POV: Nyoka
Nothing interesting had happened in months.
That was until she moved into the shop front next door.
Ever since her arrival on the street and the opening of her tattoo parlour there’s been an influx of people down the street and I have barely got a moment of rest in the shop that I’ve worked in for the past four years. For the majority of those two years, excluding valentines day, I’ve been able to lounge around the shop for most the day, only completing small chores before sitting in the staff room and scrolling through my phone, taking full advantage of the free wifi meant for customers.
Now I don’t even have the time to glance at my phone before another customer comes up to the counter to purchase another bouquet of vibrant flowers. Couples frequently enter. Flaunting their love as they kiss, snuggle and smile obnoxiously at each other, completely ignoring my disgusted looks as they pay and leave the shop, arm in arm and hand in hand.
I have nothing against couples and being in love, it's just that love hasn't been so kind hearted towards me.
Even as the sky begins to turn warm shades of orange and purple and the fluffy white clouds are covered in a pastel pink, a few more customers still decide it’s a good time to spend ages picking out their own selections of flowers, even as I’m clearing up the shop, bringing in the large baskets and buckets and pots of flowers, who’s pollen in the spring makes my nose itch desperately.
With the busted broom that Miss Colleen insists doesn't need replacing in my hands, I wander around inside the shop, brushing away all the brown petals into a pile near the door, subtly knocking it against the ankles of customers still lingering and not even considering purchasing anything. They just pick up the flowers, sniff the blooms, and place them carelessly back into the buckets of water. I feign an apologetic smile towards them as I continue cleaning and they finally leave, the small bell above the glass door twinkling as they leave.
I flip the sign hanging from a thin string on the window to closed, determined to have no one else enter and disturb me as I scrape the last of the decaying leaves and petals, placing an earbud into one of my ears to distract from the annoying rumble of the main street not too far away.
I prop the door open with a heavy bucket filled with water to be thrown out and brush out the pile I’d gathered, my eyes catching sight of the gaggle of girls leaving the tattoo parlour, each admiring their new piercings and gushing over their tattoos concealed under their clothes and protective coverings to prevent them from becoming infected.
I can’t stop my eyes from rolling as they pass by, making far too much noise and squealing obnoxiously between themselves. It’s just something new put into your body, it doesn’t need that much fuss. You’ll regret them soon enough, especially the tattoos.
I tiredly prop the broom against the outside of the shop steps, struggling with the weight of the bucket nearly overflowing with old plant water. The handle crunches concerningly as I try to lift the bucket by it making my face contort in worry.
If it breaks I have to pay for a new one.
I grunt and mutter curses to myself as the plastic handle digs into my thin fingers and I drag it down the stone stairs towards the gutter lining the street edge not too far from the florist shop. I have to abandon my endeavour after a few steps feeling my fingers begin to go painfully numb.
My hands massage my lower back as it begins to ache from bending over to carry all the heavy plant buckets in the shop all day. I sit defeatedly on the step, scooping my long white skirt under my legs as I hang my head, taking my hair down from its tight ponytail on the top of my scalp. A loud sigh of exhaustion escapes me as my head begins to spin a little.
“Do you need some help?”
A friendly voice calls to me, making me turn my head and brush strands of my hair away just enough that I can see her smiling at me from the door of her parlour, her arms crossed smugly across her chest cloaked in dark fabrics.
I straighten my back and stand, brushing off the pebbles clinging to the fabric of my skirt, feigning a polite smile as I shake my head, turning my back to her as I tug the bucket up, the handle instantly digging in to my already fragile skin, marked red by the sharp plastic.
I lug it down the rest of the stairs and to the gutter in the cobbled street and tip the bucket on its side allowing the water to slush into the gutter, making the old stones shine in the limited sun left as it sets behind the crammed shops and apartments.
Collecting the bucket and turning back for the shop, I find her still staring at me. We briefly lock eyes and she smirks at me before turning back into her shop, the heavy door closing behind her as she flicks the neon lights in her shop off and turns the sign to closed. It suddenly dawns on me that I don’t even know her name despite her shop being open nextdoor for a few months now as I curse quietly to myself about her creepy behaviour.
