CAUGHT

Charlotte Cane

▀▄▀▄▀▄🄲🄷🄰🅁🄻🄾🅃🅃🄴 🄲🄰🄽🄴▀▄▀▄▀▄

“ɪ’ᴍ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀ. ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ꜱʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴀʀ ᴀᴡᴀʏ. ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ’ꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴀ ꜱᴜɴʟɪᴛ Qᴜɪᴄᴋ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʀᴜɴꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴅʀʏ ꜱᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀɴ ʜᴏᴜʀɢʟᴀꜱꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴀᴍ, ᴀɪʀ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜɪᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇɴꜱᴇ.”― ᴀᴜᴅʀᴇʏ ɴɪꜰꜰᴇɴᴇɢɢᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟᴇʀ’ꜱ ᴡɪꜰᴇ

I shouldn’t be doing this.

One foot in and I already want to turn around, but a loud noise startles me.

‘Bing!’

The gas station doorbell rings as I enter.

Normally I don’t jitter when that happens. But, considering I have in my possession an illegal item, I’m bound to have ansty antsy feet.

“Welcome.” The clerk sat behind the cash register, swapping through a magazine. The magazine was full of pictures of super models wearing skimpy swimsuits. He greeted me without picking up his head.

Would it be suspicious if I didn’t say hello back? Or would it be suspicious if I did?

Panic burned in my chest as my heart started to hammer.

Do I say hello?

Or do I just say nothing?

Or is it strange if I just ignore him after he took the time to speak to me. I don’t always get greeted when I enter a store. I shouldn’t discourage him from having good people skills. So I should say hello.

I part my lips, but the words don’t come.

Or maybe I shouldn’t speak.

What if my voice comes out as suspicious? What if he knows that I’m panicking? What if I say something stupid? What if—it feels like eternity as my head bounces between options and without realizing it, I suddenly burst out words. “Y-yes! Welcome you too!”

Idiot.

Stupid.

Useless idiot.

I fiddle with my sweaty hands as the clerk slowly looks up from his magazine. He doesn’t say anything to me. He just looks at me once and looks back down his magazine.

I wince, shaking my head at myself.

I shouldn’t be doing this. I really, really, really shouldn’t

But Megan asked me…and I don’t want to disappoint her. I really do owe her so much, and she’s not even asking me for a lot. After all, I’m just buying a drink. That’s all.

I grip my fists, feeling the fear tingle my skin.
I can do this.

I eyed through all the aisles of chips, candies, and instant foods and made my way around the store.

If I just hurry up and do it like Megan said. I’ll be fine.

Swallowing a boulder, I quickly moved between isles searching desperately. “Hmm…where is it?” I said, moving my eyes fast along the rainbow of products. There were so many drinks to choose from: Coca-Cola, Sprite, Kool-Aid, Gatorade, Powerade, and even milk. I sighed and scratched my head.

So many drinks, but where were the beers?

I quickened my pace as I strolled from aisle to aisle.

I had never gone looking for something like an alcoholic beverage. Mother said drinking was a sin. I know if she saw me right now, she’d—-.

Bang!

I crashed face first into something inexplicably iron hard. It was so sudden and quickly I could barely register the impact and pulsating pain that flooded my face.

“Ouch.” I winced, wobbling a few steps back from the object. Rubbing my eyes, I tried to gain balance. “What was that—.” My tongue got caught in my mouth as I finally registered what stone wall I hit; it wasn’t an object, it was a man. A man’s back to be specific.

He turned around slowly to face me. The moment he did, my eyes widened. Shock took a constrictive hold on me as I looked at him. He was breathtaking…mind numbingly so. His chiseled face was cut sharp and angled like some Greciean statue. His eyes were dark and deep, and his smooth skin complexion was like that of melted caramel. His hair was ruffled and curly yet appeared neatly maintained and groomed. He was dressed in a crisp clean black business suit that complimented his robust lanky figure. In fact, he was so tall that if the small gas station ceiling had been a few more feet shorter, it would’ve touched the top of his head.

I blinked, feeling my face heat the longer I took him in.

Sure, the boys at my school were good looking. But him? He was like some model you’d see on the cover of some famous magazine. He definitely did not belong in our little small town in the middle of nowhere.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his voice stoic and cold.

