Chapter 2
You freeze at the sight of the weapon, experiencing only a momentary relief that it's not pointed at you. It's not a feeling that lasts long though, because loud shouting from the direction of the storefront has the girl flicking off the safety on her gun and edging towards the door of the breakroom.
She looks over her shoulder at you and jerks her chin towards the table splattered in her blood.
“Get ready to stitch, I'll be right back.”
Like hell!
You stare at her open mouthed, but it would have hardly mattered if you had thought of something to say anyway. She's already slipped through the door by the time you finally make yourself move.
Finally, finally, your woefully absent survival instincts are beginning to kick in, because what the actual fuck. You don't know what trouble that girl got herself into, but it doesn't sound like the typical angry drunkard that's after her. Whatever mess she’s a part of, you want none of.
Throwing the bloodied tweezers onto the table, you run, making for the back door that leads to the dingy alley behind the store. There's an aluminum bat hanging above the doorway that your boss had the rare foresight to tell you about when you first started working here. It's been a constant companion at the end of your shifts when you have to take out the trash, braving the dimly lit alleyway by yourself. You've never had to use it, but it's always been a deterrent for any of the creeps who like to lurk around back there. Dragging it against the ground has always made a pleasantly grating sound and you automatically feel slightly more in control with it in your hands, ready to deal damage should you need to.
One hand wrapped around the grip of the bat, the other, slightly shaky, is on the handle of the door, and then there's two loud bangs. And just like that, the fleeting sense of control is gone, replaced by a jackhammering heart and you almost drop the bat in your haste to barrel out the back door.
Those were definitely gun shots.
You hope that girl was able to get away, whoever she was, as you sprint down the alleyway, your breaths not coming in nearly fast enough to fill your lungs.
What the fuck what the fuck. You repeat to yourself, the mantra the only thing keeping you from completely panicking and hyperventilating.
It's all too much, first the spike of fear from seeing her appear from nowhere in the store, catching you off guard, then the nervous giddiness you felt around her, then the sickening lurch of your stomach as you looked at her wound, the lightheaded feeling from all the blood, and–oh god, the blood.
I can't believe I actually did that.
You glance down, noticing for the first time your hands–and now the grip of the bat– are all smeared with crimson with it. Your stomach flips in on itself.
I look like a murderer.
The thought makes you give a surprised yelp, feeling slightly hysterical now.
You look up and realize you've made it far away enough from the store that everything around you is quiet now. It takes a few relieved breaths before you also realize that despite the gunshots, and whatever else happened, your boss will still find a way to make you responsible for the mess back at the store. If anything is broken or stolen, he'll take it out of your already measly paycheck. Besides, you can hardly walk around like this, holding a baseball bat with a crazed look in your eyes, hands stained with blood.
You sigh, defeated.
Hopefully the girl and whatever trouble she brought with her are long gone by now, and you'll be able to clean up and finish the rest of your shift without incident. Hopefully.
With a groan, you turn, jogging back towards the alleyway, eyes darting to every dark pocket of shadow.
“I don't get paid enough for this.” You mutter. You vow to botch the inventory numbers tonight so that you can steal some extra dried pineapple for later. You definitely deserve a treat after all of this is over.
As you near the back entrance of the shop, all is quiet, but you slow your steps just in case.
If anything seems suspicious, I'm running again, shop be damned.
You grip the bat tighter, creeping towards the back door, which you had left slightly ajar in your haste to leave. A sliver of light from inside spills out, and you let out a sigh of relief that it seems to be quiet inside.
When a cat darts across your path, you can't help the bloodcurdling scream you let out, scarring both yourself and the cat with the volume of it.
“Sorry kitty.” You whisper, embarrassed as you toe your foot through the crack to open the door wider.
The break room is empty, the other door leading to the storefront, still closed. You slip inside and bolt the back door behind you, letting out a breath, the adrenaline draining out of you along with the rest of your energy.
Slumping against the door, you glance at the clock and see there's still five hours left in your shift.
“I'm stealing the tequila too.” You whisper to the room, cursing your stingy boss, this shitty job, and that beautiful girl who seemed to be the cause of all of this trouble tonight. Yeah, your night had been pretty boring until she showed up, but at least it had been normal, safe. Now, you feel all out of sorts, trying to ignore the blood that's starting to dry, flaking off your hands.
You close your eyes, any confidence or steadiness you had felt at the sight of it earlier now gone, along with the tall girl who had both flustered and annoyed you enough into forgetting about it.
Now, without the distraction of her, or your racing adrenaline, you feel the familiar panic rising in your chest.
You drop the bat, past caring about the loud clang sound it makes against the floor, running to the sink where you squeeze your eyes shut, scrubbing at your fingers beneath the faucet. You’re determined not to open them again until you're certain that the water will run clear.
Tonight really is not your night though, because in the span of what feels like one breath, the far door opens, and a large man bursts through, shotgun raised. Your eyes meet, his widening in surprise, and for some reason, your brain makes note of the ordinary brown color of them before his head explodes in a shower of blood and brain.
It's only a moment after that that your mind registers the sound of the gunshot, a second after that, the warm sticky spray of blood covering your face, coating your eyelashes, filling your mouth.
You gasp, nostrils filled with the sharp tang of blood and then everything starts to go a bit dark as you start hyperventilating.
The telltale feeling of imminent unconsciousness washes over you, and the last thing you see is a lock of blonde hair in the corner of your eye before your body drops.
“Sorry about that, love”.
And then your world goes dark.