Oppression (2 page)

“No.” I had to look away from him to respond. “Just thinking.” I needed to pull myself together. “Just . . . um . . . I’ll have a medium iced mocha and a blueberry muffin.” Maybe it was the way he was looking at me. His lips were hiding a smile, and I wondered if I had toothpaste on my cheek or something.

A grin flickered across his face as he glanced in my direction, his busy hands making the drink. “So you live upstairs, huh?”

“Yeah,” I answered simply. I looked away from him again, trying to deter my interest in continuing the conversation or any kind of unnecessary flirting.

“I’m William,” he offered. “We were all wondering when the mystery girl from upstairs was going to show.”

“Oh, really?” I eyed the mocha.

“You know, the last person who lived in your place was a regular customer. No pressure though.”

“I guess I’ll have to start drinking more coffee.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

It would be a pretty good excuse for me to ensure I’d see him every morning, something to look forward to, but in my mind, things had already gone too far. This was a secret crush that broke all of my rules.

“The real fun starts at five though,” he said. He seemed amused by something. I wiped my cheeks casually, just in case.

“Does it?”

“You should come down sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” I lied.

The door chimed as another patron walked in. I would hardly have noticed her, but as she walked toward the counter, voices hushed, and William tensed. The young woman had wild curly black hair that folded around her chin, but her rough apparel didn’t seem to match her delicate demeanor. Shiny black army boots completed her distinct grunge punk style.

“Don’t hate me for this,” William whispered as he intentionally poured the entire mocha down the front of my white tee and jeans.

I inhaled with surprise as the ice cold liquid saturated my clothes and chilled my skin.

“Oh, would you look at that,” he said, faking concern and rushing around the counter. “So sorry.” His eyes stayed on the girl in the army boots, as he grabbed a hold of my hand.

“What are you doing?” I asked, yanking it free, but his touch left a lingering warmth.

He grabbed it again without reason. “Come on, I have towels in the back, I’m sure we can get that out.”

He pulled me with him as he shoved his way through a swinging door, leaving no one to tend to customers. As we burst into the back, I noticed another employee busy taking an inventory of supplies.

“Sam, I need you to work the counter,” William demanded with an anxious look as he grabbed white cleaning towels from a shelf. Our hands, still pressed together, grew warmer.

“Seriously? I’m almost done,” Sam protested, but when his eyes found me, they widened and he smiled. “Yeah. Sure. No problem.”

I pressed the towels against my coffee-soaked clothes. “Look, I’m fine. Really,” I tried convincing him as Sam left us alone.

“No, you’re not. We have to go,” he said, removing his apron and grabbing my hand once again.

“Go where? I have plans . . . I’m not . . .”

“Well, now you have new plans. They’re following you, Elyse. Just trust me okay?”

I pulled my hand free, but I could still feel the heat on my palm. “Who’s following me? And how do you know my name?” I had made a point not to tell him.

He stopped his rushing and looked me in the eyes, realizing I wasn’t going to just follow him in his crazed state for no reason.

“I know more than your name, and I’ll tell you everything, but you have to come with me, all right?”

The way he looked at me before was more than just an accidental glimpse in my direction. There was obviously more going on here, and what was it about him? Being so close had me surprisingly on edge. He glanced at the swinging door and back at me.

“Elyse, we need to go. You have to trust me okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed, heart pounding.

The next thing I knew, he was dragging me along behind him, rushing me through alleys and across busy streets. I didn’t know who we were running from, but I forced my muscles to push on. Heat pulsed beneath my clothes, and I breathed heavily as we dodged cars and cabs halted in the morning traffic. Horns blared and people shouted, but William ignored them all. He was busy searching, looking in all directions with quick eyes like we were being hunted.

“Where are we going?” I asked out of breath as we slowed for a passing car.

“I’ll explain later, just come on.” With another tug, he led me into a MUNI station, pulling me by the warm grip he had on my hand. Just as a train was leaving, we slid through the closing doors, and William watched out the window, smiling at something, or maybe someone in the distance.

I didn’t know why I followed him. It could have been my attraction to him or the excitement I felt when our eyes connected, but something drew me to him, in a very dangerous way. As I sat in one of the gray plastic seats, I tapped my feet against the floor anxiously. What was I doing? This wasn’t smart. He turned to look at me. We smiled slightly at each other, but his focus quickly turned to the people around us.

Something had compelled me to believe him, but when we squealed to a stop at one of the next stations, I hesitated. What was I doing trusting some stranger who was leading me who knows where? I waited for everyone to come in or out, hoping he wouldn’t suspect my next move. Just as the doors began to close, I jumped onto the platform, leaving him pressed against the glass as the train rolled away.

