You think you are going to hurl.
Oh, yep, there's the nausea.
How does one even twist their limbs that way?
Oh. Oh no. Come on. In the middle of the store? This is a place with little kids that could- Ew. They're really going at it. How do you make your tongue...?
"Whatcha doin, babe?" says a voice behind you.
You suppress a shriek as you whip around to hopefully break the creep's nose who snuck up on you. Then you realize it's just your boyfriend. Too bad you like his nose. You were really looking forward to hitting the person.
"You scared me!" you hiss, "you know I'm easily startled!"
He just smirks back. He knows. He knows all too well.
He's experienced the way you have no sensor to your surroundings. Like when he tried to talk to you in the phone store while you were playing with a phone and you slapped him reflexively. Or the time you fell in the kitchen and hit your head on the refrigerator when he said good morning because you didn't notice him come down the stairs. That was a fun drive to the hospital. Perhaps the worst of all was the time in the library. You were engrossed in a book about penguins (because who doesn't love penguins), and he came up behind you to ask if you were ready to go. Needless to say, you had to pay for the destroyed book before you went home with a pouty boyfriend that had a bruise the size of said book on his ribs. They still follow you around at that library, like they're just waiting for you to freak out again.
Honestly, you don't understand your boyfriend at all. You would think he would learn by now that every time he sneaks up on you it usually results in injury. You're starting to think he does it on purpose just because he wants to mess with you. He deserves any pain he gets then.
"Hello?" he asks, "you in there, babe?"
You snap your eyes to his and he slightly recoils. Not so much it was really that visible, but enough that you could see it because you were looking at him closely. You smile inwardly. Good. Be afraid.
"What?" you ask, reaching up to push a stray hair away from your eyes.
"I asked what you were doing earlier," he answers, "you looked sick."
You find yourself searching out the couple from earlier. Oh my god. It was even worse. Did they have any idea how gross that looked? Probably not.
Your boyfriend follows your gaze before breaking out into laughter.
"What's so funny?" you demand, disconcerted, "it's repulsive."
The couple was just making out right in the middle of the clothing store, in plain view, and they were serious. Limbs intertwined, hair knotted into fingers, and you don't even want to know what's going on with their tongues right now. You understand passion, but this... It's almost not even human.
"Well," your boyfriend starts, "it's certainly... Intense. But you didn't have to look like you were going to lose that pastry you got earlier."
"I feel like I'm watching a Discovery Channel documentary on an alien species."
He stifles a laugh by coughing into his hand.
"Chalk it up to young love then," he replies, "young, alien love."
It's your turn to hide a chuckle this time, but it doesn't work as well for you. He smiles, victorious.
"You say that like you're so old," you reply, "last I checked you weren't quite going to the pharmacy with your electronic cart."
"Actually," you say, a sly smile on your face, "I take that back."
He looks away from the disturbing display of affection to peer at you with one quirked eyebrow.
"With the way you complain every time you get off the couch," you continue, "I'd guess you were about 72."
"Hey!" he cries, indignant, "that's not true!"
"So I didn't see you legitimately riding around on one of those carts the other day in the store?"
He pauses. You knew you were going to need to file that little fact away to use some day.
For a moment he's lost for words, and you cheer in your head because it isn't often he doesn't know what to say. Quite unfortunately.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away, slouching. You knew if you could get a good look at his face his lip would be sticking out.
"It was fun, okay?" he answers, sulking.
He's such a little kid sometimes, but you loved that about him.
You reach up to pinch his cheek and while he makes a show of brushing you away, you know he's not too serious.
You poke his shoulder and gesture your head back to the two creatures possibly melding together at this very moment.
"I've been here waiting for anyone to actually show up because I figured there would be employees here, in a mall. But they were taking too long so I occupied myself-"
"You mean you went and looked at the puppies," your boyfriend interrupts.
"No!" you reply.
"Okay, fine!" you reply, ignoring that he grins, "I went to look at puppies."
"Anyway," you start again, giving him a look that he completely ignores, "they've been here since before I left and they haven't separated since. I'm almost positive I saw them go to the same bathroom earlier. At the same time."
"Seriously?" he asks, now studying them a bit more closely.
