Don't Come Back For Me

It's Ya Boy, Mini Einstein.

       Je-sus, did you wish somebody woulda told you what the ever-loving fuck it actually took to major in science. You just had no social life whatsoever, no time for family or religion or any of the other unnecessary things. It was all science. 
       On the bright side, you knew every chemical equation and formula by heart, knew what types of reactions to expect, and knew what it took to create the every-day nuclear explosion. Not that you could actually test the last one, you just took your professor's nervous glances and fidgets as a sign that maybe you gave that presentation a bit too well. 

        Science is great. Science is life. Science is fun. Science took your mind off of most unwelcome facts. Burying yourself in your work allowed you to put up a little shield around yourself, protecting that smol, precious body of yours from the constant taunting and offensive bombardment. 

       Everything was now a mathematical equation to you. The outcome of everything seldom came as a surprise, having already been assumed before anything was ever done. 

       Coming out was a big mathematical equation, one of thousands of possibilities coming true. Mom and dad kicked you out, threw a bible at you, and shut the goddamn door in your face. No going back there.

       "Johnny was a chemist's son, but Johnny is no more. What Johnny thought was H2O, was H2SO4." You chuckled, reciting your favorite poem. The room around you was small, dimly lit, the only light being supplied by a small desk lamp leaning precariously over the edge to your left. If I move that, I need to avoid touching the metal and knocking anything else over.

       Carefully, you adjusted it, pulling it away from the edge before leaning back, lacing your fingers behind your head and sighing. You itched under your nose momentarily, shutting your eyes for a second.

       For the past few months, ever since the very moment you graduated college and your professors gave specific details about why it's never okay to fuck around with nuclear weapons for the hell of it. There were seldom any job offers, nobody really searching for a little Igor-esque companion. Any and all ads and requests you'd come across while aimlessly searching through the night were either already answered or denied, the position asking for one a little older than you. Apparently, the only way to actually be certain somebody knows anything is for them to look older, be older. 

       "Not like graduating top of your class gets you anywhere," you chuckled sardonically. You clenched your jaw, leaning forward once more. You were filled with determination, your reflection staring back at you from the blank laptop screen with a stern look. 

       You wandered onto an unknown website, the browser unlisted and the name nowhere to be found. There were just numerous ads, millions of people asking for different things. Some wanted a sex partner, others wanted to hire someone just to lay in bed and snuggle. Some were more innocent than most, bringing an 'aw' to the surrounding air every so often.

       A search bar of sorts sat in the lower left hand corner, a peculiar choice in placement. Clicking on it once gave the opportunity to narrow down the results. "Scientist" seemed most appropriate, quickly filling the blank space. A small circle appeared near the search bar before the screen shifted, results moving around until multiple requests for assistance in scientific research were directly in front of you.

       Scrolling through, none were interesting. All had asked for a more experienced worker, many specifying what age was most appreciated. One caught your attention, seemingly right for you.

       Wanted: LAB ASSISTANT
       Must be neat, prompt, and well experienced. Preferably having had prior experience in the field.

       The final sentence in the description sent your heart plummeting, your dreams lying dead. It had seemed so right, but there was possibly no way to convince them to accept you. After all, you were young, with absolutely no experience in the field. And you were seldom neat, very often late. This proved not to be the job for you. 

       With heavy sighs constantly interrupting the silence, your hope hanging dead in the stale air, you rolled your finger lazily across the the raised bump in the center of your wireless mouse, moving further down the screen.

       Another ad caught your eye before you hastily selected it.

        Wanted: LAB ASSISTANT
        Must be quiet, able to work alone, and not a complete idiot. Preferably well versed in scientific equations, formulas, and common reactants. Experience not needed, knowledge required. No idiots, no exceptions.

        Your heart found its way back to your chest, your hope filling you with once-thought-to-be-lost determination. With a bright grin, you scrolled over to 'reply', tapping excitedly. 

       Hello, I am messaging in response to your ad. I am capable of working alone, preferably in a quiet room. I graduated top of my class, majoring in, essentially, all things scientific. I have no experience, having just recently graduated, but am prepared to test myself in the field. I assure you, I am no idiot. If you accept my request to take the position as lab assistant, please respond ASAP.

                 (Y/N)

        Sitting back, you let your arms dangle carelessly, swinging over the sides of your plush desk chair as your heart beat in excitement. Hopefully, this was the one. You glanced down at the clock in the lower corner of your laptop, reading 3:23 AM. 

       There's no way they'll reply right now. Any sane person would be asleep.

        You ran your hand through your frazzled hair, your eyelids drooping as a sudden wave of exhaustion pulled you away from the sea of nerves. Slowly, you stood from your chair, cracking your joints and stretching your muscles before removing your shirt and pants, preferring to sleep in your boxers in an attempt to escape the July heat. 

        Your feet dragged, each step feeling heavier than the last as you meandered over towards your laptop, one arm outstretched and pressing the screen shut. Before it could close halfway, a small ding alerted you to a notification. Drowsily, you raised the screen once again. 

      You had a message.

       Perfect. Don't be a kiss-ass. Meet at the enclosed address if you think you're fit for this job. Remember, nobody likes a pussy.

        The address was fairly simple, though the message was off-putting. Apparently, they, too, knew not of a good night's sleep. The profane language proved them to be laid back, or, quite possibly, a bit of a narcissistic ass. With a light, sleepy chuckle, you shut the laptop, your stomach doing flips as you thought of what all you would do, what this job entailed.

        Crawling into your unmade bed, you laid your head back and set an alarm on your phone, promptly dropping it on your face before setting it onto your nightstand. Rubbing your sore nose, you let sleep take over, thoughts racing through your mind in excitement for tomorrow.