Carl walked with his hands in his pockets, head low, sneakers scraping against the sidewalk like they didn't want to be here either. The town wasn't big—just a few blocks, a few rusted signs, and a gas station that still played old pop songs from broken speakers.
The corner store stood ahead like it always did. Faded red paint, half the letters on the sign missing. The bell above the door had a lazy jingle to it, like it only rang out of habit.
He pushed the door open, expecting the usual: the smell of cheap coffee, dusty shelves, and Manny behind the counter, chewing a toothpick and pretending to hate the world.
But Manny wasn't there.
Instead, someone else stood behind the counter—back turned, unpacking a new box of cigarettes.
Carl froze.
She turned slowly, her ponytail swinging behind her like it had its own rhythm. A soft hum left her lips as she pulled a pack of gum from the box and tossed it into the nearby rack.
Carl felt his throat go dry.
It was Naomi.
Manny's daughter.
She wasn't supposed to be here. Not today.
Not when he looked like this—sweaty, frustrated, face still a little flushed from getting barked at back home.
"Oh," she said, surprised but smiling. "Hey, Carl."
He blinked. "Uh. Hey."
She leaned on the counter casually, resting her chin on her hand.
"Didn't think I'd see you today. My dad stepped out. Said he'd be back in twenty."
Carl nodded like that was important information. "Right. Yeah. I just came to, uh…"
He stopped.
Naomi tilted her head, curious. "To what?"
He pulled the money from his pocket like it burned.
"…buy something."
"Okay," she grinned. "What are you looking for?"
Carl didn't answer right away. His eyes darted toward the floor, then the dusty magazine rack, then the shelf of canned beans behind her like they'd somehow save him.
Naomi stood upright, stretching slightly. Her hoodie rode up just a bit, exposing a soft line of skin before falling back into place.
His chest tightened.
Say it, he told himself. Just say it. You've come in here for months. She's always nice. Just ask for the cigarettes and the rest like it's no big deal.
But it was a big deal. Not because of what he had to buy—but because it was her on the other side of the counter.
He glanced up. She was still watching him, lips curled slightly like she was holding back a laugh.
"You good?" she asked, playful. "You look like you're about to confess a crime."
Carl cleared his throat.
"I need… a pack of Benson Lights. Uh, the soft ones. And—"
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the gum display now.
"A bottle of cognac. Just the small one."
Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Fancy."
"Not for me."
"Didn't think so."
She turned and grabbed the bottle from the shelf behind her, then the cigarettes. Carl noticed how smooth she moved—how at home she was behind the counter. Like this place was hers. Like she belonged anywhere.
Unlike him.
She set the items down gently. "Anything else?"
Carl hesitated. His hand tightened around the bills.
"…Condoms," he said, barely above a whisper.
Naomi blinked.
"Sorry?"
He swallowed.
"A box of condoms. Standard size."
There was a second of silence.
Not awkward. Just quiet.
Then she smiled.
"Right," she said, like it was nothing. Like it didn't matter. "Got it."
She turned and reached into the cabinet under the counter, grabbed a black box, and set it next to the others without a word.
Carl stared at it like it was radioactive.
Naomi rang everything up. The register beeped, a low lazy chime. She didn't say anything else until she handed him the bag.
"Here you go."
Carl took it carefully, still not meeting her eyes.
She tilted her head again.
"Hey."
He finally looked up.
"You okay?" she asked, voice softer now. "You seem kinda… off today."
He hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Yeah. Just tired."
She studied his face for a second. Like she wanted to ask more. Like she knew there was more.
But she didn't push.
Instead, she smiled.
"Well, if you ever wanna not be tired…" she said, tapping her fingers on the counter, "…you can come by when I'm here. I play music when Dad's out. Makes this place a little less depressing."
Carl blinked. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
A beat passed between them.
"I'll… keep that in mind."
She smiled again, then leaned her chin back onto her hand.
"See you around, Carl."
He nodded, turned, and stepped out into the heat again.
The door jingled behind him.
He stood outside for a moment, staring at the cracked pavement, bag in hand, heart still pounding.
Naomi.
She didn't laugh. Didn't judge. Didn't look at him like he was some servant running errands for mean women.
She just… smiled.
For a second, just a second, the world didn't feel so cruel.
Carl walked down the sidewalk with the plastic bag swinging from one hand, a small, stupid grin tugging at his lips.
He actually did it.
He asked for condoms in front of Naomi.
And she didn't laugh.
She didn't even flinch.
Instead, she smiled. Talked to him like he was… normal. Like he mattered. Like he wasn't just a boy carrying booze and cigarettes for his wicked aunt.
He laughed under his breath, kicking a rock as he went.
He jumped once, not high, just a small hop. Then did it again, letting out a quiet, "Ha!"
He felt light.
For once in months—maybe years—it felt like he was walking with something under him instead of dragging something heavy behind.
He bounced again, this time spinning the bag in one hand like a game.
The street ahead shimmered under the sun. The world looked a little warmer, a little softer. Like maybe something had cracked open inside him.
That's when he saw her.
Across the street, just near the bookstore that rarely opened.
A woman.
Not just any woman.
She looked like someone pulled out of a dream. Or maybe a fantasy book cover. Long black hair flowing down her back, hugging a silk dress the color of dusk. Her skin was pale, glowing slightly in the light. Legs long, heels sharp, movement slow like a scene in slow motion.
Carl blinked. Actually blinked hard, just to make sure she was real.
She was.
She turned slightly, her lips painted a quiet red, and her eyes—golden? Hazel? Something deep—landed on him.
He froze mid-step.
His foot hovered in the air. The bag stopped swinging.
She looked at him.
Not past him.
At him.
Right into his eyes.
Carl's heart skipped. Then stuttered. Then tried to leap out of his chest.
His face flushed. His thoughts scattered.
And all the wild things he never spoke of—his hidden drawings, those secret comics, the dreams he buried when Claudia's rules came down like steel—all of them rushed back in that one second.
The woman tilted her head, just slightly.
Carl's lips parted. A sound tried to come out, but never made it.
And that's why he didn't see it.
The truck.
He never heard the horn. Never noticed the engine. Didn't feel the ground shake under it.
Only the sound of tires locking and someone yelling far too late.
Carl turned his head—just barely.
Enough to see a blur of metal, the panic in the driver's face, and the bag in his hand flying up like it wanted to run before he could.
Then—
Black.