Eight Weeks (Unfrozen Four Book 2)

“look death in the eyes like everyday”—CHXSE Up by Chase Atlantic

“Miss, your card was declined.”

I just wanted one quiet birthday morning. And yet I find myself in a drug store, buying a last-minute present for my sister.

After Colin’s text last night, saying Lily would be staying with us for a couple of days, I need to get this present before they get home. I wanted to buy one shortly before leaving for Brites, but Lily would have found out I kind of forgot to get her one. So, it had to be now.

Funny how we share the same birthday and yet I somehow forgot to get my twin sister a birthday present.

Anyway, being here wouldn’t be such a bad thing, if that woman at the register next to mine wasn’t about to explode.

Looking at what she’s buying, that poor cashier has it coming. Feminine hygiene products, chocolate, and a declined card… that screams outraged woman.

“You cannot be fucking serious,” she speaks in a much calmer voice than I anticipated. “They said it would work here!” There it is.

“I’m sorry, miss, but like I told you before, we don’t take bank cards from other countries. And what the hell is an ‘EC-Card?’”

“I don’t have cash on me. I just landed good two hours ago.” Whatever she says next stays a mystery as she switches languages. It does sound awfully a lot like an insult though, so that’s interesting.

I pay for Lily’s present, and since I feel charitable today, I walk right over to the other register.

The guy looks up, furrowing his eyebrows as I slap my credit card in front of him.

“I’ll pay for it.”

“You really don’t have to,” the woman says. Only now do I allow myself to look at her.

She’s got brown hair and dark eyes. She looks tired, really tired. And a lot like she’s just gotten off an hours long ride from somewhere. The three suitcases next to her only confirm it.

Her skin is tan enough to not look pale with that hair of hers, but not tan enough to look sun-kissed either. So, she’s not from the west-coast or Florida, I’d say.

I might be hallucinating, but this woman standing in front of me reminds me a lot of someone I used to know. Someone I promised the world to, and too many other unrealistic things. Someone that always meant and will always mean more to me than anyone ever could.

“That’s like five dollars. Don’t worry about it.” And besides, I have two sisters. I know how cranky they can get when they’re on their period.

Doing a little favor and buying tampons and chocolate for someone that needs it really isn’t a big deal.

“Thank you,” she says, giving me a quick smile.

As soon as I get my card back, I walk off, ready to get the hell home and wait for Colin, my best friend and apparently boyfriend of my twin sister, and Lily to come home. I’m not sure where they’re at, but I’m assuming at his parents’ house.

Just as I reach my car, I notice the brunette woman sitting on one of her suitcases in front of the store.

My mind tells me to keep on going about my day, but something else within me tells me she’s in deep shit and could use a helping hand.

I mentally beat up myself when I walk up to her again. If I end up getting murdered, at least I’ll be joining my sister.

I come to a stop in front of her, noticing she’s crying. Oh, boy. This is going to be a mistake.

“Hey, do you need anything else?” I find myself asking, when instead I should be running to my car and get back home.

She doesn’t look up, but she shakes her head anyway. I suppose she’s done with her life for the day.

What I should do right now is leave, but for some reasons my legs stay put. And my mouth seems to make itself useful. Or… un-useful. “Do you need a ride home?”

That gets her attention way too quickly. But instead of saying yes or no, she chuckles ironically. “If I had one.”

“What do you mean?” Please don’t tell me she’s homeless. That’s something I for real cannot deal with today. I mean, I could offer her some money, maybe a hotel room. It won’t hurt me. But I don’t usually walk around shoving money down poor people’s throats.

A long and deep rush of air leaves her. “Not that you really care, but I just got off a twelve-hour flight, took on another hour-long car ride here, only for my university to tell me they’ve given my room to someone else because I’m a day late. So now I somehow have to get to my aunt’s house without money. Plus, and this is going to be a little TMI, I’ve gotten my period in the car and I have absolutely no opportunity to fucking change.”

“Where does your aunt live?” That’s literally the only thing I dare asking. I don’t need to hear about her period. As normal as it is. But seriously, I do not need to know about some stranger’s cycle.

“Roven Rd, Wesley Hills.”

I exhale heavily, knowing I will regret the words that are about to leave my mouth. “That’s sixteen minutes from here. I can drive you.” But you shouldn’t, Aaron.

“No, that’s fine,” she says. “I cannot afford getting blood all over your car seats.”

“Seeing as you cannot even afford tampons and chocolate, I’m not surprised to hear that.”

She snorts a laugh, nodding her head. “What’s your name anyway?” She looks me up and down, kind of like she’s checking me out.

I’m not going to lie, if she didn’t provide me with far too many, far too intimate information about her period, I totally would have tapped her.

“Aaron. What’s yours?”

“Sofia.” Aw, well. Now I certainly can’t tap her anyway. If Lily ever finds out I’ve had sex with someone named Sofia, she will rip my organs out.

The name Sofia is… a no-go. Too many fun memories are connected to someone with the same name.

If I ruined said memories by choosing to add another one…nope.

Who am I kidding? This isn’t about Lily and her memories. It’s about my memories. Ones I would rather not have but can’t quite find the courage to paint over by using another girl named Sofia.

“Well, Sofia. I happen to live about two minutes from here. You can come with me, get all… cleaned up, change, and then I can get you to your aunt’s house. If you’d like.”

Sofia is shaking her head almost instantly. “Hell no. I’ve watched far too many documentaries. Pretty boys like you always have some shit up their sleeves. A knife, most likely.”

I swing my arms around like a fool. And—surprise—nothing comes falling out of my sleeves. “I only kill women on the second date.”

“It’d be way less obvious to do on the first date with another guy she’s dating. They’d question him first.”

I’m not even sure why I’m taking in her words as deeply as I do, genuinely thinking about it. I am not a murderer. And I never planned on becoming one. But I suppose she does have a point. A great one even.

“Well, do I have to be scared for my life if I take you home with me?” I ask, pushing my hands into my jeans pockets.

“Always.”