Tiny victory today - Finished my first ever short story.

[lohre2000s]

Hey everyone! A few days ago I posted here about a short story I was making. I decided to finish it since I never finish my projects and I am actually really happy.
Now, the story is not perfect, the writing is clumsy and I feel like it was very rushed... but I am still very happy to have finished it.
If you wanna read it here it is...

lose
/luːz/
verb
to suffer deprivation of : part with especially in an unforeseen or accidental manner



After bathing in the cold rain of loneliness at night, she finally got home. Took her soggy clothes off and entered the bathroom immediately, ready to cleanse her body and foul her mind to the scrutiny that her thoughts tend to bring as she bathes. It was one of the few select moments of her day that she did not endure, but kind of liked it.
The embrace of the absurdly hot water on her scalp ached for a few seconds, before she got used to the pain - the woman whimpers at this moment.
Her skinny little fingers crawl up to the shampoo bottle to abuse it. The almond smell would permeate the whole room for a few seconds, and eventually it'd become a little hard to breathe inside the steam. That was when she would tease herself… maybe…just maybe she would stay a few more seconds in the locked breathless room. Maybe that would be a little too much and she would collapse, cracking her head open in the sink or on the floor. Maybe!
*sighs* - she does as soon as the bath is over.
The rusty door hinge cries as the soggy, hot from the steam hand of hers touches it.The good part is over. Now she has about 5 hours of free time before she needs to go to sleep and wake up to the meat grinder of a work she got.
It's a tuesday, which means this routine will repeat itself for about three more days before the weekends, which were a little bit easier solely by the fact the woman did not need to contain herself during these days. There was no one to answer to besides herself. If she wanted to touch herself for 12 hours straight she very well could, but she wasn't that kind of girl.
"Shame."- she thought to herself whenever a nasty idea came to mind, and mind you, they did come to mind quite often these days. She was in her prime, they say, she ought to find a man, they say. What if she doesn't want to? What if she prefers the company of her dirty scheming hands? Oh please, even she doesn't believe that very comforting lie… she tried to. Father didn't raise no liar.
The woman stood in the center of her bedroom, both of her surprisingly pretty eyes piercing her bed. Wondering how much she'd have to wait until it was the right time to go to sleep. Her mind drifted away to work. Washing her hands, and wearing the frown-faced uniform God gave her, she saw herself at the fast food chain that paid her bills, doing things as she always did, treating customers as she always treated. Handling it. That she did. One of the coworkers interests her, maybe for his energy or perhaps his immaturity - he is, just a kid after all. She heard the useless chit chat the other coworkers frequently did during work, and it seems like he was there to pay for college.
She didn't particularly enjoy any part of her work or "colleagues". She hated the fake smiles and the expensive laughter-to-conversation that happened during the mindless job as she was disgusted with the own food she cooked for customers. There was no redeeming factor, and mind you, the salary was terrible too. It is terrible. It will be terrible. She thinks, reminding herself that this is not her life. It 's her future.
As some very smart person once said however, it can always get worse. It did, when this kid joined.
It bothered her. It physically bothered her to watch him succeed at that mindless job. How does one succeed at being mediocre? Her coworkers were very pleased by this addition to the cast, a replacement for the woman, they probably thought.
"Oh thank God for that new kid…He makes the job so much fun."
"Riiiight?!"
"I heard he's working here to pay for his tuition, what a noble young man."
"He is kind of needy though right?"
"Yeah sometimes, he's still funny as hell though!"

Her eyes twitched and her body shivered to this thought. The job was never good and she hated every second of it, but it was mindless. She deserved mindlessness, she deserved uselessness and mediocrity. This… was something else.
She knew what the kid was. It takes one to recognize another, and he was not good at hiding, just like her.
After his first day, the woman felt so much anger she actually threw up to the thought of going to work the next morning. Watching his smirky expression and funny public self-contempt… There was no magic, no violent threats, and yet, he managed to get into everyone's graces in the very first shift. Oh how infuriating it was for her.
