As Easy As Murder

1. lost

Ladies and gentleman, welcome to How Late Can Averen Be?

I've beaten my previous record of an hour by arriving one 1 hour and 15 minutes past 8. I walk into the mall, my usual entry point, the man at the lotion kiosk entertained by the voices on his phone, as always. I walk through the crowded area, shoes on marble flooring and overlaying conversations fill my ears just before I pop in my airpods. I come up on the Hot Topic I've come to view as a second bedroom, my doc martins squeaking against freshly-cleaned tile, the smell of bleach hitting as I enter the darkened store, the home of the angsty teen. 

My eyes adjust from the blinding light of the mall to the dimly lit t-shirt lined exhibit I call my workplace environment. My best friend, collegue, and dorm mate to be, Loretta,  is sitting on the small black desk, green curls barely meeting her shoulders, popping against her fair skin. When she presented this choice to me 3 days ago, It was quite a shock. I walk up to her, slinging my tote bag onto the ground, the zipper clinking against the black floors. 

The fashionable chains on Loretta's waist jingle as she adjusts herself and tips her pilot hat, smirking as she does, "Top of the morning to ya." She fakes a posh britsh accent. I aknowlege her with an annoyed glare. She studies me a minute longer, following up with, "You look like shit." 

I roll my eyes as I maneuver around the desk, unlocking the cash register, "Flattered, truly," I mutter, adjusting my tight skirt, as it's riding up around my less-than-skinny frame. Loretta shrugs and hikes up a leg. 

"Honesty is the best policy." She says with a fake cheerfulness. I start to the front of the store, pushing past racks of red and black, and almost knocking over a Hello Kitty mug. I catch it with my hands, and in the process, throw my leg up, causing my doc martins to make contact with a manaquin, causing it to almost topple over onto me. I thankfully push it back to safety and place down the mug. 

"Graceful." Loretta remarks, and I snort. 

"I took ballet when I was 5," I remind her, raising my eyebrows and chuckling. She meets my words with a 'pfft'. I reach the glass doors at the storefront, opening the right one, it squeaks with the need to be oiled as I push it back, opening it to the many interesting customers we tend to recieve. 

Our boss, Kandi, comes walked in not even a minute later, looking like they got hit by a semi. Loretta lets out a snicker, the rules of social appropriacy leaving the room. Kandi gives her a glare, as if to say 'since when are bosses not respected'. 

I followed them to the back of the store, where they place down their coffee mug and and sigh. "What happened to you?" I say, eyes wide with confusion and mocking concern. Kandi just shakes their head, and we know not to press the issue. I hope up on the side of the black box we call a desk opposite from Loretta, as we wait for the first oddity to walk in. 

By 45 minutes later, 2 people have inhabited the T-shirt treasury known as my job. A small blonde teenager wearing a Queen shirt, and a tall guy who gives me bad vibes and posses an oder. Unfortunately you cannot kick out a customer because they made your tummy hurt. Loretta is slumped across the desk at this point, workplace ettiquete not being her specialty. 

"What did you do last night?" I ask, knowing her late night endeavours hadt o be blamed for the lack of energy in the usually spunky dumbass I know and love. She reponds with a groan. "Well, to say the least, everything I know about where I was last night was told to me by someone else." 

I nod, immediately understanding the type of night she had. I smirk, knowing she promised to tone herself down last week when Kandi confronted her on coming into work with pajama pants and a sports bra on. She clearly is still Loretta-ing. Her current fashion statement is a grey tanktop with one strap drooping off, fishnets, a sage green skirt, some black chains, and converse. Her green girls are in half-assed space buns, freckles litter her almost paper white face, brown eyes fixated on the bad vibes guy. 

"You picking up on him too?" She turns to me, and I give a nod. We study the guy a bit more, and then start talking about Loretta's obsecure taste in men, and how many beds she's woken up in this week. 

2 hours later, Loretta has went on luch break and I'm counting down the minutes until mine, when a new customer enters the store. He looks different from the usual crowd. Way different, out of place. He's wearing a cashmere sweater, khakis, a brown leather jacket with a logo on the back, and black dress shoes. His sort of messy hear is half-heartedly thrown back by gel, creating a wave. His eyes are dark brown, almost black. 

He looks confused, picking up items like he's never seen them before,and I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't. His brows are furrowed in confusion, palms tucked deep into his pockets, cashmere tucked tightly into khaki, jawline sharp as a knife. He looks deep in thought as he walks around. 

