Work Text:
[Amber]
Get up - smile; go to school - smile; go to work - smile; go to sleep. Stitch after stitch after stitch; the routine embroidered its unduly pattern into the depths of her skin. Her fingers reminisced with glee, tapping enthusiastically against the sticky, wooden countertop. Those days were growing nostalgic. (How ironic, that it was her distaste of those days which led to her current predicament.)
She sighed. And now… now, where was she? Alone. In a dust-coated room, particles gathering in her lungs with each inhale; they would certainly kill her one day. Tch. Kushida glared as she coughed away. And again, her finger prodded the old countertop. No customers; nothing to do.
-
Footsteps landed dully beyond the door, and before the hand could think to turn the handle, before the bells could rattle and jingle, the threads tightened. A powerful finger pulled her spine straight; she softened - eyes amiable, smile sweet and modest. Life wound itself around the polystyrene once again. Tick, tick.
Ah, what a shitty sight. Old aisles were stocked to the top with half-expired nonperishables, the garbage dump occasionally interrupted by a radioactive snack that could only pique excitement from a teenager. Fridges were in the far back, stocked with the cheapest of booze; fitting for the sleazebags that frequented the store.
The new customer did nothing to quell those stereotypes. Hunched, hairy, haggard. He was selecting a pack of cigarettes. (What a shocker.) Kushida fought the urge to roll her eyes when he gave her tightly-wrapped body a once-over.
“Hey, missus,” he called out, voice just as greasy as his hair. The man must have thought he had so much swagger, limping and smirking on his way to the counter. “Nice night, eh?”
Why the fuck was he even smiling? Did such a cheap, fleeting thrill bring that much joy? Pathetic. It would be hilarious to see him waking up - filthy and all alone - in one of those decaying, single-room apartments - having to grapple with his pathetic, insignificant existence. Kushida’s lips curled upward.
When the man finally reached the counter, she found that he had not only bought some Mevius cigarettes, but also a pack of spearmint gum. (Such variety.) With practised delicacy, Kushida went to scan the two items.
“So how’s your day goin’, beautiful?” he drawled. Up close, the pores and wrinkles on his skin grew ever-the-more apparent. Like a volcano-ridden earth. Should she also tell him the gum wasn’t working?
The beige-haired girl brushed a lock out of her face as she flushed. “It’s going alright. About as good as anything here can get,” she replied casually. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
He leaned one of his forearms against the counter, staring up into her eyes. “Nup. Just revelling.” He flashed his rows of yellow teeth. “Your beauty’s really gettin’ wasted here, y’know? Bustin’ it ou’ for a coupla yen ou’ here in this shitty corner store.” The scent of rotten tobacco slithered out of his mouth.
Kushida felt her hands tremble. Oh, she could be doing something worth a lot more to her life. Maybe hang out with her new friends, weave her web of influence. Explore the new district she’d found herself in.
She forced a chuckle. “I’ve got to get by somehow, don’t I?”
“How ‘bout I treatcha to somewhere nice?”
Kushida laughed again. No matter how much she longed to stab a pen deep into the wood - perhaps rip her skin off, force her vomit down the man’s throat - she strung herself tighter.
‘You don’t want to get into another predicament again, do you?’
The shitty cashier job was meant as a lasting punishment for her previous outburst; her damned, thick-skulled head needed to get the memo. She had to keep going. Keep smiling. There was no other way she could continue.
“How about treating yourself first?” the girl quipped. The edge buried itself deep into Kushida’s chest. She took a deep breath, forcing her voice to remain gentle. “And besides, I hardly know you.”
“Not after I treatcha.”
“Sorry, but I’ll have to turn you down. I’m content staying here.”
“Awww…” His grimy hand reached for her chin. (His hands need to be cut off.)
“Would you like a bag?” she asked hastily.
Kushida’s feet began to squirm. Men like him ought to die. Oh! Not just die, no, they deserved a slow and painful death, to writhe forever in hell.
The man grinned as he stopped his advances. “An extra fifty? I’d gladly pay for one.”
She bent down, the paper bag crumpling under her grip. A coin was tossed on the counter alongside a paper note as she put the items and receipt inside.
“Have a nice day…” she said cheerfully. Her smile remained everpresent.
The man chuckled and moved to leave. He couldn’t have moved slower with that overconfident little gait. Time stretched and coiled around her throat; her fingers tapped against the wood. Eugh. How disgusting it all was. Tick. Tick. If someone told her a full two minutes had passed, she would believe them whole-heartedly.
Finally, the door opened, the bells jingled, and closed. Silence.
Kushida grabbed the note he left on the counter, not bothering to unfold and read its contents. She pinched the ends tightly, ripping it once. Then twice. Again, and again.
Something needed to break.