She does that a lot.
Anytime I have to do an errand outside the shop or I’m on my break out back, she’s there.
She never usually talks to me and just smokes one of her disgusting cigarettes, contaminating the air and clogging my lungs that already struggle to work. We just smile at each other and I always try to ignore her and her eyes that are always fixated on me until I go back inside. I’ve complained about it to the other workers in the florists but they brush it off as her just trying to be friendly and me being paranoid.
My spine shivers with discomfort as I recall her grin. Sure it doesn’t seem menacing at first, it’s actually quite soothing, it’s just how often she does it, usually without saying a word to me or even trying to speak. It has made me feel a bit better though to know that she does at least speak when she wants too.
I finish up my errands to close the shop and go into the backroom, undoing the loose knot of my apron and removing the itchy fabric of it from around my neck, hanging it on the line of hooks beside its brethren before sitting at the old dining table, picking at the flaking white paint that had been brushed on years ago with my nail as some other workers join me, giggling between each other as I zone out.
“Hey, Nyoka,” Grace calls to me, snapping me out of the mind rabbithole I’d been scurrying down.
I wave absentmindedly back, noticing them both shrug through my peripheral. I try to ignore the clack of Grace’s heeled shoes on the tiled floor of the staffroom as I ready myself for my trek home, made extra difficult by the construction occurring everywhere in this town which makes my walk home even longer since I have to take a round-a-bout route. Getting my steps in for the day, I suppose.
As I get up and reach for my bag, Grace appears beside me, somehow silencing her footsteps enough to sneak up and jump scare me. I force a weak smile with my depleting social energy as she begins babbling about something I really don’t care about but it feels too rude to try and step away or even reach for my bag and coat.
“...So are you going to go?” She asks, peaking my attention.
“Hmm?”
“The party. At the tattoo parlour next door,” Izzy chimes in, sipping on a mug of freshly brewed tea in her hands.
“Uhh…”
“Come on!” Grace pleads, tugging on my sleeve. “It’ll be so fun!”
“I think you and I have very different definitions of that word,” I respond. Grace is a party girl so of course she’d think going to a party next door would be fun, not considering how little I enjoy being around people, especially larger crowds.
“Please, Nyoka. Don’t make me beg.”
With that sentence I’m tempted to see if she would actually beg for me. To see if she would willingly get down on her knees and plead for me to go, just to be inevitably disappointed by my continued refusal to go. I shake away the thought as she stares at me, her hands clinging on to my clothes.
I have to take my eyes away from her as she pulls out her puppy-eyes that make everyone cave in to her demands if you make prolonged eye contact with her. A grumble escapes my throat as I try to gently tug my sleeve away from her but her fingers only clamp down harder around the fabric. I attempt to come up with an excuse as to why I can’t go but can’t think of any excuse except the ones she and Izzy already have heard.
Before Grace can beg again, our manager and owner of the shop, Miss Colleen, steps in through the door struggling with a stack of crates filled with seed packets. I use it as an excuse to get away from Grace as I collect a few of the crates from the mountain Colleen is carrying. She nods her head in thanks, gesturing for me to follow her into the main shop to drop them off.
Grace, frustrated, follows us, Izzy following close behind, leaning against the doorframe as we all gather amongst the trimmed flowers, sipping loudly on her tea. Miss Colleen thanks me as she drops her load on the floor, leaning back on the cash counter as I place down my crates, filing through the many flower packets, intrigued by some of the new varieties that we’ve never stocked before. All seasonal plants that will bloom beautifully at their ideal times and make any garden look like one from a fairytale.
“Alright, girls,” Miss Colleen sighs, her eyes scanning each of us. “In a few minutes, we can all head next door. Just collect up your things. I’ll lock up behind us. Yes, Nyoka?” She groans my name a little as I feebly raise my hand like I’m still in school and asking the teacher for permission to go to the bathroom.