Whenever she'd think about him, he'd take no shape. As a matter of fact, if asked by gunpoint, she could not describe him. He had black hair and… normal height? normal weight? his face was… normal? Don't even try asking the color of his eyes. She didn't care. She never did and she was thankful for that, which made it a lot easier to not get too invested. Of course, there were times she'd get aroused by specific males, but she could never tell why.
"I am fair to myself, sure my ego is a little too big,and I can be a little too needy but I am not futile!" She thought.

She'd finally lay down on the mattress and die for the day, to wake up in the dreams and nightmares to come tomorrow.
Many people would say the hardest part of the day is getting up. Not for her. The hardest part comes before that, a few seconds after tearing her eyes open, just when her senses come to her and she notices: "all over again." Once or twice she actually started crying on her pillow, only to arrive late at work - this excited her. Would her coworkers notice the wet, stained eyes? Would they show compassion? Indifference? Laugh at her? Like the first day at a new school, you'd wonder the possibilities, perhaps this would be the trigger her life needed.
Eventually she's up and starts packing herself up. Had a man ever entered her room he'd think nothing of it. It looked perfectly girly and tidied up. Inside her closet, several different dresses, shoes and pants lined up like a grotesque but chic slaughterhouse. So many options to choose from, yet she barely looks inside it, and often doesn't even open the closet. What will be the wrapper for this very sweet candy? Please.. there is no candy here. This one is no more than a fancier coffee sweet, you know, like the ones you'd see filling up jars at kid's hospitals only to eventually, probably weeks after being filled, be eaten by a very sad wrinkly grandpa. She wore the blue dress - yes, the same one she used yesterday and last friday.
No breakfast for her today. There was no time, she'd spent a little too long making out with her pillow.
Picked up her keys, her worn-out purse and dashed out the front door. From here on out, it takes about twenty, maybe twenty five minutes of walking to work. She didn't need to take a bus nor a train, both options which usually are filled to death with stench of self-abused middle aged men and sweat, not to mention the noise… it drove her crazy in the college years and it was sure to drive her crazy now.
The woman would pay attention around her, looking for anything to justify her self retaliation late at night… And it would be justified, she always managed at least that. Eventually, this natural hunger for excuses took the shape of two lovebirds, just a few meters away, coming towards her nonetheless! The pussy cat pounced towards its prey - It took one pair of eyelashes that flashed cynicism and a smirky smile to destroy that relationship, and she liked it. The husband would soon become just another unity of society's misogynistic fauna, as the bland seducing of the woman hooked him. He didn't need to act upon the blinked suggestions, his wife would already start nurturing a bleak mistrust in her partner after the exchange that happened that morning. Truth be told, this was not necessarily the woman's fault… the wife's life had already carved in her mind the poison of insecurity long before she crossed paths with this bitter young woman, and the husband… if he truly got any ideas from this very minor gesture, he'd eventually find another armor to wear his cheating with. When you strip this situation naked to it's gray wrinkly skin, one thing became painfully clear: The woman was powerless.
It didn't feel like that… it felt brave, felt like mission accomplished, and most importantly… after disgracing the perpetrators of her melancholic idealizations, it felt fair.
The couple kept walking, pretending or not, to not have seen her.
Later on, she'd observe a few kids going to school. They were giggling, sometimes minding the pace of their walk so no one loses this charming little parade. She was impressed by their independence, albeit disgusted by the parents'carelessness… this was a peaceful avenue, but true love would ignore logic and still worry. Love… she knew not much about it, but whatever it was that she learned, came from her dad.
Differently from the other girls, she did not enjoy parties or romance during high-school. She felt puberty the same as any other girl, and when the needs (at the time they were not scrutinized) began and her body began to bleed, Dad was not much help.
"There are things a man just wouldn't understand…" she thought, for the first time in her life noticing that… her Dad, and herself, were not the same.
The parking lot facing the restaurant was empty. The graffiti on the walls screamed at whatever political ruckus was happening at the time, and there was a bicycle chained next to it. It was the janitor's.
