Out of The Loop

I feel myself fading in and out, eyes seeing blurry visions of life. I want to sleep. This was his fault—he killed me without a weapon.

-.-

Beep! Beep! Beep!

I jolt awake, my eyes suddenly open. It was a dream; I had a dream. There was a man and...

The memory of the dream slips out of me every second. My eyes tear up, blurring my vision. Heaviness tightens my throat and chest, breathlessness. I'm having an anxiety attack again.

I reach over the bedside table, which is also my dinner table, to grab the bottle of Xanax, knocking over another bottle—and several more—as I go. Everything's a mess, but my head is spinning too much. I spill out the contents on my hand, one of them falling off my hand and onto the wooden floor. Three pieces left, including the one that fell. I should buy more—I can skip breakfast for three days to afford it.

I take in one of them, downing it with water. The effects will take a while, so I bury my face in my knees and take deep breaths. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts. It's just a dream, a very stressful dream, but it's not real. Everything will be alright, Pauline; there's always a brighter day.

I can hear my therapist and her reassurances as the meds take effect, along with another male voice—probably someone I've heard on TV.

Once my anxiety attacks had stopped, I check my phone for the time. It's still early enough to take a bath for work—I'll do it quickly.

My stomach grumbles as I put on my uniform. It's some kind of jacket, coat thing. It's formal, suitable for where I work. The pay doesn't reflect the uniform, but I have no right to complain as a mere employee.

I take my almost empty bag of anxiety pills, wallet, and extra clothes and walk out of the room to start my 30-minute walk to Prima Mall.

-.-

Prima Mall is as generic as its name. It's a "high-end" mall with all the branded and expensive stuff no one can afford. There are branded bags, shirts, underwear, and jewelry. And I have the pleasure (it's not) to work in the smallest jewelry shop in the area. Our generic shop sells diamonds and gold, all of them are generic jewelry with generic designs.

I walk up to the store, disarming the security system to get in with no trouble. I have not tripped it accidentally before and I'd like to keep it that way.

The darkness of the room at the opening seconds is the only peaceful part of working here. There's little to no light, nothing to show off the shiny jewelry, no annoying customers, no manager pricks. Unfortunately, I need to destroy that peace. I flick the light switches on, filling the room with glaring brightness.

The clipboard containing the shift schedule is on the floor, instead of behind the counter. I pick it up to check who I'm working with today.

No one. No one for the next 6 hours, then I leave. Great, no one to deal with other than the customers.

I do all the prep work, making sure the displays are still intact, checking the glass doors for any cracks. Nothing, as usual. I stand behind the counter and unlock the front doors, starting the day.

-.-

Nothing has happened for three hours—a typical day. No customers, no calls, no nothing. I'm trying to avoid my phone because the last time I used it, the manager went in and scolded me so much, I almost quit. Still, I take glances to keep myself from going insane.

A man in a black jacket lingers in front of the door, sneaking glances into the shop and at me over the many posters. I don't know if I should be relieved or dreading that we have a customer. I plaster on a smile and walk up to open the door and greet the customer.