched together as I wondered what it stood for. Why couldn’t he write his full name out and included his number? I’d have gladly called him up, and the sane thing would have been to ask me out to this club instead of being all cryptic and shit.

             
I was ashamed of myself just then. I couldn’t suppress the thrill inside my being. I hadn’t been given attention in months and months. Of course it didn’t help I put effort into looking like an invisible hobo – but this was Stranger we were talking about here! The man that looked at me like he wanted to ravage my soul instead of my body. The one who wouldn’t flirt back, but had the most heated “fuck me” eyes I’d ever seen.

I went to my old, used desk and opened the bottom drawer. I pulled out my last sketchbook I’d filled the pages of and
flipped through the dates. I stopped when I landed on Stranger. I hadn’t looked at this sketch in months, and seeing it now was like being knocked back a step. His eyes were so expressive, his lips large and full and pulled into a smirk.

I set the sketch down and peered at it every few moments as I approached my dresser. Every inch of its surface was covered in make-up I hadn’t worn in forever. I grabbed at some foundation and cover up and b
egan to apply it. Touching my face was hard, and I felt a twist in the bottom of my stomach every time my fingers touched my scars. But I pushed on through until my face was covered. Then I continued with some blush and eye shadow. Pulling away the attention of my scars, I perfected the smoky eyes look before finishing it off with rose coloured lip gloss and double coated mascara.

Twenty minutes later
I was wearing make-up for the first time in nine months.

*****

I wished Mom would stop looking at me. Ever since seeing me two hours ago, she’d perked up like never before. Her face was glowing with happiness. Here I was putting on make-up to draw the attention away from my scars, and yet she was looking at me with such intensity I felt as though I shouldn’t have bothered.

             
“How about this dress?” she asked me, pulling out a green bit of fabric off the rack.

             
I cringed. “I’m not going for the hooker look, Mom.” And even if I did, I highly doubted there was a high market for scar-faced hookers to boot.

             
Her mouth dropped. “It’s not that bad.”

             
“It’s not that good either.”

             
She laughed and put the dress back. We browsed for a while before I found a black mini-dress with a lace back. I tried it on in the dressing room, expecting to hate it once I looked at myself in the mirror. To my surprise, it fit like a glove. I spun around, wincing a little at the bones jutting out of my shoulder blades. I’d never been this slim before, and it didn’t suit me very much, especially upon learning my boob size had gone down dramatically – and I was never gifted in size to begin with.

             
“Can I see how the dress looks on you?” Mom asked from through the door.

             
“No,” I answered.

             
“Please?”

             
“Not yet. Still seeing how it fits.”

She poked her head
through the gap under the dressing room door and gasped at me. “You look incredible! I’m buying it. You’re getting it.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my lips.
Not wanting her to get everyone in the store’s attention with her peeping tom behaviour, I unlocked the door and pushed it open. She hurried in and smiled brightly at me.

“I don’t look too skinny in this?” I asked, eyeing my body in the mirror.

              “You do look a little malnourished, Claire, but it’s better than that baggy crap you’ve been wearing.”

             
I nodded. “I guess.”

             
She skimmed her eyes up and down my body, looking more thoughtful as the moments passed. “So, is there a boy I should know about?”

             
I rolled my eyes. “Mom.”

             
She shrugged, running a hand through her long hair. “I’m just asking! I’m curious to know why you’re suddenly wanting to go out and get dressy.”