As it was a little too early, she approached the wall and stood there next to the bicycle, smoking a cigarette - the only self-destructive habit she had for lack of control instead of self-hatred.
"Oh.. good morning ma'am." The owner of the bike approached her from a distance.She'd just smile and nod.
He's a black man around the 50s, maybe 60s. Wore the same outfit everyday, a red old linen overall with a blueish shirt underneath it. It'd be easy to mistake him for a beggar.Since she started working at the restaurant in front of the parking lot, she's always seen him there. Everyday, he would arrive just about five minutes or so after her. It depressed her, and at the same time she admired it. The janitor was always slitting his face with a kind smile. He is very good at hiding - she thought. In the woman's reality, the poor old man hated his life.The greetings and kindness were no more than a sorry mask he'd try wearing, so maybe the costume becomes the outfit. He'd try to keep positive, try to be kind, and eventually, it would not be enough. She was certain he'd be found dead, probably alone in a dirty ditch somewhere, with the only one hugging him being a piece of scrap metal taken from his bicycle.
In reality though, he looked at her, admired her daydreaming for a while, and smiled once again, only to say:

"Thanks for looking after my bike."
As if by instinct, or because it was the only programmed reaction her brain had, she smiled and nodded to the man. The woman rushed nervously to the restaurant like a shy kid that just got called out for missing homework - would this truly be about a difficult assignment, besides the name and date fields, she would surely be found paralyzed after reading the title, in full bold and italic irony spelling: KINDNESS.
Inside the restaurant, she started cleaning, sweeping, organizing what little she had to organize. Once she'd notice something out of place, the woman would slowly, peacefully do her deed - this quieted her mind, even made her doozy. It was way better than that cigarette in the parking lot.
Soon enough clinking of keys and footsteps would advise her to stay low, for the day has finally begun. It was time to turn herself off. Smile to a customer, greet a coworker and play her part.
The recently hired man would arrive not a minute later or earlier than whatever was agreed upon on his contract. Sometimes he was quiet, these days the mood would be heavy and melancholic for the woman and her coworkers. The oh so friendly coworkers… they would laugh, hug and drink to the boy's humiliating monologues and self-shaming. He preached about his insecurities towards women, the incompetence of his teenage years and how terrible he was at everything, preaching and humbling himself, only to find himself accidentally speaking the truth.
It was through these uncomfortable moments of oversharing through jokes that the woman finally carved in stone whatever it was she actually thought about him: "A wolf in sheep's clothing comes around claiming to be scared of sheep. Sheep are unpredictable he says while showing his bloody stenching fangs.Still, the wolf believed his lie.Did this make the wolf a sheep too? Stupidity. Of course it didn't."
Today was one of those days where he was quiet and indifferent. He'd go through the job mindlessly and occasionally comment about one customer or two, he needed to make sure everyone knew he was there. He needed to be heard even though he wouldn't speak, just stutter and cry - like a little kid that lost his mom at the alcohol aisle in a big supermarket, he craved for being found, so he'd throw little tips here and there. Perhaps he would slide in this little bit of truth amidst conversation as a joke, since he really didn't care he had no plans for the weekend right? Maybe he would start singing the favorite music of a coworker just so a conversation would be started about said song, which in all honesty, was not very good at all. He'd never bother the woman though. He avoided her, same as she would with him.
The man, a deeply sad creature of control is left blindfolded from the maze of life as soon as he realizes during his college years how much control he did not have. Same as the woman he barely had any friends besides little devils that whispered chaotic commands in his ear - he was completely alone, too scared of everything to understand why.
You could say the twenty-something kid was a failure. He failed at life in his 20s, couldn't connect with anyone because of his very strict definitions of friendship and he was absolutely terrible at everything he tried, even though he did try everything. Like a dog, a filthy old dog tired of being cute for it's owners, the kid hid himself so very deep under the table of self-relation that it became cozy under there. He didn't want to leave and even if he did, he'd find a perfect good excuse not to.
