Jessica glanced over towards the store entrance, where, Rachel saw, a girl had entered with boyfriend in tow. “Push jeans.”

“I know. 15% off.” She forced a smile, and Jessica forced one back, an expression that said make this sale so I don’t have to be unpleasant with you.

“Hi, can I help you find anything?” She studied them with (what was unfortunately becoming) an experienced eye. The girl couldn’t be older than 18, but her clothes were pricey – too pricey for her to find much at the Gap, which was bad.

“No thanks,” she answered with a smile that said I’m embarrassed for both of us so why don’t you leave me alone. It was a variation on I’m embarrassed for both of us, but I understand that you must be even moreso that she really didn’t like.

“Ok. Jeans are on-sale if you want to…”

“Just looking around.” And she was off. Rachel understood the phrase ‘cold shoulder’ much better after a few months here; it was when somebody actually presented their shoulder so that you couldn’t look into their eyes and make them feel compelled to talk to you, and it did make you feel cold, right in the solar plexus. She went to a rack of denim jackets and began browsing idly; Rachel was left exchanging awkward smiles with the boyfriend.

He was cute. Maybe not quite her age, but definitely older than his companion. He looked nice, clean, a little preppy, but not hyper-label expensive like the girl did. He was clean-shaven, but his dark brown hair was, not long, certainly, but perhaps the slightest bit shaggy. It worked perfectly in balance with his otherwise neat appearance. On the whole, it was a good look, and Rachel found herself wishing she didn’t feel so foolish in front of this boy. “Can I help you find anything?” she asked, just to break the silence, feeling her face burning a little as she continued to smile the retail smile at him.

“I’m fine, thanks.” His smile was sympathetic, not impatient. “I’m just, you know, along for the ride.” He indicated the girl with a nod of his head and laughed a polite little laugh.

“Happens all the time.”

“I bet.” He grinned, shrugged, and turned to examine some shirts without any enthusiasm. Rachel stood there watching him for a moment, trying to think of something funny to say, or intelligent, or maybe cute. Nothing came, and her face burned again, even though he wasn’t looking.

“So, what’s it like working here?” He asked, without looking back.

She jumped on the opening gratefully. “I guess it’s ok. I don’t really like just pushing stuff on people all day, you know?” He shot her a surprised look. “I… shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.” She glued her eyes down on the floor.

“No, it’s cool. I mean, I like that you’re upfront about it.”

She looked up, and he was smiling. It was a nice smile, very genuine and open, and she felt herself warming to him even more. “I’m not, actually. I think you just caught me on a bad day.”

“Well, I like that you’re not bottling it up until you go on a rampage, then. That would totally suck.”

“It would probably screw up the T.” He laughed, and she did too. It was a coquettish little giggle, which was alright with her just at the moment.

“Listen, Rachel…”

She had that little moment of shock she always did when customers used her name, before she remembered it was pinned to her chest. It was actually a pleasant feeling; it made her feel a little more like a human being. “Yeah?” she said, tilting her head and looking up at him slyly. He’d walked in with the rich girl, but she judged that there was something sly about his smile back. She took a half-step towards him.

She never got to listen to whatever it was. The girl returned. “Come on, baby. They don’t have anything I want,” she said, grabbing his arm and leading him forcefully to the door. He rolled his eyes back at Rachel and shrugged, but he didn’t stop smiling. By the time they reached the door, he was saying something to his girlfriend and looking out onto the street. He missed his girlfriend peering over her shoulder and leaving Rachel with a nasty look for her troubles. She had sensed trouble. Rachel went to the front of the store and pretended to fiddle with a rack of tops by the window, and watched them as they walked down Newbury Street towards Boston Garden. Watched him, to be specific.

One more thing she wanted that she couldn’t have.

***

Rachel’s headache grew worse as she got closer and closer to Alex’s. Looking back on it later, she decided that was the first herald of things to come. At first it was just a sensation in her skull, not so much a pain as an awareness of her head that she wasn’t used to. She crossed Mass Ave and started up Prospect. She’d walked the route before, and it was a good neighborhood, so she wasn’t focusing on the walk, but on her head. The ache grew and slowly spread as she walked, till her temples throbbed, and the bounce of each step felt like it sent her brain sloshing through some syrupy liquid in her head. She looked down at her feet as she walked, trying to hold her head as still as possible. It helped, but only for a little while.

She crossed Broadway, which meant it wasn’t far, just a few more buildings, actually, but even so she paused at the gas station on the corner and thought about going in and asking for a glass of water, but that seemed ridiculous when she was so close to Alex’s. She continued, rifling through her purse for any sort of pain med, but she’d left her bottle of Excedrin in her courier bag at home and finally gave up. She could see Alex’s building now, but her vision was suddenly filled with bright spots. The pain had spread from her temples, and it wasn’t a throb anymore, no more up and down. The amp was turned to 11. The pain was vast and pure, like the lingering peal of a bell. In fact, she heard ringing in her ears. No, not ringing. It was more of a buzz, and those weren’t spots in her vision, they were flies, flies crawling on her eyes or even on the image itself, touching their garbage-soaked feet to her optic nerve.

She screamed, but she didn’t know it. She didn’t see the man approaching either, the street derelict wrapped in layers of deeply soiled denim and flannel, so she didn’t see where he came from. She just smelled the stench, booze, but also feces and rotten meat and stomach acid and mold. He shoved her hard against the brick wall of the building across the street from Alex’s – she could see his window behind the man’s hairy, grimy ears – and stuck his face right in hers. The flies were crawling on his unshaven face, up his nose, and they poured out of his mouth when he spoke, spilling through the wide gaps between his few teeth. She heard him, now, in booming tones audible even over the din of sensation in her skull. “Ya smell like trash an’ roses. Ya smell like shit an’ perfume. Where is ‘e? Ya smell like ‘im, only rotten. Yer disgusting. I don’t want you. Where is ‘e?”