His voice intterupts the Guns N Roses on the speakers, deep and husky, and a sound I would soon come to hate, "How do people wear these things?" 

My jaw tightens, eyes narrowing, my short fuse not ready to take on this challenge. My black hair falls over my shoulder, as I lean over the counter, hoping to look at least half intimitading. 

I should've worn my tall shoes. 

Damn it. 

Several more comments leave his lips, all regarding the things he is voluntarily looking at, or in this case, intently studying.  

"How distasteful..." Is the final one my bad-tempered brain can take before it arms itself with a comeback. Words trail up my throat and I find myself unable to hold my tongue, allowing myself to give him a firm ultimatum. 

"Excuse me," I clear my throat. He turns to face me, rubber souls speaking on tile, lips curled into a frown, "Are you going to buy something or just voice your unneeded opinions?" 

His eyes widen in offense, lips parting a bit, before he shakes his head like a dog with mites, approaching me, which isn't what I wanted. The way he walks is smooth, like a male model, like a cat. His eyes look over my name tag, and his frown turns into a smug smile. 

"I don't think that's what your boss would want you to say to a customer, Avon." Avon? Oh, so he's that type of person. One who doesn't only like to get under your skin, but stay there, feasting on your anger. While unfortunatly for him, I bite back. 

"Averen," I say, it comes out as a hiss, a warning shot, "And my boss has said worse." Which is true. Kandi has never actually succeeded at being a cheery boss who always takes the customers side and pretends like they can do no wrong. Not Kandi. Nope. 

"That doesn't surprise me at a place like this." His eyes wonder over the store, nose scrunching in disgust. I hope up onto the desk to be more eye level with him. I glare at him, ready to blow, but trying to at least ATTEMPT to keep my composure half in tact. 

"Then why are you here?" I say, tilting my head, and forcing doe eyes, a phomy sweetness in my voice. He just blinks, unphased. He sighs, like the weight of the world is on in muscular shoulders even having a conversation with me. Like I'm sooooo intolerable. 

Gross. 

"Because I'm looking for a birthday gift," He says, looking down at me, voice higher and softer, like he's talking to a kindergartner. Ah, so that's why he's here. I guess he must know someone who has even a  morcel of taste and is maybe, just maybe, a decent human being. "So can you just like..tell me what you recommend or whatever? I don't want to be around this stuff for another second..it's so..unattractive." 

I raise my eyebrows, throwing an arm over my chest like I was clutching my non-existant pearls. The taunting from his end doesn't stop as he follows me around the store, telling me his views on the 'emo stuff' (which I didn't ask her.) 

"I mean, it's just like-this stuff is so unprofessional, I mean, people like you should just grow up and dress like adults. No wonder you work here, no one else would hire you, huh? I bet that's it, and then there's-like-the punk people with the weird pants, and it's so-" 

"Who's the gift for?" I cut him off, done with his idiocity and not caring about what he has to say anymore. I place a hand on my hip, the other fidgeting with the lace on the end of my thigh-highs. 

He pauses for a second, lips staying parted as if I froze I'm in time, he quickly snaps out of it and scoffs, "A friend." 

"You don't know your own friend?" I retort, going through a rack of pants, searching for something that he'd be satisified with so he's just leave already. Loretta is still not back from her lunch. Where's that unhinged lunatic when you need her? 

He looks offended once more, "I do, we've been friends since we were kids.  but he's the one who knows his way around this...culture or whatever it is.." He waves his hands around the store. "He-" 

I cut him off, holding a pair of black, baggy jeans with a red chain attached and bones along the sides. 

"Take these. He'll love them." 

"But-" 

"Trust me." 

The guy shoots me a life-ending glare. If looks could kill, I'd have bled out. I walk back with him over to the black cube that I've decided is more like podium then a desk. I open the cash register and he hands me 20 dollars cash. I put it away. 

"Maybe dress a little more respectable, yeah?" He smirks, taking the bag from me containing the epitome emo fashion staple that I hope his friend likes because I know that if he doesn't this is the kind of guy that's gonna come back and give me a bad word to Kandi. Not that I'm concerned about being fired, but I just don't want to see him again.

"Talk little less, yeah?" I reply in a mocking tone as he leaves, and just as he's rounded the corner back into the sea of people, Loretta returns from the opposite direction, holding an empty  panda express bag, looking satisified with herself. She sees my seething expression. 

"Wha-" 

"Don't ask."