During his first day he couldn't take his mind off the woman. She was gorgeous with the eye pits and dark very very dark hair. She was quiet, perhaps a little too shy and maybe, just maybe, there was a chance she was interested in him. He thought, playing with the fantasy of platonic love he would never get to live. The woman instantly became a muse for the artistic coward, and so, he'd not touch her, he'd not talk to her, he would not do anything that could corrupt the beautiful image his mind painted. Sometimes he wondered if she could ever pity him and from that sorry feeling, develop something deeper.
Flipping burgers and public humiliating were both such mindless tasks for him that he would simply daydream during it.The boy didn't have to take a bus to go from home to work and vice versa, still, whenever he finished the shift he spent hours walking around the nearby area, sometimes he'd sit in a park and observe the kids and parents doing their beautiful dance. He admired it, until he didn't. The realization that beauty was, for someone like him, nothing more than a beautiful song he would never be able to properly comprehend let alone play it.
He stole the fire of mediocrity, and was now living in a nest of furious eagles that punished him for his failure at manhood. As smart as the kid was, inside his nasty meat casket lied a deeper arrogance he could not see. He would not see even though occasionally glimpses of this truth flashed him.
At home, the TV was always on and he was greeted by flashes of light,gunshots and cold one liners from Hollywood heroes such as James Bond and John McClane. They were now his heroes too, and with this, the mistake of trading love for discipline until he was molded to the unreal reality of the big screens was already frayed inside his mind.
He grabs his phone and scrutinizes the buttons and numbers, oh the possibilities! Who should he call? What should he talk about? "I always do this…" he thinks to himself, whipping himself over his inability to decide. He needs to make the perfect decision, only then, he could say he succeeded. Twenty minutes go by as they always do and he realizes it's been way too long since this little dance started. He puts the phone down, boredom does lead to creativity after all…
The dirty sheets invite him towards its delicious rest - the inner one. He can't stop it now, the mind racing faster than the heartbeats and the pumping losing its traction only to recover it in a surge of energy coming from inside. The woman. She knocks on his door singing calls for help - he's the only one she can trust. She is there now, soaking wet wrapped in a gorgeous blue linen dress. She is barefooted and her legs align beautifully like the muse she really is. She likes him. He eats her up with his eyes and doesn't say a single word - the silent type, like the TV heroes he aspires to be. He adores her. Soon enough they are in a different room, a fancier and more colorful room with loud music and eyeless crowd. She caresses him, whispers success and assurance. Their lips flap at each other's bodies, their singing now rough, and the climax… Now he's all alone again. He cleans himself, looking in the mirror and feeling absolute shame. Tomorrow shall be a new day.
The sheets itched, and the mattress smelt of puberty. It's been a long time since he noticed how terribly disgusting his hole was. It was not a cozy space for resting rather than a torture dungeon he made himself. He got up and made himself a toast, frayed with butter and a glass of water. During the tango the very dry bread danced with water inside his mouth, he got startled by the ringing telephone. He knew who he was as pretty much no one had his number - an opposition to what his mother always told him. He answers the phone, but gives not much more than monosyllabic answers to his dear childhood friend. He is in a rush,he needs to get to work and doesn't want to be late as that could set a very bad precedent. He preaches about the new girl that works at the same place as him. She seems different, like those "goth" artists they saw on TV. Is she pretty? Cause if she is he definitely needs to try something on her. Oh but he is afraid isn't he? There is nothing to do about the situation besides appreciate another gorgeous painting God put in the museum of his life. He looked at the clock and soon noticed how late he'd be had he kept talking. The man hung up the phone and went to the bathroom. At the mirror, he analyzed his face, so different from his idealizations. His eyes, were bland, no emotion, no life in them. He then paid attention to his hair, this one he liked. A pompadour rich kid from the 80s kind of style fit him and since it reminded him of these golden days, he really liked it.