You kind of feel voyeuristic, but it's pretty hard not to notice when they're right in the middle of the Dillard's sales floor. If anyone actually did work here ever, they would be noticed right away. But it was only you, them, and a few individuals scurrying along, rubbernecking when they caught sight of the affectionate nightmare.
"I'm surprised they don't have napkins," you comment, "the amount of drool is uncanny."
You look over to see your boyfriend's shoulders shaking silently while he holds a hand to his mouth. He's trying not to laugh at that one, but he thought it was funny. That you were funny. It makes you feel special.
"Maybe something's wrong with us," you say quietly, "but I think it's more likely something's wrong with them."
"No," he reassures, "it's them."
"We would never do that."
"Because we are not without a sense of shame."
"And we are aware of our surroundings."
"One of us is."
You hear him snicker.
You turn to him, trying to muster as much murderous intent in your eyes as possible. He looks unimpressed. It's not your fault you're as intimidating as a bunny.
"Don't make me hit you," you try again, managing to sound the least bit scary.
He reaches over as you had done and pinches your cheek. Jerk.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" a voice sounds over your shoulder.
You don't manage to contain the high pitched squeak this time, and the short male employee currently flinching away is lucky your boyfriend is quick enough on his feet to grab your hand. Because otherwise that broken nose would have been given after all.
You wonder if he regrets taking you to those self-defense lessons.
"I'm terribly sorry," the man stutters, eyes wide, "I didn't mean to startle you."
His name tag tells you he's called Milton. And that his favorite sport is bowling indicated by a pin. And that he's worked here for a year as proudly stated by a golden star. You're glad you don't have to wear one of those.
You take a deep breath and nudge your hand away from the person holding it.
"It's okay," you smile, cranking up the charm, "don't worry. I'm easily startled."
You just want to get out of here and back into the warm apartment you share.
"You can say that again," you hear your boyfriend remark quietly.
You won't say you don't enjoy the slight sound he makes when your elbow just happens to jab back into his ribs. Oops.
You ignore that fact you can feel his practically tangible glare on the back of your head.
"So what can I help you with?" the man asks again, confused about what just happened.
"We just want to buy this," you answer, extending your arm out to show him a dress.
You just needed the stupid thing for a party your boyfriend was dragging you to. You didn't expect this whole mess. He was so buying you some ice cream for the stress of this day.
"Of course," he nods, trying to gather himself.
He rings you up, and your line of sight absentmindedly trails back to the couple, still going strong.
"Oh my heavens," the man says.
You look over to see him looking where you were. He seems like he might faint.
You feel bad for him, but the sheer horror on his face is actually kind of funny.
He hands you your bag and wishes you a good day, still extremely flustered, before starting towards them. Unfortunately this is when the guy decides he needs to pick up his girl to get a better angle.
You're surprised the poor employee doesn't have an aneurism right then and there, although he does stop to take in a heaving and ragged breath. Apparently Milton is more grossed out than you.
You turn to your boyfriend and fake throwing up in a nearby cooking bowl. This time he softly laughs at your antics.
"Come on," you chirp, glad you're done, "let's go home."
You tug him along by his sleeve, not wishing to see the possible death of Milton by a stress induced heart attack.
You feel an arm slip around your waist as your boyfriend speeds up slightly.
"You're buying me ice cream," you say nonchalantly, "because of the stress I go through for you."
"Is that so?" he replies with amusement in his voice, "because of the stress you go through for me?"
Youdon'tlike his tone and you tell him so. He laughs.
"Okay, okay," he relents, "I'll get you some ice cream. Just try not to throw it up."
You smile affectionately at him even though he just kind of insulted you. What can you say, you love him. And more importantly, you love ice cream.
"Hey, babe," he calls, "I need to ask you something."
You peer up at him before he pulls you closer to his hip.
"Want to go to the bathroom with me?"
He's grinning so much it looks like he might split his face open. You realize that your expression mirrors his.
"I'm okay," you reply, breath hitching as you try to control the laughter bubbling inside of you, "thanks though."
"Gotta enjoy that young, alien love."
You finally lose it, letting out the giggles. Your boyfriend starts laughing too and now everyone is looking at you like maybe you're the alien. Neither of you care though as you head out to the parking lot, still laughing.
Because after all, who doesn't love aliens?