Page 48 of A Hexcellent Chance to Fall in Love
Until the Store Closes
Christina
My finger traces along the scar on my arm. Some wounds you can’t see—but this has been there. A reminder of something, of someone I’d been forced to forget. Part of me always wondered how it happened, but I’d also always felt silly for not knowing.
I still remember it was a few days after Halloween, and as soon as I opened my eyes, something was off.
It was the first time I remember feeling just blah.
This fogginess—a cloud of uncertainty—clung to me that I couldn’t shake off.
In the shower that morning, I noticed my arm.
It wasn’t a cut or even fresh looking, but a scar that’s still on my arm right now.
I couldn’t remember ever seeing it before, but that didn’t make sense, so I let it go.
But maybe I should have questioned it. Maybe then I could have remembered or figured something out.
Pepper sits in front of me on the cold concrete floor of the haunted house.
Her story of how it all happened races through my mind—like puzzle pieces that have no true form or shape of what the finished product should look like and yet they are coming together.
Her story—our story—gives me clarity on so many things I’ve been feeling since I met her.
She’s always felt comfortable. It’s always felt like she’s known me better than I know myself.
From our first time together, it felt like coming home, and now at least I understand why.
“How many times have we done this?” I ask.
“You and me?” Pepper takes a breath, hesitation in her eyes. “Three. This is our third time. Our third Halloween.”
Now it’s my turn to take a deep breath. Three. Wow. I guess I should be glad it hasn’t been longer—that she hasn’t had to do this more times than that. “What happened last year?” I rub the scar on my arm again, assuming it had to be different than our first.
“We failed. I did exactly what you wanted. You should have seen your face that first day you came into the store and I told you we’d already met.
You didn’t want to believe me.” She grins a little with this faraway look in her eyes.
“But then I started telling you all the things I shouldn’t have known.
I think you thought I was a stalker, but you came around, and then…
” She shakes her head. “You became so determined, so obsessed with breaking this curse, you were miserable. And with the added stress of trying to put this event on, it was too much. You weren’t eating or sleeping.
You were constantly crying. And when we couldn’t figure out a way to break the curse, you were devastated—inconsolable.
I was so scared for you. It was heartbreaking. I couldn’t do that to you again.”
I remember last November was when my depression was the worst. It wasn’t until summer that I felt semi-normal again. I didn’t even know why I was so upset—but this all makes sense. “That’s why you didn’t tell me.”
She nods. “You seemed so happy this time. Almost like you did the first time I met you. So I figured maybe it was better this way. I’m sorry.”
“No. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t let you think there was another way.
I’m sorry you had to suffer through this again all on your own.
” A tear slips down my cheek, and Pepper brushes it away.
She’s been so strong through it all—I couldn’t do it if it were me.
Just the thought of saying goodbye to Pepper has my chest clench so tight, I can barely breathe.
“You’re worth it.” She holds my gaze so steadily with her own. I understand why I wanted to break the curse so badly last time—because I don’t ever want to live without this feeling; I don’t want to live without her.
“What do we do now?” I ask. My mind is whirling, but I don’t have any ideas. I don’t know what we have or haven’t done before.
She grabs my hand and laces her fingers with mine. “We enjoy the little time we have left together, and you make yourself the promise that you won’t leave Clover Creek, and we will get to be together every year. Even if it is just for a little while.”
It’s not enough, I want to say. But that isn’t fair to her—after what she’s been through. And it’s not like I have a plan or know any more about what it is that we’re fighting against. “Maybe this time we’ll find a way to break the curse,” I say.
She smiles—but it’s forced, the way her eyes don’t crinkle in the corners. “Yeah, maybe.”
“Don’t do that. You don’t have to pretend for me.” I know I’m not as strong as she is, but she doesn’t have to carry all this weight alone.
She lets out another long breath. She must be so tired—tired of fighting and losing and having to do it all over again. “I’m not pretending.”
“Bullshit you’re not.” I release her hand and stand up.
“It’s okay to be mad. Because I’m mad.” I just don’t know who or what to be mad at.
Not at her—this isn’t her fault. But this situation is bullshit.
I finally find my person, and I only get her for ten weeks a year and then I forget her.
This isn’t what I want. I want her every day of the year. I don’t want to have to live like this.
“It won’t change anything.”
“Maybe not, but it’s okay to be angry. What’s happening with you, with us, it’s not okay.” I pull her to her feet, so we’re both standing. “I love you,” I tell her without hesitation. I’ve felt it in my bones so long, and now it all makes sense as to why.
“I love you, too.”
“So I’m not giving up.” We may have tried and failed before, but that doesn’t mean we’ll fail again. There has to be something we haven’t thought of yet.
“Is that what you think I’m doing? You think I’m giving up? Because I can tell you it’s not easy being seen as a stranger to the person I love. From the moment you walk into the store, I want to wrap you up in my arms, but you have no idea who I am, and it is heartbreaking.”
I can only imagine, and I don’t want to disregard her feelings or what she’s been through. “Then let’s do something about it.”
“What?” She throws her hands up and walks in a circle. She’s obviously frustrated, and I can’t fault her for that. She’s lived with this truth longer than I have. But I’m glad she’s riled up. I’m glad she isn’t trying to turn this into a positive, because it’s not. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to fight for us.” Maybe it isn’t fair for me to say that or ask, but it’s the only thing that feels right. I’m ready to fight.
“Fight who? Or what? Do you think I haven’t tried?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying? Because we’ve tried everything I’m willing to do. I refuse to trick someone the way I was tricked. I won’t do it. I can’t do it. It’s not fair.”
“And this…this is fair?” I yell back at her.
“No. It’s not. But it was my mistake, and I’m paying for it.”
“You mean we.” She isn’t in this alone anymore. She needs to realize that.
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t have to be this way for you. Just say the word and this doesn’t have to happen.” She gestures between us.
My chest clenches so hard, it’s like the wind has been knocked out of me. “Can you so easily walk away?”
“No, of course not,” she yells. “It kills me every time I have to say goodbye to you. Because I remember. I remember you.” A tear slips down her cheek.
It isn’t Halloween yet, so we still have a chance—I still have a chance to convince her we can try again. “Then let’s not say goodbye this time. Let’s break this curse.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know how.”
“Let me help you.”
“We already—”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I don’t care what it takes.
I’m not losing you again.” I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly against me, burying my face in her inky black hair, which smells like vanilla and incense and home.
She is my person, and when you find someone who truly gets you—like Pepper gets me—you hold on to them with everything you’ve got. I won’t let her go.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.” Her breath hitches, and she holds me back, as if, without me, she wouldn’t be able to stand.
I don’t know what we’ve tried before, but we’re going to do it all again if it means we can be together. Pepper might not be up to tricking anyone, but I don’t know if I can make the same promise. “I got you,” I tell her, and she bursts into tears.