He grabbed his mp3 player and put the earphones, rushing to work, avoiding like nothing else in the entire world to get late. He'd never want to be late, he knew he was already mediocre at everything, so arriving on time was the least he could do. It was busy today, the city. Lots of couples,old men and hot dog sellers around. He'd hear families laughing, kids playing and weekend plans taking shape - jealous he was. In reality he did not care all that much for the good old ''hanging out'' but the fact he didn't have anyone to do it with only served to make his loneliness the more shiny and obvious. Embarrassing, humiliating… it destroyed his ego as he felt everyone looked at him and noticed how defective he really was.
The parking lot in front of the restaurant was always empty when he arrived with the exception of the janitor that would always stay around with his bike. He arrived about one or two minutes earlier, so after roaming around for a while, he entered and prepared himself to do the job.
The man was rarely the first one to arrive though, usually the woman would be there too, indifferently doing the dishes or organizing something that was already perfectly tidied up. It was charming, he thought. She cared way too much for this job and must be one of those very polite and smart girls he'd often see in movies… She'd never give a guy like him a chance, would she? He was a loser and definitely not as disciplined as she seemed to be, not to mention the looks of course! Hell, he hated it. He could never have what he wanted, there was always some kind of obstacle. The day was already ruined at this point, once again his biggest villains were created and imagined by a broken mind. Her hands. They would grab the mop in such a dirty way to clean the floor. He'd admire her fingers from afar, their flesh wrapping around very small bones. How would it feel holding that hand? Would it be cold? Would it be warm? He shivers.
It has begun, and when it did, nothing would stop it. Why her? Why not any other colleague? He didn't have a proper answer besides the concept of "love" he desired so much. There were other women working on the restaurant, but they were oh so bland and nasty for him. They have way too much experience and are way too smart to ever date someone like him… in more honest words: he is scared of them. They lived through much, they know too much and might tell just a little bit of truth to him. That won't do.
One of the coworkers approach him.
"Morning buddy, you alright?" A touch of his hand is felt on the shoulder.
"For you always" he laughs it off.
"Haha, great, look I actually need your help with something today. Can you help me get some of the ketchup boxes in the storage room? It's kind of heavy lifting and my shoulders are terrible."
It wasn't a bother. As a matter of fact, he actually feels good about being asked to do something - how special he was!
"Uh, yeah sure. When?"
"The sooner the better, how about now?"
The man wants to prove himself. So he takes initiative, the plunge to work and death immediate. He will meet his coworker colleague there he says, and heads there immediately.
"What a great guy" the coworker thinks as he also heads towards the room, until his phone starts ringing. He's gotta take this, it's his wife… but he can't let his buddy go there own his own. The coworker looks around, hastily, like a very energetic dog whips its tail towards the next fun. The first person he sees… he does not know her name, and he actually barely interacted with her, so he asks.
"Hey, new girl, can you go down there to help with the boxes?"
She turned her very compromised self and look at the man. Took a second, then another to process what he said. It was not usual for people to talk to her at work let alone ask for help.
"Yes." A monosyllabic whimper of an answer.
"Alright thank you, just head towards the storage room and get some of the ketchup boxes."
She wondered if it was heavy, if she was gonna be able to handle that weight and if somehow this would turn into another failure. She felt sick with how happy she felt to be talked to - by a man nonetheless. What was that? Was she a needy teenage girl? Was she really that pathetic? Nevertheless she kept going. She grabbed the keys to open the Storage Room's door and headed there.
The man rushed towards the storage room, which probably meant he had to wait a few minutes before his colleague arrived. He tried opening the door and noticed it was locked.The location seemed like a very huge parking lot, except instead of cars there were very small locked rooms from different stores,restaurants and general commerce. The metal door was ice cold when he touched it.
