Breath Of The Reaper

Sicker Than A Dog

I slowly arose out of bed, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

Alone.

That word kept swimming around in my head like a shark circling a swimmer. I was the oblivious girl who decided to jump off a deep end and then Jaws was tickling my toes with his muzzle.

Way to personify a shark, Mi.

My eyes rolled and I shrugged on my black jeans and my hideous orange shirt. My name tag pressed awkwardly against my chest as I swooped up my hair into a haphazard bun and pushed my visor down over it.

"You're gonna be late!"

"You don't think I know that, Ty?!" I shot back, and I heard a scoff.

I pulled on the work shoes and a jacket, and made my way out of my room.

The tall guy in the kitchen smiled at me and tossed my keys at me. "Mom and dad would be proud." He sipped from his mug, and I just glared at him.

Our mom and dad died seven years ago, when I was ten in a fatal car crash. They were on their way to a conference at the courthouse downtown to get a press release. Dad was a writer for the city's newspaper and mom was a reporter for the nightly news.

"Here, before you go." He tossed me a pill and I dry swallowed it.

-

As I drove the fifteen minute commute, my mind was drowning in my sea of thoughts that always consumed me.

Youre never going to be good enough.

"Shut up." I growled to no one as I pulled into a parking spot.

Coughing a little, I winced at the uncomfortable feeling near my tonsils and rubbed my throat. God, I hate having a head cold.

My doctor (and therapist) gave the go ahead to start work again. Whoopdiedo.

Pushing the door open, I faintly heard the bell ding from the back, signalling it was open.

"Oh, it's just Naomi."

"Yeah, just me.." I muttered under my breath, not even bothering with Jerry's bullshit.

I put my stuff in my locker and pulled an apron over my head, heading to my little isolated corner near the ovens.

"You okay, hun? You look terrible." I faked a smile, "thanks, Zoey. I know I look like shit." She handed me three dirty trays and a rag, "sorry, but if Lisa sees you like that, you're gone for today."

"I would hope so," I yanked out a white bag from the small fridge below my work station, "can you wipe those off for me?"

My somewhat tan fingers curled around the box cutter as I slit down the length of the bag, flour spilling out. "Oh, and tell Alex his shoes look like shit."

"I heard that!" He called from behind the corner, "you were supposed to!" I chuckled at the older guy.

"Need anymore help with anything?"

"How many bakes are there?" I heard her small breaths as she counted, "six." I pulled out a half gallon of buttermilk out and started mixing the gross, mud-like mix.

"I'll make about four more than fuck around," she laughed and nodded, heading back to her corner.

--

"Naomi, you can go on break." A girl I've seen around but never really cared to note her name pulled the identical apron over her head, and patted my shoulder.