Beautiful Liar | Adam Sackler

Effort to Heal

The scuffed up, worn-down corner store reeks of cheap cigarettes and stale lottery tickets. The clank of coins disposing from the ATM machines, and the gruff laughs of slothful employees, filtered the warm air of the shop. It was not the... safest, nor cleanest, environment. The atmosphere was nearly detrimental and distressing, as opposed to comforting and tranquil.

Your fingertips apprehensively tap into the surface of the drab counter. You glance around the unwelcoming scenery heedfully, waiting for Adam to emerge from one of the rows of shelves, that contained sloppily organized snacks and cheap alternatives to tools and repair kits. They even had off-brand Oreos stashed onto one of the unlenient, rusty shelves, that looked like it would come crashing down at any application of weight.

The cashiers pale complexion and bald, speckled head, glistened uncharitably under the artificial lights beaming overhead. His narrowed eyes raked you in suggestively, his tongue swiping along his thin pair of lips. He smirked crudely.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing on this side of town?" He grunts. His grimy hands were plastered onto the counter, as he leans into his palms, eyeing you with sinister intent.

You narrow your eyes pretentiously back, withholding that pompous eye-contact, as you slam the box of condoms down onto the counter. You cock a taunting brow as you scoot the colorful box over to him, "Buying condoms." You quip vaguely, shrugging.

He scoffs, glaring at you as he snatches the box up and scans it belligerently. Jabbing the blocky, outdated keypad of the cash register. His eyes glimpsed over the box, and his arrogant smirk resurfaced.

"Extra large?" He clucks his tongue prudently, eyebrows crinkling together, as his smirk lingers. He shoves the box of condoms into a plastic bag, ruffling it out, prying it off of its silver rack and placing it on the counter.

"What?" You spat. "Is somebody jealous because they can only fit an extra small?"

Adam appeared by your side, his dark eyebrows weaving together as he approaches. He surveys you in bewilderment, as you and the cashier battle in a cold stare-off. A purple vein was protruding through the mans bald head, his teeth gritting.

"Ten dollars, even." The man barks. You flinch, your brave, assertive demeanor crumbling when he raised his voice.

You hastily fumble with your coat pockets, as Adam intervenes, slapping his hand into the counter and looming over the man. "Watch it, buddy." He snarls, pointing and waving his finger in his face potently. "Unless you want to fucking deal with me, I would advise controlling your temper."

The man snorts in amusement, "You watch it, man, or get the hell out of my store."

You slide a wad of crinkled cash across the counter, looping your arm around Adam's, as he sneers at the cashier with a grueling look. You tug him lightly, "Let's go." You insist, pulling him, steering him away from the man as he begrudgingly follows, his eyes still locked on his in annoyance.

Mr. Seymour had cancelled your "lunch date" after your lack of compliance. He was understanding, open-minded about your ordeal. He insisted that you rest up and cure your hangover before you come into work on Monday, and you agreed to his suggestion. You were grateful for Victor, not everybody was fortunate enough to be domineered by a boss that was as generous and dignified as him.

He rescheduled your rendezvous for tomorrow, during your lunch break. This time, you were keeping the meeting to yourself, instead of sharing it with Adam. The last thing you needed was a monstrous, cumbersome man accompanying you for a casual meeting with your boss. It was an unprofessional image that you refused to portray.