Page 6 of Don’t Watch Alone

Chapter five

Blaiz

“Do you work today?” It’s Jade. No mistaking that voice or the deafening giggle that follows. I flinch and pull the phone away for a second.

“Yeah. Eleven,” I say, rubbing the sleepies from my eyes and squinting at the ceiling.

“Oh, okay. Derrick’s throwing a party tonight, and I was gonna see if you wanted to go shopping for something new and totally rad.” The snap of her gum comes through loud and clear.

I sigh. “I would, but I’ve got work. Greg won’t let me call in either. I hope he’s not there today.” I roll over in bed, twisting the phone cord around my finger as I stare at the bright pattern on my comforter .

“Ugh, Greg,” Jade groans like she bit into something sour. I can picture her wrinkling her nose. “Catch you later. Peace out!” The line clicks dead.

I drag myself out of bed and head straight to the shower. The hot water helps, a little. Once I get out, I wrap one towel around me and another on my head. I need caffeine if I’m going to survive another Saturday at Electric Avenue.

In the kitchen, I yank open the fridge, grab a can of Coke and pop it open.

Madonna blasts from the boombox on my dresser.

Energy creeps back in. I blow-dry my hair until it’s huge, then hit it with the crimper until it’s practically a life of its own.

Neon yellow shirt, acid-washed jeans, my favorite jean jacket covered in pins and patches—I’m ready.

Maybe not for life, but definitely for a mall crowd.

I make my way to the front door, unlocking the knob and deadbolt. When I reach for the chain, my hand becomes numb.

It’s unlatched .

I know I locked it last night. I always do. A chill crawls down my spine. Maybe I was just too tired. Maybe I forgot. I shrug it off and open the door. As I step outside and go to lock up behind me, a voice cuts through the morning air.

“Morning.”

I almost jump out of my body.

“Good morning,” I say, trying not to sound rattled. I turn, but all I see is a man walking away, his back is to me. There’s something familiar about the way he moves, the shape of his shoulders. I stare, trying to place him, but nothing comes to me. I ignore it and head for my car.

When I pull into the mall lot, a familiar buzz kicks in. I park and make my way toward Electric Avenue, our shrine to neon and cassette tapes and high-voltage fashion.

Mary’s already there. “Hey!” she says.

“Please tell me Greg’s not working today,” I say, fingers crossed behind my back like a kid at confession.

“Nope,” she says. “He’s out with family or something. ”

“Radical,” I breathe. No Greg means no lectures, no hovering, no weird power-tripping. Just music, folding shirts, and maybe sneaking off to try on something new when it slows down.

I’m sorting the latest batch of jean jackets, the denim rough against my fingers in a way that feels almost soothing after the chaos of the lunch crowd. The soft beat of pop plays overhead, just loud enough to fill the silence without overwhelming it.

“Ma’am, can you help me?”

The voice is young, a little unsure, but cuts clean through the music.

I turn to see a girl—petite, wide-eyed, her auburn hair tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders.

“Of course,” I say. “What do you need?”

“I suck at picking out clothes. But I saw what you’re wearing, and it’s, like, really rad… so I thought maybe you could help me put something together?”

“Totally.”

“I’m Janice, by the way. ”

“Blaiz,” I say, reaching out and shaking her hand.

“I have a date tonight. With a new guy. And I want to look totally bitchin’.”

That makes me laugh. “Let’s get you set up, then.”

We head over to the rack of high-waisted jeans—can’t go wrong with those. I pull out a dark wash pair with strong seams and a solid structure. “What about these?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes! I love those.” She snatches them from my hands like they might vanish.

Next stop: blouses. The rack is a riot of shoulder pads, sequins, and bold colors. I hold up a bright red one, the pads giving it that sharp, confident edge. “This one?”

“Ooooh, yes. That’s the one.”

She clutches the outfit and glances around. “Where are the dressing rooms?”

I point her to the back, already spinning through accessories in my mind. Maybe a chunky gold necklace, some plastic bracelets, something loud enough to match her vibe .

I’m reaching for a scarf when I feel it—that unmistakable sensation of being watched. I look up, and there he is.

The guy from yesterday.

He walks through the entrance like he owns the air in the place, his eyes scanning everything around him.

“Welcome to Electric Avenue,” Mary chirps, cheerful as always, from behind the counter.

He says nothing. Doesn’t even look at her. Just stands there, breathing slow.

I make a beeline for Mary, gripping her arm. “That’s him. The guy I told you about yesterday, when you were at lunch.”

Her face shifts fast, like a record scratch. “Oh… the creepy one?”