I stood alone in the station wondering if I had been smart or made a mistake, but as I hiked back up the steep cement stairs, I came to the conclusion that people in this city were crazy. There was no telling what might have happened. Besides, I would have noticed if I was being followed, wouldn’t I? Suddenly aware, my eyes scanned the streets, looking for a clue, a mysterious or recognizable face, but there was nothing. I was paranoid.

As I climbed the rolling paved hills heading home, the close proximity of things made me a little claustrophobic. I tried to forget about what had just happened, but I couldn’t help feeling on edge. The whole morning was so bizarre, and now I was drenched in coffee and needed to go all the way back home to change. My stomach rumbled, and I realized, on top of everything, I never actually got to eat my blueberry muffin. This wasn’t my day.

“Hi,” a voice came from behind.

I noticed the girl right away. She was quite beautiful, even in her army boots. She didn’t look threatening, but after William’s warning, I quickened my pace.

“Wait up,” she called.

Did she know me? I couldn’t remember ever meeting her before. A glint of a smile dashed across her face as I glanced back and saw that she had already caught up.

“We haven’t met,” she said, answering my unspoken question. “I’m Kara.”

I looked her in the eyes for the first time, almost suspicious of her greeting.

“Hi,” I returned. It was best to keep it short and sweet with people. Less complicated.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Her question was abruptly too personal.

“What?” I shot out, unable to contain my immediate reaction. I didn’t even know this girl. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

She laughed. “I know.”

“Are you following me?” I asked bluntly.

“Yes.”

I wasn’t expecting her to be so honest, but it prompted me to be just as forward. I felt my eyebrows sink low into a scowl. “Why?”

“You really don’t know anything do you?”

Her knowing smirk made me nervous. Maybe I had made a mistake.

“About what?”

“Come on. I know you’re hungry. Let’s get something to eat.”

I had no idea what kind of a person she was. Sure, she looked harmless. A woman in her mid-twenties with a stern but pretty face wasn’t exactly what I’d expect in a stalker, but she did admit to following me. I didn’t like how things were playing out.

“I think I’m just going to go,” I answered.

“Elyse.” Like William, she knew my name without me telling her. “Relax, nothing is going to happen. God, you’re high strung.”

“You don’t even know me,” I retaliated.

She rolled her eyes. “I know a lot more than you think.”

“Like what?” I asked, calling her bluff in the middle of the street.

“You’re lonely. You like writing poetry. You eat microwave dinners for most meals. Most importantly, you know nothing about yourself.”

She did know a lot about me, more than I was comfortable with. It made me wonder how closely she’d been watching, how long she’d been following me. I had to know why. Maybe this would be my second bad decision of the day, maybe not.

“Are you coming or what?” she asked.

Okay, so I was hungry, really hungry, and I used that as an excuse to follow her into the diner around the corner.

The eatery was fairly large and crowded. People spilled out onto a patio with umbrellas and talked loudly as they ate. The floor was black and white tile, like a chessboard, and there was a single counter that had trays at the beginning and a register at the end.

“They have breakfast burritos. I know you like those.”

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you know I like it.”

“I do.”

I sighed. “Whatever.”

Kara chose the far back corner table. I waited until we were seated to interrogate her.

“So are you going to tell me what it is you claim I don’t know about myself?”

She thought about it before she answered. “No.”

What the hell was this girl getting at? I couldn’t figure her out.

“Why not?” I asked.

“The less you know about yourself, the easier my job will be.”

My eyes narrowed. “Your job?”

“Yeah,” she answered a bit uncomfortable. “Look, the only reason I wanted to talk to you was so I could give you my spiel. Before you figure out who I am, who you are. Maybe you’ll be able to see things from my perspective one day down the road, and not hate me.”

I had no clue what she was talking about, and I didn’t like the sound of it, but I needed to know.

“Let’s hear it.”

“I guess the best way is to give an analogy. For example, you eat meat.” The statement was slightly accusatory.

“Yeah,” I answered, waiting for there to be more.

“Do you believe in murdering animals?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just a question. I mean do you?”

I stared at the sausage spilling out of my burrito. “Well, I . . . just because . . .” The whole question had me stuttering with frustration.

“That’s my point. It doesn’t make sense. Part of you speaks morally and logically, understanding that killing is wrong. Something in you is disgusted by the thought. The herding of chickens and cows in tiny, cramped quarters, living a predetermined, torturous life, it’s wrong. You know that. Yet on a day like today, you find yourself standing in line, craving that breakfast burrito with spicy sausage, and you can’t resist. It’s in you—the instinct to survive. Your body tells you it needs meat, food, sausage, and so you eat it. You could choose the egg and cheese, but you’d think of it as a sacrifice.”

The blunt confrontation with my choice had me tense and defensive. It wasn’t any of her business what I ate, but somehow I’d still lost most of my appetite.