The Bikes
Charlie waited up for me.
"How was it?"
"Fun. Zombies ate people, we ate popcorn. Good time." I rolled my neck and pointed upstairs awkwardly. "I'm gonna shower and go to bed. That alright?"
Charlie grumbled at me but didn't stop me.
My shower routine had changed for the past few months. I kept it short and cold. Icy jets would wash over me, shivers contorting my body until my muscles tried to spasm. I would crawl into bed, bundled but still damp, and shiver until sleep found me. There would be a moment where it felt as if a hole puncher was taken to my heart; aching gaps, leaving me gasping and curled into the fetal position. Then I would be locked in nightmares, screaming.
I sighed and stood outside of the shower before slowly adjusting the heat. Maybe a luke-warm shower would be fine.
After, I slid into my thread-bare sweats and cracked a window; just enough to let the cold seep into the room.
The nightmares still found me, but I hadn't doubted them.
I thoroughly despised retail.
The only thing keeping me sane at this job must have been the fact I was checked out the entire time. Mike hadn't seemed to notice any changes; he kept his conversations mundane to the point it must have been routine.
The customers weren't bad, and the job wasn't hard. It was just boring. Newton's wasn't bustling. I would put up stock when there weren't customers at the register.
But all the lights seemed too bright, the colors too much. The music over the speakers played too loud. Perhaps I was overly sensitive to the stimuli after being numb for so long. Like the pin-pricks in a limb that's returned to feeling.
I passed the time by eavesdropping.
"I'm telling you, this grizzly had to have been the size of my truck," a hunter was explaining. "I only saw it for a second, but it was huge."
The other hunter spit a bit of chewing tobacco into a used Mountain Dew bottle and nodded. "They've been seeing them all over the woods lately. The tracks aren't right though. Looks like a dog. Coyote."
"A coyote the size of a moose?" The first hunter scoffed.
I tuned back out, bored.
"If you wanna head out, Bella, I can close up here," Mike volunteered absently.
I didn't want to go back to the house. It was empty right now; Charlie had taken up more weekend shifts since I was always out. He was only off when he had plans.
"I can stay."
"Could you take the trash out while I help them? We can lock up after."
I nodded and started around the building, grabbing the bags and tying them. A lot of spit bottles and disposable gas station coffee cups.
I walked to the back of the building and threw the bags into the dumpsters, noticing a pair of motorcycles parked beside them. They were old, well-used, and rusted. I stared at them for longer than necessary. They didn't look completely ready for the scrap yard, but they were definitely well-loved. One red, the other white.
Charlie hated motorcycles. He called them reckless and stupid. When I was learning how to drive, he would tell me horror stories of the things he'd seen while helping people in car accidents. He made me promise never to ride one when I was ten, an easy promise to make back then.
He was always thankful that Forks was small enough that people normally walked away from car accidents. But motorcycles turned people into smears on the pavement.
My excitement was palpable.
This is a horrible idea.
I held the door open for the hunters as they left before walking back inside.
"Hey, Mike? There are some bikes out by the dumpsters; any clue who they belong to?" I asked, pointing a thumb over to where they'd be located.
"Oh, people drop off stuff all the time when they want it to be taken out. They treat the dumpsters like a Goodwill. Surprised they didn't try to sell them for scrap." Mike looked at me curiously. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Um," I hesitated and looked around, biting the side of my mouth. "Actually, did you already shut down the register? Can I go buy a tarp real quick?"