C h a p t e r T w o :
O V E R W O R K E D
♀
"Can you watch Abby for a second?" I ask, my eyes heavy.
The zebra comforter stretches across the queen-sized bed before my sister -- or at least a sleepier, less pristine version of my sister -- finally pokes her head out. She glares at me through eyes caked in black gunk, her messy bun a lot more messy than it is bun. She never was a morning person.
"I just woke up," she grumbles, rolling over.
"Just for a second... she's had me up since two." I reply, struggling not to disturb the half-conscious toddler in my arms. She has her arms wrapped around my neck in a chokehold, her head of curly blonde hair buried into my neck.
Riley sits up in the bed, hardly detectable in the sea of zebra print as she frowns, doing the math in her head.
Ten hours.
She shrugs and says, very groggily, "A few more hours won't kill you," before throwing herself back onto the mattress.
"Do you wanna lay down with Aunt Riley?" I coo into Abby's ear, rocking her from side to side.
"Noo," is her soft reply as she tightens her legs around my waist. It's one of the few words she knows how to say.
A small gasp escapes her lips as her favorite blanket slips out from between her fingers and onto the floor. She looks to me for a solution, two gorgeous blue buttons popped wide with worry, full lips forming an 'o'.
Riley's head pokes out from underneath the comforter for a second time as she looks at me with mild anticipation.
I blink back at her and sigh, too tired to do anything more than stand in her bedroom doorway. The longer I stand, the heavier both my eyes and my niece become.
I eventually give in as I reach down for the fallen blanket, straining to pluck it from the ground. Once it's rescued, Abby does the impossible and squeezes me even tighter, showing no interest in being put down any time soon. Or ever.
My eyes find the clock on Riley's nightstand, a pale blue 12:32 PM glares back at me; an hour and twenty eight minutes until work.
Riley asks me to leave her room as she's swallowed by a wave of sheet and blanket, wrapping herself up into a makeshift burrito while I groggily oblige.
I hike Abby further up onto my waist and try to figure out a game plan.
"Abby... wanna watch Monsters, Inc.?" I try, using my best baby voice.
The hall is silent as Abby mulls my proposal over in her head. It's a battle between her two favorite things: being held vs Sulley.
I cross my fingers the best one can while holding onto a two year old.
"Kitty!" she finally shouts, way too enthusiastically.
She's passed out on the couch, ten minutes in.
Another five and I've joined her.
🕑
The smell of excited yeast hits me like a freight train, nearly knocking me to the floor as I walk passed the bread proofer. My stomach churns distastefully and I do everything I can not to vomit. It's a unique smell and difficult to accurately describe, but it reminds me of sulfur.
The smell still makes me nauseous even after working for nearly a year at Navassa's Convenience Store.
The store isn't a large place, nor is it incredibly busy; business is steady enough for its size. But Navassa is a dust bowl, and a permanent layer of smut cakes the floor. Pizza ovens and a deli unit take up a third of the store, aisles of overpriced merchandise take up the rest. Dim ceiling lights are barely bright enough to light the establishment.
I'm on autopilot when I brew a pot of coffee and practically zombified by the time I start ringing up customers. My co-worker, Bailey, stands only a few feet away, making pizzas as she lists the 'hot guy' customers she's called dibs on. I'm usually able to keep up with her chatter but, today, I can't even tell you what the first word out of her mouth was.
"What do you think, Merci?"
That time I hear her. I give my customer his change and wish him a nice day before I'm able to give her my full attention. "What do I think about what?" I ask, slightly embarrassed she realized I wasn't paying attention.
She sighs, "Cheese Steak Guy got married." (The 'hotties' had all sorts of identifiers, Cheese Steak Guy just so happened to be named after his order).
"Oh, that's a shame...." I let out a sympathetic sigh, not really sure how I'm supposed to be responding.
"A shame?" she asks, loudly. "I'll tell you what a shame is... I need another hottie. I'm not a home-wrecker."
I disapprovingly shake my head at her as I wipe down the counters. I don't mention the fact that the most personal thing she's ever said to Cheese Steak Guy was, "Would you like that toasted?" It wasn't personal enough to brand her a home-wrecker -- unless, of course, Cheese Steak Guy's newly-wed has an issue with other women making her man a sandwich.
Instead, I keep my mouth shut as I move back to the coffee station.
Bailey crinkles her brow as she thinks out loud, "ICE Boy is pretty cute."
Hot coffee spills across the counter I had just wiped down and splatters onto my arm, burning instantly. I close my eyes, willing away the pain. "Isn't he a minor?" I say, trying my hardest to sound nonchalant.
"I can still look," she shrugs, grinning ear-to-ear like a Cheshire cat.
The coffee pot slams against the burner, I'm lucky it doesn't shatter.
"Be careful over there, would ya?" Bailey warns, dicing vegetables for the pizza.
I nod apologetically, staring hard at the knife she's using as it quickly closes the distance between itself and her gloved hand.
She isn't paying attention, too engrossed in gushing about how attractive she thinks 'ICE Boy' is and how he'd make a perfect replacement for Cheese Steak Guy.
"You know, I've always had a thing for younger guys. Always wondered what they'd be like in bed, so inexperienced...." she starts up again.
Inexperienced?
If only she knew how wrong she was.
I grab a rag, wiping down the counter for the second time as I try to blame my mood on the lack of sleep.
The blade is three chops from her thumb.
Two...
"I mean, have you seen those muscles? I'm sure he could..."
One...
The blade raises, just about to make contact with her skin.
"Watch it!" I shout.
She looks down, pulling her hand out of the way in the nick of time. "Good call, Merci. Good call!" she smiles, not even concerned about how close she'd been to dicing herself.
"Can you watch the register? I need some air," I breath out, light headed.
It has to be the lack of sleep.
Bailey nods and I find my way to the back door, pushing it open with whatever energy I have left.
YOU ARE READING
Flawed
Teen Fiction♀ He was perfect in ways she wasn't ♀ ♂ She was real in ways they weren't ♂ It was all a matter of perspective.
