Killing Is Forgiving - (Killer Croc x Reader)

6. - Broken Fingers-Crossed

"I desire the things that
will destroy me in the end."

-Sylvia Plath-

━━━ ✙ ━━━

((Y/n)'s P.O.V.)

"Hey, (Y/n)?" Marcel, my annoying, chubby, nerdy co-worker, chirped. His voice was trembling as he frantically perambulated back and forth, searching for something, and trust me, it would be his phone.

"What?" I responded lackadaisically as I recounted the dollars in the cash register for the third time by now since the parlor was empty, regardless of how bustling the street was. The last person who left this place was a stereotypical college jock with a varsity jacket being slung on his broad shoulder who's probably on his cheat-day and just broke up with his so-called lover just because. He even left without leaving a single tip! I theorized that that guy is a little bit of an asshole.

"H-Have you seen my, um, phone?" Marcel stammered, probably finally realizing that he keeps saying the same question too often ever since he works here.

"You mean that?" I informed as I hinted Marcel his phone which somehow was lying on the floor with my eyebrows, halting my humdrum activity. One of the pizzaiolos who was speaking Spanish with his other Hispanic friend chuckled.

"How the hell did I not see that..." He muttered to himself to alleviate the timidity as he approached his phone and soon pocketed it.

"How the hell did you not see that indeed," I ridiculed as I proceeded my mundanity. If I got caught poking my phone, the boss would warn me a final warning, and I won't let him do that. I sometimes wonder how can Marcel get away from Mr. Frietzer's injunctions.

So, here I am, struggling to be a forlorn employee-of-the-month of an underrated pizza parlor by recounting dollars, which actually has a decent recipe and delicate taste for such an abomination of defected Italian pizza. I mean, doesn't America itself ruins everything, from movie remakes to international relations?

I can't blame America for being America though.

Whatever! Fuck philosophers (for now) and their famous last words! Also, fuck life and Marcel for being such a snot and nonchalant to (almost) everything! He's adorable when he's screaming though.

An abrupt loud thud on the display window startled me, the pizzaiolos, and Marcel who spontaneously screamed like a girl.

"HOLY HELL!" I shrieked.

"¡Santa mierda!" Paul shrieked.

"¡Oh, Dios mío!" Gabriella shrieked.

"AHH!!" You can guess who shrieked like this.

I wasn't lying when I said that Marcel screaming is adorable, especially when he encounters cockroaches. His girlish shrieks are the best entertainment here in this parlor, that is if you're lucky enough to see him doing that.

"You guys, hide!" They obeyed and gradually crouched as I and Marcel did the same.

I looked at the window and saw...

Javier? Bumping his forehead on the window?!

Agitation emanated from his countenance from beyond the display window. Did he get mugged or something?

I slowly rose as my trepidation eased down, and the others did too. I glared at Javier, but he didn't seem to care.

"What are you doing here?!" I shouted, hoping my voice will somehow be able to penetrate through the window and muffle the cacophony outside. Knowing that it's impractical, Javier shook his head, probably clicked his tongue too. He bumped the door open with his hips with his hands retracted to the back, like a ninja running in anime. For the record, I hate anime.