God, I do not want to be here.
I sigh as I work the register of my stupid, low grade, dead end retail job. Honestly, it's like people don't think or realize retail employees are actually human beings.
Currently, I'm just trying to get through my shift without pulling out most of my hair from stress. I swear, if one more irate middle age mother tries to pass off her expired coupons for her children's dance recital- excuses such as, "These HAVE to work, I got them last Tuesday, a month ago! I don't think you could even understand the struggles I have, my daughters recital is tomorrow and if I don't get..." etcetera etcetera- I'm going to call security on myself, because some of these customers aren't getting out of here unscathed.
Bloop. Bloop. Bloop. I scan clothing items on autopilot. "And so I said to her-" The loud lady in front of me gossiped with her slightly shorter, yet somehow more ratchet looking friend. "Mmhmm you tell her." Her friend smacked her overpuffed lips and twirled her bleached extensions around her scarily manicured nail. Seriously, they're like talons. Who needs talons?! These women are the epitome of a stereotype, and I hated them wholeheartedly for it.
Bloop. Bloop. Bloop.
"Umm, excuse me." The lady paying interrupted me. I blinked, then forced a smile on my face."Ma'am?" I asked, fake smile in place. "What's your problem?" She asked, leaning over the bar between us, as I shoved her too small clothes into a bag. I could see every single one of her spray tan filled pores. Did I have a problem? Was my poker face cracking?
"Ma'am?" I couldn't come up with another word, so I just acted politely confused. "It's just like places like these, to hire the dumb ones." She snarked to her friend, making me want to reach over and rip off her fake eyelashes.
"They must've forgotten about you then..." I muttered under my breath, handing the buyer her bag as she sashays away like a high school villain. I bet she was prom queen. "What was that?!" The lady's more confrontational friend snapped just as they were passing by me. I winced, guess I should've waited until they were farther away. I almost broke my well honed customer service decorum.
"Have a nice day!" I smile patronizingly, then rolling my eyes as she turns away with a scoff.
Yeah keep walking lady. Not like your implants and flip flops are gonna get you any further in life either. Stretching, my vision filled with black dots from the sudden constricting of my blood vessels. I popped my back before shaking out my legs.
"JOHN! I'M TAKING MY BREAK!"
My boss just peered out of his office and snorted.
"Remember you're working a double today." His raspy voice from chain-smoking drifted through to me. And with those six words, my whole shitty day just got shittier. I always strategically take my break right at the end of my shift, so basically I leave early everyday. But I guess not today. Mandatory overtime, or disgusting stroke of karma? Only god knows.
No matter, it all works out just great for my boss, but not for me. I had a very important date with a box of pizza, depression, and Supernatural to look forward too later tonight, seeing as today is my last day in this god-forsaken place. Mentally, I start to cry as I stomp towards the automatic double doors. The few times I outwardly express my temper tantrums, they usually last about ten seconds and are filled with a childish foot stamping and jumping moment.
I step out of the building, pulling my jacket closer around my body as the cold autumn air surrounds me. I feel my fingertips go numb as I fish around in my back pocket for my cigarette. I don't keep a box with me, just the one for break-time before I leave. I know it's unhealthy, but I never really put much stock in my life. And I guess I'll need it just to keep me sane as I stay until closing today. A flick of my lighter and a deep drag, the heat seeps through my thumbnail and threatens to burn me. Against better judgement, I lean against the dirty establishment at the same time, one foot resting on the wall, and I stare out across the parking lot for the beginning of my twenty minutes of free time. I can practically hear my mothers voice in my head, echoing, "Were you raised in a barn?", and my foot slides off the wall.
"Come here often, oh depressed one?" A soft, light yet still masculine voice came from my right. My blind spot. I exhale a long stream of smoke, jerking my head back to move the hair out of my face. I glance to my right side, having to turn my head almost completely to see who's decided to interrupt my singleminded solitude.
