Only my uncle would send me to the gas station two miles from home to get him cigarettes.  Not to mention it's cold and my hoodie isn't enough to keep warm.   Fucking climate change.

The walk there is treacherous alone.  My legs are stiff when I arrive and I feel like an icicle upon entering the store.  My teeth are still chattering from the hypothermia.   It took me 30 minutes to get here.  I would've arrived much earlier if I had a heavier, warmer coat instead of a slightly heavy jacket, and didn't keep stopping to look back every 5 minutes because I thought someone was following me.  I'm also barely running on any food.

I don't mind that there's a medium line at the register because the longer this takes, the longer I can be warm before having to face the freezing weather for the second time.   No one's behind me to see me shaking like I'm on drugs.

20 minutes pass by the time I get to the front and I have control of my motor skills again.  "Um, Newport with methane," I say and point behind the man.  Without words, he gets a box for me and I pull out my $10.  "As much as this will buy me please."  He goes back and collects two more boxes.   While he's doing that, the notion comes back -- like someone's following me.  I look behind me and don't see anybody else in the store.

"Anything else?" The clerk asks me, handing me 50 cents of change.

"Um, what will 50 cents get me?"   I turn back and take the boxes, putting them in my pocket.

"A small Butterfinger."   He reaches below the counter and comes back up with one.

"Thanks."   I take it and pay, leaving.

There's a forest in this area I can use as a shortcut home.  I didn't take it on the way because it's isolated, especially in this weather.  But now, it's getting dark fairly quickly.

I step along the trail that should reduce 5 minutes from my trip.  I'm pretty deep in it when I hear an extra set of footsteps. I stop and turn -- nothing.  "Hello?"  No response. I keep going, taking out the Butterfinger and eating it to give me some energy.  It's not long before I hear them again.

I halt and look behind me, swallowing.  "I know someone's there!"  I say when I don't see anything.  "I know human footsteps when I hear them!"  Still nothing.  "Stop following me, you're freaking me out."

Not really, but it might scare them off.

"I'm just trying to make sure you get home safely."  Someone says.

I know that voice.  "Brendon?"

He emerges from behind a tree and approaches me until we're inches apart.  His hands are in his pockets but I can see his black gloves from his wrist.   He's smiling small.

I crease my brows.

"What?"   he asks.

"Nothing, I... thought you were a pervert or something."

"Good thing I'm not, right?"   He laughs.

". . . how long were you following me?"

"Uh - you know, I -"

He's not gonna lie.

"Saw you as I was coming home.  It's freezing and I didn't want you to pass out or something.   I didn't know you smoke."

"They're for my uncle."

"Oh, good."  He exhales a sigh of relief.  "You know, cigarettes are bad for you."

Aaaand, why does he care?

"Yeah, I'd rather not get my brain hooked on nicotine."   I take my hands out of my pockets and rub them together.  "God, it's brick."  I cup and blow on them too.

"Oh, here."  Brendon takes my arms and puts my hands on his waist inside of his long, black coat.

I'm confused by this 'kindness' if you can call it that.  "What are you doing?"  I ask.

"Just warming your hands up."

"You could've given me your gloves."

"This is better."   He defends.  "We both win."

He's still holding my arms.   "Aren't my hands cold?"

Brendon shrugs.   "I kinda like it."

I don't know how to respond but my silence must've been an answer to a question I never asked, because the next thing I know, Brendon kisses me.  On the mouth.  It's not brief, but long enough to surprise me and my bewilderment to turn into complete shock.

"Umm. . ." I lick my lips, knowing he's waiting for me to say something.

"I love you, Callie."

I stare at him.  "Brendon, you're married."

"Just because you're married doesn't mean you're in love."

"But. . . you can't love me."

"Why not?"

Uhhh, there are a million reasons why not.

"We know each other, we've had sex -"

"We don't," I cut him off.  "Know each other. You've told me a lot about you and I . . . I'm just a soundboard that you fuck."

"No, you're so much more than that, Callie."

"You can't figure that out in two weeks."

"But I know."

Oh my god.  I did this, didn't I?  I ruined his life.

"If you don't think I know... that's okay too."  He sounds saddened.

Holy shit, this is it.  The perfect opportunity to walk away and be done with this whole damn thing.  "Wanna head back to your place?"  You've gotta be shitting me.

He nods.  "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

I lock a gaze with him for a second as he loosens my wrists.  I nod, putting my hands in my pockets.  "Come on."

We walk together in silence and halfway there, Brendon hands me $15.  I put it in my pocket, and the next thing I know, he's holding my hand.

I decide not to fight it since he already paid for the time we're gonna spend together, but what I said previously still stands: He can't love me.