Vivamus, Moriendum est (Rorschach x oc)

18. Too Late

*Just a small note this is taking place a few months after last chapter*

Walter's P.O.V.

"Ugh, why do they keep allowing men to run these places?" The girl at the counter scrunched her face in disgust.

I remained silent and patiently waited for her to realize she hated everything and finally leave. She had however, realized she hated everything but appeared content to stay and complain about it all. The girl's mother nudged her gently.

"Agnes, be polite." The mother hissed to her.

"It's no wonder if this one makes everything here. What would he know about beauty?" The girl, Agnes, asked with contempt. A harsh glare came with the comment.

The mother sent an apologetic look my way. The interaction had no effect on me. I stared blankly off, not paying them any glance.

My job at the garment factory had thus far been bearable but unpleasant. Handling women's clothing made my skin crawl. Still working in the back with the fabric was preferable to what the clothes were intended for. Interacting with real women had been much worse. I wanted nothing more than to retreat to the stuffy darkness of the factory. But the fabric order wouldn't be coming in until Monday and Mr. Garner had taken a few personal days. Before he left, he ordered me to handle everything out in the showroom.

I remained behind the counter, rigid. Staring. Wishing to be anywhere else. All these women milling about the showroom. Shooting me weary glances or in some cases ones of disgust. Little did they realize I was just as uncomfortable with them.

Everything in the room was met with disinterest from me. I tried my best to avoid eye contact and conversed as little as possible. There was nothing here for me. Nothing worth my time.

I considered chasing them all out. Closing up shop. But my sense of duty kept me rooted in place. Should I call it an early day my sense of righteousness, the only thing I had left, would be gone. More realistic what would I even do if I left? Sit around by myself in my shambled apartment? Sitting idly by didn't work for me.

As I wrestled with my morality the shop door opened once more. The tingling of the bell sounding pleasantly, though barely heard of the mindless chatter of the women inside. At the signal of a new customer my heart sank. Suddenly, everything felt heavier. I didn't know how much more small talk I could take. Not that I even tried. Some women saw my disinterest in their attempts of discourse over the weather and were shamed into silence. Others saw it as an invitation to talk more. To which I stared placidly and made no effort to participate. Often, they never noticed.

I didn't intend to pay the new arrival any attention. Though it had been impossible. She stood out too much against the perfectly groomed, high society girls in the showroom. This girl had tattered clothes and long hair that could not be described as a rat's nest. Rats would have constructed something more structurally sound than even this. It would have looked better.

I wondered what this girl could possibly want here. Beggars usually didn't come anywhere near here. Had they even tried Mr. Garner, a towering man with a temper, would have chased them out. He'd chase after them shaking his fists and spittle flying. His face becoming so red and hot you'd think his glasses would fog. This girl did not match the usual clientele or a regular person you'd pass on the street. Homeless perhaps?

Then she began to come closer. The face was a bit gaunter than I was used to. Dirt smeared across the pleasant features. That I was more used to. Though there was no mistaking those large deep chocolate doe eyes. Nor that fierce expression.

My heart felt caught in my chest. If possible, I became even more tense than before. Tense and angry. All that time trying to get away. All my efforts to protect her. And now here she was. She shouldn't be here.