He sat down there and waited. All alone in a dark empty room, with nothing more than this thoughts - what a disaster. He could handle it, he thought, as at these moments he believed he was just what he wished he was. What led him to this lonely moment? What made him so weak? Was he always like that? His childhood was fine besides the occasional fun-time bullying by old-timer cousins and uncle. The first movie he ever watched… he couldn't really remember. The first one that he remembers watching though was… Spider-Man. His eyes started tearing up a little bit at this thought. Now that was a real man, he thought. somehow confused about why this comic, juvenile of a character drove him this sad. As a shadow approached, he held back his tears and stood up, trying to play it cool again.
"Hey dude you're not gonna believe it, I forgot the keys!"
The woman never went to the storage area before. She never had to, even when restocking was necessary she always found a way to keep to herself and her thoughts on the burger flipper. It was threatening. It reminded her of a book she once read and the oh so perverse things that happened underground. She missed that book, even though she did not recall too much about it. The area was very big, empty and smelly. It looked very similar to a bunker, protecting people from the outside dangers of the world, but leaving them more than exposed to the inside ones. She scrutinized the sounds of her footsteps on the moisty concrete, and looked for the restaurant logo on one of the many doors around her.
She could see the door from afar and she knew that was the right one. She also saw a silhouette of a man, sitting down and slowly standing up. No, there was no mistake here, she knew very well who it was. "So stupid, so stupid!" how did she not find it weird she was going to do this all alone? Someone needs to hold the door while the other person gets the boxes. Drowning in her own thoughts she kept walking, feeling each beat of her heart like a nailed hammer inside her stomach.
The man greeted the friend, only to find it odd the lack of a proper answer. It was dark, oh so very dark, but not enough to save him. The little they could see was enough to strip them naked in front of each other, and he noticed almost immediately… It was his muse. The one that terrifies with enchantment and the one he has no chance with. He feels like crying again.
"Hi. I'm here to get the ketchup boxes." This sounded as stupid in her head as when she said it out loud , trying to play cool and indifferent when she was actually both terrified and angry. The woman could not see it, but he was surely smirking and trying to be all friendly with her. She wouldn't allow it! Not with her. She was better than that. She was better than to fall to his "charismatic" tricks and lies.
She opened the door as opposed to handing him the keys, as there was no way in HELL she would be willing to touch him. He could get ideas - he did get ideas already didn't he? The turning of the key clinked satisfactorily to signal it was unlocked. She opened the door and held it.

"Get the boxes so we can bring them up later.I'll hold this."

He admired her movement and the way her arm, filled with grace and something else she called "clunkyness" slid towards the door handle. Her body was not for men to enjoy, she always thought. She is bad bait, attracting only predators of the worst species, it was always like this. He wondered so many things as he entered the cold storage room… her name, her age… he wanted to show her the movies and talk about his heroes, his ideas! Would she embrace them? Would he terrify? He needed to impress of course so he looks at her and offers, demanding
"Actually I can hold it, that's fine… it's a really heavy door."
His voice, high pitched and sounding like a teenager surprised her. He sounded like a child and she could feel some kind of… fear, maybe terror even in his voice. He proceeded to gently push her out of the way to hold the door. What was happening there? Was he trying to be a gentleman? Was he trying to sound cute or inoffensive by shifting his voice? All of that wouldn't fool her, there was no getting inside the solid casket she built around herself. It's always been like this for her, ever since her father died and she noticed how fragile these men that turn her life into hell really are. The woman would not discuss it further and got inside the room. She looked for the stupid boxes they needed and noticed how big they were.
"You need any help?" The man asked, holding the freezing iron plate of the door.
She declined politely yet monosyllabically. She grabbed one of the boxes. It was indeed way too heavy for her, and it was barely impossible to lift it. So she slid the box towards the door, stupidly like a video game character.
The man looked at that scene worriedly, afraid the very fragile woman might get hurt. If she got hurt, it would be his fault for choosing to hold the door instead of carrying the boxes and then she would hate him!
As soon as the box was out, she looked his direction and asked:
"Is this it?"
"They told me there are two more. Wanna trade places?"
What she did want was to wrap up this situation.
"Yeah, sure."
