Psychic

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My eyes shut tight, and my hands holding my head down, I attempted, not for the first time, to block the sounds out. I pictured a wall in my mind, and a speaker, spitting out every message that bombarded me. I imagined that wall pushing against the speaker, blocking it. Stopping it. The noise lessened, becoming quieter.

'Ms Voyant. I do not believe I am paying you to sleep. Get back to work.'

And just like that my concentration broke, in an instant every sound, every message flooded into my mind, almost deafening me. I tilted my head, to see the man who had spoken. 'Sorry, Sir. I was just taking a breather.'

'Well, next time you decide to take a breather, take it on your break. I understand you're sensitive to sound, but I am not paying you to stand around.'

'Yes, Sir.'

My eyes followed my boss as he walked off. I stood up straight, and looked around. The café was fairly empty. Only a few customers sat at their tables, sipping drinks and chewing their food. Although, in saying that you are possibly now picturing a near empty café. No. The place I worked at was decently popular among the locals. On a bad day, only a third of the tables would be filled. A third. There were café's that struggled to fill a third of their tables on a good day. And they had less tables. If it weren't for the menu and the setting, you could almost accuse the place of being a casual restaurant. But we didn't serve meals. The closest thing to a meal was our burger. Which was simply a bun, with meat and cheese. And sauce.

This burger had been served to one customer who was present at that moment. He sat by the window, chubby cheeked, and big boned. I could hear his stomach struggling to accommodate for each new bite he took, and I wondered why he kept eating when it was clear he'd had enough.

The bell above the door sung out and I glanced over, smiling when I saw who it was.

'Hey, Clair. When do you get off?'

'In a couple of hours. Why?'

'So that's why you don't have a boyfriend. You do all the work yourself.'

'What?'

'It's a joke, Numb Nuts.' Pitch rolled her eyes at me, and slid a ten dollar note across the counter. 'Gimme my usual, yeah?'

'Of course. Jam donut with a cappuccino, right? Two sugars?'

'Yep. Hey, you coming out tonight?'

'Out where?'

'Sketch and me were thinking about hittin' some clubs tonight. He's gotten over his little "I think I'm gay" scare, and is hoping to pick up some chicks. He asked me to be his wingman.'

I bobbed my head, not quite nodding. 'Alright then.' I chose not to correct her grammar.

'So you'll go?' Her eyes lit up.

'No.'

'Aw, c'mon, Clair. You never go out with us anywhere.'

'You know why, Pitch.'

'Yeah, yeah. You hate noise, so what? Stick some ear plugs in and let's go.'

'Pitch.'

'God, don't look at me like that.'

I rolled my eyes and opened the register. 'Like what, Pitch?'

'Like you're disappointed in me. I hate it when you look like that.' She gave me a pout, her hands sliding closer to me. 'C'mon, Babe. Please?'

I sighed, ignoring her grin the moment I did. 'Pitch.'

'Clair. You are this close to breaking, just agree already. You know how impatient I am.'