"That's a nice rack."
I heard several irrevocable fuckboy snickers coming from behind me. The one who had spoken was dragging his thumb across the rack that contained spices, but his eyes were lingering on a different kind of rack, one I hoped to keep to myself.
Not in the mood to engage them in an argument I knew I wouldn't be able to win, I forced myself to stare at the little shakers of paprika I was instructed to bring home. Just this, and a few more things, and I'll be done, just a few more minutes…
"Can I help you grab anything? Maybe a drink later?" A different one inquired, slightly agitated at my willpower of steel not to run away or burst into tears. Anything anyone with such crippling social anxiety would've done in my situation.
I was so upset I had to stop my hand from shaking. Why wouldn't they just take a hint and go away. It was plain and clear I wasn't interested, all I wanted was some ingredients for the lasagna, why my mother couldn't have done it herself when she knows how much I hate social situations continues to baffle me, but I have to press on, I have to, I have to-
"You got some nice legs there, what's your name?" The first one to have spoken asked.
My name lingered at the edge of my tongue, but I couldn't push it out. That was how it always was, no matter how badly I wanted to speak, to scream, to cry, I always just froze up, like a deer in headlights. Why couldn't I have been born with my mother's god-like charisma? Or for god's sake – even my dad's barely audible sports lingo would've been better than this!
"You hear us ok? What's your name?" One of them annunciated clearly, like they thought I couldn't speak English.
I hurriedly glanced at the ground, searching my muddled brain for some sort of solution to my problem. Unfortunately, my frontal lobe was as good as slush in these kinds of situation. Everything went blank and the only thing my mind could register was pure, unadulterated fear.
I might actually throw up. I felt so sick in that moment, my eyes almost started to water.
I grabbed a box of something, I didn't know what it was, I just grabbed it because I needed something to distract myself.
"Hey, come on, we're not asking that much." One of them pressed, and I felt his hand touch my shoulder. I wanted to rip it off, I wanted to straight-up kung-fu him over my shoulder and smack him down onto his back. Then his friends would go away, run away probably, and I'd never have to speak to them ever again.
Instead, I made an uncomfortable squeaking sound and dropped my pepper.
The guy whose hand was on my shoulder leant down and picked it up, managing to maintain contact with my shirt sleeve the entire time.
"You dropped this," he commented raspily, narrating like I hadn't noticed what had just happened.
"Ah-h." I nodded awkwardly and took it from him. He and his friends laughed at me and I felt an embarrassed blush rise to my cheeks.
I wanted to run so badly. Just kick out my ankles and run, forget about the stupid ingredients. I'd tell my mom I got robbed by teens, or something.
"C'mon sweetheart," the guy with a steel-like grip on my shoulder whispered, far too close to even be in a league of comfort. "Why don't you come with us?"
Just when I felt the all-too-familiar bite of tears behind my closed eyes, I heard a deafening crash and my shoulder was released.
"-the fuck was that for?"
"Jesus Christ!"
"Dude what the fuck is wrong with you?"
I cracked an eye open, blinking away the thin veil of tears like they weren't even there in the first place.
A shopping cart was strewn across the aisle carelessly that wasn't there before. A man stood with his arms out, almost in mid-thrust, with an apologetic goofy smile on his face.
"-did I just hit someone? I am so sorry." He apologized, one hand ducking over his pitch-black sunglasses. He was tall, much taller than me, and even loomed an inch or two over the guys who were harassing me. He had dark onyx hair, and a stocky build – he was intimidating enough to be a mobster, but he still had a dorky, wry smile knitted upon his lips.
The last thing I noticed was the fact that he was leaning on a thin, white cane.
No way.
"You see, my eyes and I don't really get along too well," he explained, still enduring a light-hearted teasing tone to the way he talked. He waved a hand in front of his sunglasses, a jab at himself for his lack of sight. He was strange, that was for sure. I couldn't recall someone ever speaking like that – so comfortable, so easy…
"You literally just shoved a shopping cart at us – how blind can you be?" One of the guys asked angrily, only realizing his trip up moments after speaking.
"Hm…one-hundred percent blind, I'm pretty sure that's the cap." He said jokingly, tapping his chin in mock thought. It was almost a performance for him, I was in complete awe of this man who had absolutely no idea who he was dealing with, yet he still charged forward like he were facing up against a two year old instead of five youth-induced young teens.
He was beyond brave – I had never seen anything like it.
"Look, just take your cart and leave," one of the boys said rudely, and I realized shortly after that he was the one who had his hand perched on my shoulder.
"Well," the man mused, standing confidently and comfortably – everything I couldn't do. "I know my eyesight isn't exactly reliable, but I do believe I heard a lady over here."
I held my breath nervously. He had heard me? How embarrassing, I had done practically nothing to defend myself.
"It may be rude of me to ask," he began again, his face turning to me, and for a second, it felt like he was staring straight at me even though I knew that couldn't be possible. "But…may I hear your voice?"
And in that moment, I felt so much energy coursing through my veins – I was finally able to do something that I had never done before.
"Yes," I choked out, hopefully not sounding as strangled as I felt. "I'm here."
He smiled, so blindingly kind that I felt my heart skip a beat.
"Well that's good, it would've been fairly embarrassing if I had imagined it all," he joked. "and it makes it all the more easy for me to do this."
In a flash of a second, his hands darted forward, caught the disheveled shopping cart, and shot it forward at them like they were a set of bowling pins.
A few of them yelped, one of them was actually hit. I'd never seen anyone run so fastin my entire life.
A few seconds after the event transpired, the man clapped his hands together, interrupting ot interlude of silence.
"I'm really very sorry that they were bothering you," he said.
"I-it's fine! Thank you! I mean." I stumbled, trying to assemble my words into the correct order. My mind was still frazzled from the group of boys and I felt my knees shake a little bit, and I was thankful that he couldn't see me, surely it'd be a mortifying sight.
"Quite alright," he said politely, tapping his cane against the floor softly. "What say I walk you to the check-out counter?"
I let out a tiny sigh of relief. It was weird – it was almost like he could sense my emotions. All I had been feeling was fear and uncertainty, and he wiped it all away just by offering me his arm.
"Th-thank you…" I shook, taking his arm eagerly and letting my body, for the first time since I had been forced to enter the store, completely relax.
brilliant another au just what i needed hm
