Background Noise [HS]

THIRTY

Violet mazed the labyrinth of aisles and shelving, picking out items that stuck out and tucking them back in their place. The store was unusually quiet—customers out for the New Year rather than in and browsing—and she could not wait to join them. Moved quickly with that in mind, tidying up the shop and finishing all of her chores in record time, desire amping up determination, setting her in motion. That night, she moved like a machine; one with a ticking time bomb heart and fleeting, anxious eyes.

Nate manned the counter, studying her with a puzzled look. The rhythm in which she moved was musical, stride stepping in time with the song playing overhead, setting her at ease the longer she allowed herself to get lost in the music. It was nothing like the way she'd carried herself the few weeks prior: shoulders slumped and eyes cast toward the floor. She was possessed only to come to work, do her job and nothing more. There were no glances stolen in direction of the front door as there were now. The change was as odd as it was contagious; even Nate glanced every now and then in wait.

The signs were impossible to ignore. All night she'd been tugging on her collar, and it was with a final push from the counter and a proximal, inquisitive side-glance that Nate made out the purple bruising just before the white cloth came to cover it.

"That looks like it hurt."

Disturbed, Violet jumped in surprise before glancing up with flushed cheeks, following his knowing gaze. Laughed half-heartedly whilst shaking her head. "You weren't supposed to see that."

The white collar was then flared upward. Heart rampant at both embarrassment and the thought of her counterpart walking in now, during this curious exchange, Violet gravitated toward the nearest row of shelves. Would he storm in, eyes blazing with assumption? Or would he stride in, knowing as always, smirk on full-show? Never mind that, for she was preoccupied with Nate trailing her, invasive in being concerned, in wondering why after weeks of a sudden change in character, Violet was showing signs of a certain presence in her life.

And while he knew such aspects were hardly any of his business, he wanted to make sure that between these phases, between the things he wondered about, she was okay.

And so he followed, did for Violet what he didn't for his sister with a palm pressed to the back of his neck, eyes, reluctant in meeting her annoyed expression. "Look," he started. "I know it's not my place, but it's reasonable for a man to be concerned."

The direction this conversation was taking brought Violet to a standstill. She paused, not quite following. Turned round with a stack of vinyls rubbing dust onto her arms. Nate studied her expression. It was nothing like Janice's—not a trace of fear or frailty to be found. There wasn't anything that seemed to click along with his words; Violet did not turn defensive, or go into a state of panic. Just stared, genuinely confused by his question.

"Oh," he said, blinking. "Never mind, my mistake."

With a wave of his hand, Nate went to leave. Had every intention to drop the situation and never speak of it again, for he'd clearly been wrong in assuming anything about Violet's relationship. He'd simply misread the signs. Put it down to paranoia, to the guilt of being wrong the first time.

He went to leave, but Violet was far too taken aback by his behavior to allow it.

"Nate, wait," she called, trailing after him. The heels of her wintry boots clicked along the floor as she caught up to him. "Hey, wait up."

Her coworker stilled with eyes closed, fingers curled to fists. Although he could not blame Violet for combating his curiosity with her own, there still burned an inferno of rage at the memory of what he would soon be forced to share.