Aeipathy | ONC 2023

Day 0

She looks down at the table, because it's easier than looking at Doug---old enough to be her father, with his grey-streaked hair and weathered jaw. She supposes he would have been handsome five years ago, but staring at the rolled-up cuffs of his checked shirt, she can't bring herself to even bother to care about him being handsome at all. "I've got to keep food on the table, Doug."

"If you like, I could put food on the table for you. All you'd have to do is cook it."

Felicity lifts her glass to her lips---plain water, as always, despite Doug's insistence on her having something a little stronger. She doesn't trust herself when she's drunk. Doesn't trust him to get her drunk. "I've never been much of a cook."

"Shame." His smile doesn't reach his eyes.

Truthfully, Felicity wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for that incessant urge to please her parents thrumming at her chest. She'd have thrown herself out of the nearest window the moment her blind date turned out to be her boss if Doug hadn't been exactly the kind of guy her parents would adore---mainly for the fact that he's a guy. (And rich, and old, and mildly sexist, but Felicity tries not to think about that side of her parents.)

The girl at the bar is standing up, hair a lilac tumble down her back, strands falling into her face and brushing against her ridiculously long lashes. Her crop top rises up her chest as she stretches, exposing the tiniest hint of underboob. She's not wearing a bra. Felicity's not sure if she wants to be her or fuck her. Her bright green drink rests between her fingertips, and she's holding her glass like she wants to drop it. Felicity wonders if this girl, the girl at the bar with her violet hair and rippling curves and lazy dark eyes, spills feelings like she spills her drinks, keeping them close to the edge until they tip over with wild abandon, lost to the dust and dirt of the wind.

"What's your body count?" Doug blurts suddenly, and Felicity chokes on her water.

"What?" The word comes out a little louder than she intends it to, tumbling out of her mouth like a bullet train as she stares at her boss in pure shock.

"It's a deal breaker for me when women have high body counts. So if we're going to make this a regular thing, I figured it would be good to get that out of the way first."

She should run. She should punch him in the face and escape before he's collected his senses. She should fake an urgent call from some dying grandmother and get the hell out. But he's exactly the kind of guy her parents would like, and he holds her only ticket to promotion in his hands, so she musters her brightest smile. "Zero." It's not exactly a lie---he doesn't need to know about the wandering hands travelling down dresses and up skirts, all the lights off because feelings are easier to hide in the dark.

"That's good. Pretty girls like you shouldn't be giving themselves away so easily."

"What's yours?"

"I don't think that's relevant. I'm your boss, Fels."

Bastard.

The girl at the bar has one arm braced on her stool, swaying gently like she's drunk. She's not---she'd come in later than Felicity and ordered only one drink, and the table's touched more of it than she has. But still, she wobbles in pale blue boots that would be gaudy on anyone else but somehow suit her to perfection, fringe cascading over her heart-shaped face. It makes Felicity a little self-conscious of her own forehead, how it's always been too big for her face and how her hairline's already drawing away even though she's barely twenty-eight.

"Are you going to order any food?" Felicity fidgets with her glass---they've been here for an hour on an empty stomach, and she'd rather talk to her food than to Doug even though the bar's greasy offerings probably have more calories in one dish than she eats in a week.