“Umm… would it be alright if I just go home instead?” She groans, rubbing her temples before refusing. “But it’s such a long walk and it’ll be dark by the time it ends.”
“Then you don’t have to stay the whole time but you do still have to attend, no more excuses. No complaining, either.” She shushes me with a hard stare as I attempt to refute and I eventually give up, going back to the staffroom to pick up my bag and zip-up hoodie.
Grace joins me as she picks up her purse and short puffer coat, a merry beam on her face as I grumble. Grace collects Izzy’s things as well and we both go back to the shop where Izzy leaves her mug on the counter, assuring Colleen that she’ll clear it up tomorrow. I follow them all out of the shop, dragging my feet, my body depleting my energy even more, entering a tantrum.
Miss Colleen locks the shop behind me, her hand resting on my back to speed me up as we walk the short distance between the two shops. Other shop workers down the street are already inside and music is already being pumped out of the speakers in the shop. I’m tempted to cover my ears as the loud conversations flood my senses as Colleen pushes us all further into the shop until I can’t see the exit amongst all the people.
I squeeze my body to reduce how much I’m being bumped into as I’m forced to venture in further. Colleen keeps a firm hand on my back as I try to slow down, ensuring that my feet keep moving through the crowd that thins the further in we go.
How big is this place?
My mind floods with questions and prayers to get out of here, and my fight or flight is only strengthened as she comes into my view. At least her back does.
She plays with her dark hair that is let loose from its usual tight bun, revealing its full length down her back as she chatters with others. My joints try to seize as I see her but Colleen continues to push me closer, but the force on my back makes me stumble forward. I look up with pleading eyes to Colleen but she just keeps her eyes forward, a smile forming across her lips as we stand behind her.
I glance around for Grace or Izzy to help me escape but neither are in sight. They must have already gone off to get drinks and food or something. What usually happens at parties? I don’t know. I haven’t been to one since I was a teenager, and even then I hated them.
As Colleen catches the attention of the tattoo shop owner, my body freezes entirely and, for some reason, the urge to cry overwhelms me. The two chatter for a minute, keeping polite conversation and neither even take a single glance at me or acknowledge my existence until I try to step away and escape this hell.
“Ah, sorry Nyoka. I haven’t introduced you two yet, have I?”
“No, I don’t believe you have,” the woman my age responds, smiling softly at me yet I can only try to back away more, Colleen’s hand keeping me from going too far.
“Celeste, this is Nyoka. Nyoka, Celeste.”
Celeste, huh? Kind of suits her.
She holds out her hand for a handshake but my muscles are too tense to move. Even my urge to be polite has been overridden.
“Not one for handshakes then,” Celeste chuckles.
“Nyoka is very sweet when you get to know her,” Colleen responds for me, pushing me closer to Celeste as she begins to step away. I glance back at her, pleading her with my eyes to not leave but she ignores it, her hand finally leaving my back. “Get along you two. Oh, and before you leave, Nyoka, please come say goodbye to me, alright?”
She doesn’t wait for even a nod before turning her back to us, abandoning me and wandering off out of my sight. My head swivels as Celeste attempts to start a conversation with me but I can only stare at the hardwood floor, unable to muster any sounds from my throat. The longer she talks the more humiliated I feel.
“Not one for much conversation either? Okay,” she nervously chuckles. Her hand tenses around her plastic beer cup as we stand in an awkward silence I wish would end. It’s my fault we’re in this silence but I just can’t break it. “Would you be more comfortable if I just left you alone?”
I feebly nod and I hear her chuckle before bidding me goodbye and her shoes leave my lowered line of sight. I finally lift up my eyes, an odd sense of guilt filling me as I glance at her as she wanders into the crowd, her dark clothing making her stand out among the vibrant colours of everyone else and the bright lighting in her shop.
Why couldn’t I bring up even a random sound? At this point I believe that would have been better than that horrible quiet between us filled with the racket of everyone else and the pumping music.