Love on the Run (From Zombies)

Jack didn’t seem to be affected and he was barely bigger than me width wise. Maybe muscle works as insulation?

We each had a desk with a divider between them. Mine was opposite Jack’s, but I couldn’t see anything apart from the top of his head over the divide.

“Hi Jack.” I said cheerfully.

He looked up and nodded before looking back at his computer screen.

I slumped into my chair with a sigh. It was quiet; no customers and no work to do.

And no one to talk to it would seem.

Jack was painfully beautiful; working with him was blissful agony. From his sense of fashion to his dark hair that swept across his forehead, he was utterly stunning. He was also tall, slim and pale with the most mournful green/grey eyes.

Jack had been born in the US of A, moving here when he could talk, so the accent lingered. I loved it, it just added to his mystery- and he was a mystery- no one could tell me much about him.

Every time I looked at him my heart broke a little, smaller shards fragmenting from the whole and cutting the crap out of my lungs and organs. I knew I was getting too old for this kind of crush, but I couldn’t tell my heart that. Attraction is not rational or sensible; it is cruel and painful, only allowing you to adore what you can never have.

He made me feel like I was the only person in the room, in the world, that everything would work out and all that fluffy rubbish.

I ached for him, truly ached for him, and it was pathetic. Utterly pathetic. If he knew….

It didn’t matter anyway. His girlfriend was perfect; blonde and slim with perfect boobs. I hated her. I would have hated her even if she wasn’t with Jack, she was just too flawless.

I, on the other hand, wasn’t. I was so far from perfect I couldn’t even define it. God wasn’t kind to me. I wasn’t pretty, smart or talented, just normal. Dull, boring, normal. Nothing EVER happened to me. Nothing interesting anyway.

5ft 3 of average-ness. Average long blondish hair, average features, average everything.

I got to my feet and looked over the divide.

“Been busy?” I asked in a perky voice, flipping my hair over my shoulder like I had seen his girlfriend do when she came in to visit.

He shook his head.

“Any messages?” I tried to hide how crestfallen I was that he couldn’t even look at me.

He shook his head again.

“Anything we need to look at or do?” My voice was filling with despondency. It was going to be one of those days.

The head shake. This was going well.

“A bunch of aliens stole your car, turned it into a cow and ate it.” I said quietly.

He looked up.

“Sorry?” Wow, it spoke!

“Nuthin’.” I said before slumping back into my seat.

The day passed without event, as was often the case in that hell hole with just the usual crap; rude customers, working stock, cleaning shelves, trying to do anything to make the time go a little quicker.

I got home in record time, walking so quickly due to my bad mood that I practically ran, my shins hurting by the time I got back. My parents were visiting relatives (another small benefit of my crappy job; I get out of that!)

I opened the front door and began undressing whilst walking upstairs, stuffing my uniform so forcefully into the wash basket it nearly went through the bottom.

Being in so bad a mood usually caused me to become neurotically neat; washing up, picking up dirty clothes, sweeping, dusting and mopping all at the same time, a mad cyclone of activity.

By the time I was done I was exhausted, and suddenly realised I was still only wearing my underwear. Screw it. What’s the point in getting dressed, there’s no one home.

I made something to eat; opening a can, dumping the contents in a pot and heating it. I didn’t even notice what it was, eating mechanically and not tasting anything.

I was often in a much better mood after I tired myself out tidying, but not today.

Everything was coming to a head; my anger at being ignored, the fact that I now had nothing to do, no one to hang out with, and no social life. I was drifting, and without mindless chores to do, I had entirely too much time to think.

And thinking is the most dangerous thing on the planet.

After washing up the dishes and recycling the can from dinner (I had soup apparently) I surfed the net, cleaned out the fridge, alphabetised my books, DVDs and CDs, paired up all the socks in my drawer, dusted some more, cleaned the bath, toilet, sinks and finally went to bed. My parents are blessed having an OCD daughter like me.