He then went in and looked for the second box in the very dark room. They were identifiable by adhesive strips that glow in the dark - saved a lot of money on electricity. He grabbed the box and immediately noticed how terribly heavy it was. He decided to try lifting it either away, didn't want her to think he was a weakling of course.
One step at a time he approached the door, similarly to a Japanese monster, his steps were heavy and slow. The arms hurt like hell, and his muted whimpers were still way too obvious for her.
He put the box outside and there was still one left. It was on the top of the storage rack, nearby the green adhesives that indicated drinks.
"Hey, uh…" a great opportunity to ask her name he realized.
"I didn't catch your name?"
One wouldn't be able to realize this in the darkness of the cold room, but her eyes widened with the question. Its such a common question and social maneuver that she was unused to - it's Celine she said. It was not joy nor sadness, but answering this triggered something that shouldn't have been triggered within her. It was humiliating, to feel so much in front of the one she hates.
"Celine? That's a cool name. I'm Mark" he answered what was not really asked.
Celine didn't even notice it, terrified by the situation and how needy she truly was.
"So, Celine… the last box is on the top of the storage rack. I'm gonna need your help to get it."
"Oh for fuck's sake… fine." So be it, she thought. Already deep in the shit with the enemy there was no way this could get any worse, and her pathetic self deserves punishing. She put one of the ketchup boxes in front of the door so it won't close.
"So, where is it?"
Mark, while hardly ever getting this far with a girl, was a little lost at his next steps. How should he answer her? How to convince her he is a guy he wants to date?
"I-its right this way."
They walk for a few seconds
Celine was quiet, just wondering how they were going to pull this and how much it would really hurt if this box fell on her skull. Was it heavy enough? Would the man get in trouble if she got hurt? That would be interesting, right? It was uncomfortable being in this dark room with this guy. He was quiet, and when he spoke he sounded like a teenager going through the worst possible puberty. Why was he like that?
Her stomach started dancing and she felt a strong urge to throw up.
"S-shit…"
The man stopped and tried to figure out what was her silhouette in the dark mimicking. Was she dancing? Was she stretching?
Her hand pointed to his direction, signaling him to wait. He understood she was not feeling well when the sounds of a crying throat started. Embraced in the dark curtain of that cold room, the silhouette and noises added up to a feeling of uneasiness.
"H-hey are you ok? What happened? Should I call someone?"
Celine just kept resisting, and her body dancing with the urges.
She was not used to these. The weakling pathetic boy was staring at her while she felt like her stomach was going to jump out of her body, it was frustrating to be admired like that, his eyes drawing her shapes and mistakes with terrible accuracy.
It took a good few minutes until she finally recomposed.
Mark was amazed, completely in love with that. He thought her movements and body spasms indicated way more than pain - it was honest, it was… charismatic, like a true muse. So beautifully drawn by the curves and edges of anatomy, his mind was going to platonic places. Maybe after this he would invite her out on a date, he would tell her how alone he truly feels and that she seems to be the perfect woman.
She said a simple "I'm fine" and suggested they kept walking.
When they got in front of the right storage rack, the red adhesive was very clear. It was not that tall, only enough so they could not really reach it.
"So, now what?"
"I was expecting you'd have a good idea." He said.
He expected, she delve deep in thought over the specific word. They always did, didn't they? And now she had to find a way to match said expectations.
"Why not just use the other box?"
The man stood in silence for a few seconds, not having thought about that. He agreed, and hastily got the box, once again trying to hide the absurd effort his lack of muscles did.
He put the box in front of her and she climbed on it. The last box, after feeling the touch of her hand immediately moved, fell to the ground like a corpse. It was empty.
*sigh* She pulls out a cigarette
The simple dot of flaming light was the only truly visible thing between both of them.
This time, the surprise on Mark's face was very much clear. He didn't know a girl like her would smoke which was a little bit disappointing for his very high standards.
"C-can I get one?" Let's go all in, he thinks, trying to impress the girl.
She hands him a cigarette while not letting a single word out. It relaxes her. She is now at ease with the man, she doesn't care.
