"Ow, ow, ow," I hissed. My hand was twisted towards my back with ointment on the fingertips, and it hurt. Back muscles pulled at weird angles with my arm towards my back. Arm muscles were on the brink of cramping. There was no right answer to this.
I hadn't noticed when we'd been returning home (too much scares, too many things to take care of), but once I got home, I noticed that droplets of blood dotted the back of my dress and realized the scabs came off, didn't they. Probably when we'd been running like crazy from the SAD society guys, huh.
I sighed. At this rate I was going, though, twisting around to get to the part that had come off was going get more scabs off the gash than before. Still, I curled my inflexible arm around and strained my fingertips, stumbling backwards.
The bed rustled, and I stilled, holding my breath. Mom didn't know about the chase, nor how badly I'd gotten hurt the first time, and I meant to keep it that way for as long as I could. And though I was in the bathroom with the door partially closed, she had exceptionally good hearing and a keen awareness. I wasn't about to take any chances.
I waited some more, but she didn't make any other sounds. Slowly breathing again, I began the painful reach towards that one opened part of the wound. Twisted. Strained. Turned, like a dog chasing its tail.
Nope, not even close.
I bit back a groan. This was going nowhere. At this point, my arm hurt more than my back. If only Rosa had been here-- then she would've done it for me, like the countless times before this, but after yesterday she had stuck close to the little ones until she had to go back to the Academy.
I looked around me as I idly contemplated whether I should just pretend I hadn't noticed the bleeding. In the dim dawn lighting that came through the small window of the bathroom, the toothbrush caught my eye. Hm, maybe I could...? If I put the ointment on the handle end and held it backwards...
After fifteen minutes of blindly waving my toothbrush around and ointment sliding onto my hands (and pretty much everywhere but the back), I finally managed to get something on the opened scabs, wound my bandage back up around it, put on my clothes, and slung my bag across my shoulders. Now for the hard part: creeping out of the room without waking mom up.
I slid out of the bathroom on tip toes, stopping briefly after every creak of the floorboard. Step, creak, hold-breath-and-pray-mom-stays-asleep. Step, creak, hold-breath-and-pray-mom-stays asleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
By the time I was gently gently gently closing the creaky room door, cold sweat dotted my face and I felt the beginning of yet another cramp in my toes. Click, went the door, and whew, went the breath from my lips. Getting out of bed sure was hard for one with many secrets, I thought, then hurried down the stairs.
The morning air outside was crisp and cool and entirely new to a night owl like me, but it was pretty refreshing. Bright enough to see, but quiet enough to be unreal. Well, that made sense, seeing how half the town showed up late at the pub every night. They all had to sleep sometime.
I wrapped my arms around me and sped off, keeping my head down and my shoulders hunched. The town bell rang as I walked, and I counted the five rings out of habit. The silence that followed it was almost deafening-- all I could hear was myself. My quick steps kicking up some dust and my very own breaths, huffing lightly from the early exercise. No birds, no people, only me and the rustling trees.
Man, I thought. I could get used to this.
I heard the marketplace waay before I saw it. It wasn't as loud as when it was open, but the spatter of people setting up still made lots of noise. My face was a bit flushed from the chilly wind and the thirty-minute walk. I puffed out air as I looked around me, letting my eyes wander through the people I saw.
There. Let's try there.
I ambled up to the girl struggling with a crate and tapped her on the shoulder. She glanced over at me, and I smiled my best, breeziest smile to her. I cleared my throat. "Hi!"
"Um, yes?" she said.
"I'm looking for work. Do you need--"
"No," she interrupted, pulling away from me. "We're not looking for anybody." She turned away.
My smile faltered a bit. "Oh, um, okay. Thanks anyway," I said to her back. She didn't respond. I walked away, trying to convince myself that the shaking hands I hid under my sleeves were from the cold and not from the nervousness.
"It's okay," I whispered to myself, just to hear myself speak. "Can't get any worse from here, can it?"
I skipped the ones that looked like they had enough people working, vying for the bigger stands instead. They might need someone to man the stand, or maybe some extra hands to bring in the barrels and crates.
"Hi, are you looking for--"
"Sorry, we have enough people," replied the man, not unkindly.
"Do you need anyone--"
"We're good."
"I could help--"
"No thanks."
"I'm very strong, I can--"
"We've hands enough. Try the next stand."
I sighed, leaning against a nearby wall. I blinked up towards the sky, still a more muted blue rather than the bright color of daytime. The sun was now peeking up into the sky, the day warming up. And still I didn't have any work.
I mentally calculated our expenses and the amount that the loan sharks had called for. They were coming in the next two or three days, and we had just enough for this month. But that was only because of the Sheriff. We couldn't keep borrowing from them forever. And that meant I had to work more, but why was finding another job this hard?
I'd heard from a few drunk customers a few weeks back that it was pretty easy to find work in the farmer's market early in the mornings, but nobody around here seemed willing to take me on. Maybe it was because I didn't look mega-strong. Or did I look too young?
Frustrated tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my view of the brightening sky, and I angrily wiped them away. I whirled around and kicked the corner of the wall, then instantly regretted it. Great, not only was I awake so early for no reason, but now my toes hurt, too. I didn't have anyone to blame for any of that, either. It was all my fault.
And that made it that much more frustrating.
I slumped against the wall again and hung my head, fiddling with the cover of my bag. Only one question formed in my head. Now what?
"Hey you," said a gruff voice next to me. "You the one looking for work?"
I looked up, breath caught in my throat. "Yes," I said cautiously. I tilted my head when I saw him. He was a tall, thin old man, with a hat pulled down on brown hair interspersed with white. Something clicked inside of me, and I wondered why. Why did the curly-haired grandpa in a vest look so familiar?
Or was I so bad at recognizing people now that everyone looked familiar?
"What can you do?" he asked.
I snapped out of my musings, straightening up. "I have strong arms, I can do numbers, and I sell really well."
He raised a bushy eyebrow. "Sell well?"
"Yes. Very good at convincing people to buy things, I mean."
He nodded, already turning away. "Good. Then follow me. I'll give you work for today."
I drew in a quick breath. "Really?" I asked, running to catch up to him.
The man side-eyed me, his hands behind his back. "This is temporary," he warned. "Only until my wife gets better."
I nodded. "What are you selling?"
"Fruits."
"Will you be paying?"
The grandpa scoffed. "Of course I am!" he barked. "Three Vels for each time the bell rings, and an extra Vel for each melon you sell."
My face split into a huge grin. "Thank you very much!" I gushed, then paused. Melon? I shook the thought away. "My name is Filian, and I'll make sure to do my very best!"
"You do that," he grunted. "And call me whatever you want."
"Okay!" I replied cheerfully, skipping next to him. "Then... I'll call you Gramps."
Gramps gave me a weird look, and I smiled up at him unapologetically. He grunted, and I took that as consent.
"We're here," he said abruptly, and I skidded to a stop. I looked ahead of us, and instant understanding flashed through me.
My hand flew to my face and I gasped, looking at him with wide eyes. "You--"
"What?" he snapped.
"You're the watermelon man!"
A/N: What is this suddenly different style of writing, you ask? Hahaha how about you don't ask.
P.S. a reminder about the currency here! (I get confused too, so I don't expect anyone else to follow ahaha here you go) 1 Velawin = $5 dollars, 1 Vel = $2.50 dollars, so 3 Vels = $7.50, plus commission of $2.50 per watermelon sold. Pretty good deal, in my opinion.