His voice was deep, yet soft, and throaty yet strong. I didn’t understand why, but I liked it. I liked the timber and undertone. It made my ears tickle and my sweaty palms grow even more of a mess.

I swallowed, hard. I felt like my face was in an oven.

I had to pry my eyes away. “Y-yes–I mean—no–uh,” I was fighting to find words amidst my anxious sputtering.

He looked once at me before directing his eyes away. “Just watch where you’re going next time,” he said, walking past me, back to browsing the store.

The moment he passed, I let out a sigh of relief.

What was up with me there?

Shaking my head out whatever spell I was under, I hurried up looking through the aisles and finally, as if it was the moment I was waiting for. I found it.

There it was. A whole 12 pack of beer.

All I have to do is just take this and buy it.

My hands trembled as I reached for the pack.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I know I shouldn’t. But Megan asked me to. I don’t want to disappoint her. She’s my friend.

I lifted the pack and weighed heavy against my chest.

For some reason, as I felt the 12-pack weigh in my grip, a deep wave of sadness overcame my anxiety.

Megan’s my friend.

I turn on my heels, slowly walking to the cash register as if my legs had chains.

Megan is my friend.

I confirm in my head, trying to ignore the doubts kicking me with every step I draw close to the register.

Megan is my friend. She wouldn’t make me do this so I can get in trouble. I trust Megan just like how she trusts me. I have to do that.

Don’t I?

My knees slightly tremble as I lock my bones and stand in line. My wavering gaze falls to the woman in front of me.

“Is that all?” The clerk asked the woman, as he ringed her items.

“Yes,” she said, reaching for her purse.

My eyes travel to the doors.

“That’s going to be $9.58.” I could hear the clerk say, distinteredly to her.

I have time to leave. I have time to stop this. I know I shouldn’t be doing this. Mother said it was sinful to drink. Aren’t I sinning if I bring this to my friends? Am I that awful that I’m going to help them ‘sin’?

“Sure.” I could hear the woman shuffling in her bag, but my eyes remained on the doors and my mind trapped in my thoughts.

I don’t know what I should I do. I never know what I should do. Mother always said I was weak willed.

“Your change is 42 cents.” The sound of coin clatter signaled it was almost time.

I had to choose. I could stay, or I could run.

“Thanks,” the woman replied.

Leave. I wanted to leave. But as I peered to the gas station doors, in the clear window I could see Megan looking in through the glass in the distance.

I’m almost certain she was looking for or at me.

I couldn’t move.

“Come again,” he said as the woman walked past me and exited through the doors.

And like that, my chance was gone.

“Hey.” The clerk, a freckled ginger man, waited patiently for me to put my things up.
I swallowed. My tongue felt so dry I may have as well rubbed sandpaper against it. “R-right.” My eyes fluttered as I weakly sat the 12 pack onto the counter.

I couldn’t even look at the clerk as he took the pack and ringed it.

Everything is fine. I just have to get over this. That’s all I have to do. Stay calm.

“ID?” he asked, sounding as if he were a mixture of bord and tired.

My heart was pumping so hard it was ramming against my ribs. “Y-yeah.” My voice is meek as I dig into my pocket pulling out the card Megan gave me.

I kept my eyes to the floor as I handed it with shaky hands to the clerk.

It’s alright. I reassure myself. Stay calm, I repeat the words like a mantra in my head.

“Hm.” I could feel his eyes even as I kept mine down. “This is you…Gina Gate?”

I peaked up as he read the ID’s name with a disbelieving stare.

“Y-yes.” I gripped my hands. Remember, Charlotte, stay calm. Everything is okay.

“You sure?” He furrowed his brows, puzzled. “You look kinda young.”

“Y-yes.” My eyelids flutter rapidly. I hate lying. Mother told me to never lie.

“Can you confirm your date of birth?”

My heart skips a beat, but I will myself not let my knees give out.

In worried cycles, I peek at him, the floors, and the door. “U-uh.” I swallow again, glancing at the doors. “…02…08…95?”

Please let my memory serve me. Please.

“You sure?” He presses his lips together, asking in a higher pitched voice.

I don’t know what else to say except bite my lip and quietly nod.

“Well it says here that your DOB is 02/08/94,” he says, emphasizing the ‘94’.

My heart stops. I feel my stomach churning and twisting. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs were shutting down as the air felt like glass down my throat. I couldn’t feel my hands. I could barely feel my face.