Mark lights the cigarette with her lighter and very clumsily almost drops it on the floor. He inhales and immediately starts coughing.
Celine admires this. Oh my God! She notices immediately what he was trying to do… he never even smoked before did he? What was that? Was he trying to be cool? She can't help it and let's out a giggle, a cynical one.
The boy stays helpless for a good few seconds before he finally stops coughing constantly. Way more painful and embarrassing than that act was her laugh. She was no wife material was she? She was laughing at him.. for trying to match HER standards that were obviously way lower than his. He was trying to be the bigger person in the room and instead he gets mocked, like the fat kid that does his best at school's basketball.
"Why..are you laughing?" His voice cracking sounded like a whisper rather than a complaint.
"Laughing? Oh my that's just a giggle, you can't make me laugh." Her doozy voice answers the question similarly to a student giving the right answer to the teacher.
He sniffs,holding back the tears and crying,it was as if mom just found out about his F on the math test.
"Oh you are seriously crying? " She meant it as a tease to the dangerous animal she feared and hated so much, but a tiny fizzle of worry hid.
"Of course not… I'm a man!" followed by a whisper of himself
"You would never understand what it feels like getting laughed at."
She throws the cigarette to the floor. The fizzle is gone.
"Stop crying."
"W-what?"
"You look pathetic. Don't you have any shame?"
"I…"
She kicks him in the ground.
"I told you to stop crying. You won't fool me."
"What are you talking about?"
"You wanna hurt me don't you? You wanna bully me? Wanna use me? Do it. Come on. Fucking GET UP!"
"N-no… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry."
"You are SORRY? SORRY ABOUT WHAT KID?"
"I don't know… I don't know!"
"It doesn't work like that. You need to mean it. Are you sorry because you are a pig? Are you sorry because you look at women like they need to fulfill you in some way? They don't."
"Of course they don't! They never fucking did! All they ever did was hurt me!"
Celeine grabs him by the arm and lifts him up. She slaps his face.
"Tell me the truth now."
"W-what?"
She slaps him again.
"What? Did you lose your mind? I can't even see your face, hit me!"
"I can't! I'm scared of you… I'm sorry!"
"You are… scared of… ME?!"
At that moment Celine had slapped the kid's face with the top of her hand about 3 times. He was still crying.
"I just… I just wish you'd date me…"
"Oh for God's sake you are not lying… you really are… like that."
"Uh?"
"I would never date you! Never! Ever! Take that stupid idea off your mind kid."
"I know… I'm sorry. I know… I'm so sorry…"
She sits down.
"I would…" she sniffs, then sobs, and starts crying.
"I would never date you. I would never… date you. Oh… God!"
"A-are you ok?" He asks
"No I'm not fucking ok, I am a mess! I just noticed… the person I hated the most… was just a scared kid."
He giggles, sobbing
"And I thought… you were gonna be my wife!" He starts crying
"Oh my God! What are we, kid? What are we?!"
"I hate women…"
"You don't…"
"S-shit….!" He slaps himself, throwing a tantrum. Celine looks at this, amazed. She recognizes this.
They cry in the dark storage for a few minutes. Eventually the crying slow downs, sobs stop and silence…
Mark looks up, he tries to reach the sky covered by the concrete and mold.
"We really lost it…"
He keeps talking.
"It's not inside a restaurant or a movie… it's not in books either. Do you like books, Celine? I don't… well"
He sighes, and keeps going.
"I think perhaps it could be inside music… no, that is not it either…."
Mark slides the hand on the concrete, cold.
"It is something deep inside all of us… yet somehow… we lost it. Humans are all the same aren't they?"
He gets up, and invites Celine out
"I think we better go back there."
The dark room, filled with boxes and freezing temperature is quiet. He hears no breathing too.
"Oh."
Mark walks towards the door, held by one single box. He grabs it, and this time, while still struggling a lot to carry it, he makes no whimpering noises.
He goes back to the restaurant, and back to work.