Chapter Text
1.
You were lucky to say you didn’t hate your job. Only dreaded it.
And even with the distance, vehicles on a nearby interstate could be heard through the walls. Always.
A catchy song played over them from your ear bud, hands organizing change before you.
None of this is new.
A vehicle pulls into the parking lot.
Shifting your attention to an aisle mirror, you see a dingy white truck take its place in the front, still you pay no special mind.
Your fingers are chilled to the bone.
The fluorescent lights above begin to produce a buzzing sound, flickering abnormally for just a moment.
Hinting to pay attention.
But you hadn’t the reason to suspect so.
So on you worked.
Doomed to the night shift had left you with some sort of brain fog. It’s been a month with still no sign of returning to your previous sunny schedule, but who cares.
It wasn’t like you had much of a social life to begin with.
Rent would always be due.
A bell chimes above, signaling the patron’s entrance.
You don’t even glance, pennies still require sorting.
You couldn’t help but cringe, though, as the man’s shoes squeaked upsettingly against the tiled floor. As if he didn’t care about breaking the peace.
Of course he doesn’t, you figure, ‘cause on he goes all while fiddling with some bag of chips, creating this awful crinkling noise throughout the store.
You’re reminded of how much this job actually sucks when you aren’t the only one present.
Two pennies and a whole lotta dimes later when his voice stabs the air.
“How much for a cupa’ ice?” …Cupa’ Ice? The fuck?
His voice is low and raspy, gross like his breath would smell of smoke.
You finally look up only to force yourself not to make some look you’d regret.
He’s wearing this large white hoodie with ripped dirty jeans, but that’s not abnormal. His stringy hair is the kicker, covering most of his face, jet black.
Topped with a mask hiding the rest.
He’s also tall, menacing. Off looking.
Greasy.
Oh, he’s probably sick, hence the mask. The ice is for his throat. Now you start to feel bad.
“Don’t worry about it, sir. You can just have it.”
You give him your good girl service voice, smiling pleasantly.
Was his request truly free? Hell if you knew.
Scary guys like him meant you just smiled and nodded your way through conversation till they left.There’s this one guy who goes on and on about his kids.
“Thanks, miss.”
You choose not to respond and simply return to your previous task. Eyes glancing up to the back of the store occasionally, spying the stranger’s movements while he fills styrofoam with ice.
Just a single button could alert the police to your aid, so you weren’t ever too frightened. Just unnerved.
Can never wait to get home.
Eventually, the guy arrives at the register. Places a “Cupa’ Ice” and ibuprofen down in front of you.
Had discarded the chips somewhere evidently. Maybe into his own pocket.
Not your problem.
Something starts to feel wrong, though. And it’s most definitely the way he’s staring at ya’.
Taking out an ear bud and putting down the last of the change that needs sorted, you smile up at him. Fakely.
He speaks again. ”So, why’s a doll like you working so late?”
God, he’s a creep.
Your stomach twists and your face heats up.
You shrug and try to look unbothered, “Bills, you know how it is.”
”Don’t got a boy at home to take care of ‘em?”
His voice ought to be threatening but he’s layered it thick in honey.
You can only shake your head, refusing to look at the fella anymore, done scannin’ his pills.
The register beeps and you see him ignore the payment screen.
“..You sure the ice is free? Not gonna get in trouble for me are ya’?”
He’s still looking down on you despite your obvious discomfort.
Maybe he likes that. They all probably do.
So you force yourself to look up at him.
Shrug. Start showing attitude despite your shaky hands.
“I don’t mind. Just sounds like you need it.”
He laughs in this way like he actually found it funny, which you find funny yourself. Pays for his pills with a 5.
Before you hand him the change, “Nah, pocket it. As thanks. Not many people out there like you.” Oh jeez.
Really you only did it ‘cause you feel threatened by him. Empathy, too. You pegged him to not have much.
The man starts to stare down, at your name tag. You put the $2 and whatever coins in your back pocket.
Gift him an obvious questioning glare.
“Nice gas station. Gonna’ come back sometime.” He tells.
You remain unspeaking.
“Pretty name, Y/n.”
The bell chimes on his way out, your heart on the ground.
Why.
God you really didn’t want to see that man again. He made you nervous.
Sorry, can’t say the same about you pretty girl.