"Not for much longer." I say quietly, clearing my throat. I need some water. I toss my cigarette on the concrete, snuffing it with the toe of my shoe. What a waste. Since my head was still turned towards the guy next to me, I could see his messy, roughly shaped eyebrows raise sharply. His sad, blue eyes gleam with emotion I haven't seen in a long time. He reminded me of a basset hound. I almost snickered at the comparison.
"You're not going to do something stupid, are you?" He asks. I just look at him, then duck my head down to cover my eyes with my hair. Since it's dark, he hasn't seen the abnormality in my eyes, which is great. I don't need the judgement from a complete stranger. I start to walk away, but the stranger grabs my shoulder. I tense, ready to punch his nose. He turns me around, his eyes still full of that emotion I can't place.
"Please don't do something stupid." He pleads quietly. I stare at him blankly. "Not that it's any of your business..... I won't." I say as quietly as he did, and he let go of my shoulder, seemingly satisfied. I warily watch him over my left shoulder before I walk back towards the building, dusting wrinkles out of my jacket. How odd.
"Wait!" He called. I flinched at the sudden out burst. His voice echoes through the night and empty parking lot, and eventually it doesn't seem like he said anything at all. "Yes?" I ask softly, hearing him walk the few paces closer to me. What's his deal?
"Your break isn't over." He declares. My eyebrows raise as sharply as the red flag in my mind. How would he know?
"That.. sounded stalkerish. I'm sorry." He regretfully explains, lightly biting the inside of his cheek. I turn slightly, seeing him toy with his hair directly behind his right ear. "I just mean, you came out here when I got here, which was five minutes ago. So unless you work in a dictatorship, you still have a little time." He deduced.
"Why do you care, Sherlock?" I ask, genuinely confused. I've never met this guy before in my life. Why is he so desperate to talk to me? "Because... you're pretty and... I feel like you understand." He admitted, blushing lightly. I blinked slowly. Understand what? "You've never talked to me before." I say, spinning on my heel and walking back inside. Guess my last ten minutes of break aren't going to be used tonight.
The doors whooshed behind me, and in the security TV screen above me I saw the stranger staring after me as I walked. I felt a twinge of regret.
But why?
"Hey Hicks!" John called from his office. I groaned under my breath, and turned around. "Yes, sir?" My hands were clenched in my jacket pockets as his eyes scanned me head to toe. I shivered slightly, almost unnoticeably under his gaze. First Sherlock, now him. But I guess, to Sherlock's credit, he didn't eye rape me."C'mere sweetie." He licks his dry lips as he beckons me over. I look to my left, desperately hoping there's a coworker here to save me if something goes horribly haywire. No luck though.
I brace myself. John, my boss, is a notorious pervert, and no female employee go within ten feet of him for personal safety. We know better. He's such a sleazy guy, but no matter how many complaints get filed, no one does anything about it. All lawsuits get bought out for their silence. By who, I don't know, because my paycheck isn't nearly enough to justify buying other people's silence.
"Yes, sir?" I repeat, leaning against the doorframe, hiding the majority of my body from his view as I peek into his office. "Come in Hicks. I don't bite." He winks. I gag on my spit as I look down at the floor.
"It's not your teeth I'm afraid of." I mutter, much more aware of his potential STI's.He starts saying something about how it's a shame to see me go, and how much he'll miss a worker like me. Under his sympathetic and regretful words are obvious sexually offensive phrases. All I want to do is either get away with murder, or hide in a trash can.
He dismisses me, and I sulk away. Lately, I've become outwardly more of a bitch. Any strangers first impression of me would be that I never got passed the depressive teenager phase, which isn't entirely inaccurate. I don't talk much. I suffer from RBF and adjustment disorder, and I don't have many friends. Unless food counts. I get back to my register and sit on the counter, staring off into the racks of clothes blankly. My feet sway rhythmically, the heels of my boots scuffing the plywood behind them.
So for the next three hours, my thoughts were consumed by the stranger and his voice. Imagining his smile. His blush. How he looked at me with... concern. He cared. It seems that the only interesting thing to happen to me in a while just had to come in a package designed to relieve me of my boredom.
My thoughts were interrupted when a customer cleared their throat, ripping my attention to them.
"Good evening..."