Before I can say more, Janice calls out from the back. “Blaiz? Can you help me for a sec?”

I leave Mary and walk back to the dressing rooms. “What’s up?”

She pokes her head out. “It just doesn’t look right on me. I feel weird.”

“You’ve gotta tuck the blouse into the jeans. Trust me. Let me grab you a belt. Also, here are some accessories.” I hand her a few thick bracelets and a loud scarf.

When I turn to get the belt, he’s there. Standing way too close to the display, close enough I can smell him—something stale, unwashed, like damp clothes forgotten in a gym bag.

“Can I help you?” I ask, keeping my voice even though every nerve in my body tells me to take a step back.

He just stares at me. He doesn’t blink, no nod, no human response at all. His eyes bore into me like he’s trying to memorize every line of my face.

Then, without a word, he turns and slips away into the racks, disappearing as quickly as he appeared.

I grab a belt from the display and make my way to the dressing rooms, my fingers curled tight around the leather strap like it’s the final puzzle piece.

“This is what you need to pull it all together,” I say, handing it over to Janice.

She disappears behind the curtain, which swishes closed, and a moment later, she struts out and settles herself in front of the full-length mirror, one hand on her hip, and her chin tilted up.

“I totally look bitchin’,” she says. And honestly, she’s right. The outfit looks playful, a little rebellious, and impossible to forget.

“You really do,” I say, watching how her posture shifts now that she believes it. Janice has that nervous energy, but in this moment, she seems relieved and stronger somehow.

“Thank you so much for helping me,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that makes me pause. It’s not just appreciation—it’s that fragile, wide-eyed hope that the right outfit might make a person feel deserving of love. Or at least, ready for it.

I leave her at the mirror and head to the register, my heels clicking against the polished tile in a sound that usually calms me, but today it feels loud and too exposed. I glance out into the mall, just to ground myself, and that’s when I see him again.

Leaning against a pillar by the food court, arms crossed, his eyes locked straight on me. He doesn’t flinch when I catch him looking. He doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not staring at me.

“Mary,” I mutter without turning my head, “he’s out there again. Just watching.”

Mary’s rearranging a pile of graphic tees, completely unfazed. “Maybe he thinks you’re hot,” she says, flashing me a smirk before turning back to her rack.

“Yeah, or maybe he’s a fucking creep.”

Janice snaps me back to reality, her arms full of clothes, a smile drawn across her face. “Ring me up, please! I’m so excited!”

I start scanning her items, the familiar beep of the register feeling oddly distant. My brain’s still out in the mall, circling that man like a hawk. Janice is talking—I know she is—but I’m not registering a single word of it.

“Blaiz, did you hear what I said?”

“Sorry, got distracted,” I say, lying through my teeth. I’m not about to tell her I’ve got some random guy watching me, like I’m part of his afternoon entertainment or something .

“I asked what kind of shoes you think would go best with this outfit,” she says, tapping her foot and raising an eyebrow.

I step out from behind the counter and gesture toward the shoe display. “What size are you?”

“Seven,” she answers.

I hold up a pair of cherry-red ballet flats in one hand and a chunky heel in the other. “These red flats would look killer with that outfit. Unless you’re feeling brave enough for a heel?”

“Oh no, I’d probably fall on my ass before the end of the night,” she laughs, her eyes sparkling as she points at the flats. “Definitely those.”

We head back to the register, her arms swinging slightly with excitement, and I sneak another look outside. He’s gone. Relief washes over me, but it’s mingled with something darker, something I can’t name. Did he leave? Or is he just somewhere else now, watching from a new angle ?

I finish ringing her up, folding each piece carefully into the bag like it might shield her from whatever weird energy is lingering around today. She gives me her card, the printer prints her receipt, and then she signs it.

“Good luck tonight. You better come in tomorrow and give me the full recap,” I say, pushing the bag toward her. I don’t know this girl well, but right now, pretending to care feels like the most human thing I can do.

“Oh, I will,” she promises, already walking toward the door. “And thank you for this totally rad outfit!”

I watch her disappear into the flow of the mall crowd, and I can’t help but wonder if she’ll be okay. If any of us really are. What do we ever really know about the people we walk past?

“I’m taking my break,” I say.

“Take your time,” Mary says, barely glancing up from her magazine.

I grab my purse and step out into the mall.

The crowd pulses and shifts, but I don’t see him anywhere.

Still, that creeping sensation clings to me.

My feet move faster, instincts pulling me toward the back hallway, past the food court, toward the break room.

And even though I’m alone now, my skin still tingles with the sense that eyes are on me.