Sinking Faster

“Thanks,” I nodded politely to Garrett as he held the door open for me. I could feel the heavy amount of perspiration on my arms begin to evaporate as I was hit with a gust of the cold air being emitted from the rickety vents of the 7-Eleven.

The clerk at the register remained both apathetic and oblivious to our entrance into the store, continuing to unpack cigarettes from a box behind the counter while whistling some tune underneath his breath. In the back near the refrigerated items, a guy was hard at work mopping the floor, headphones placed atop his head.

Garrett headed over to the candy aisle, picking up a bag of Sour Patch Kids, weighing it in his hand also examining a Butterfinger bar.

“Hey, Gar?” I asked from the end of the aisle. He put the Sour Patch Kids back in its box and looked up at me. “Yeah?”

“Can I go to the bathroom? It'll be real fast,” I asked, pointing to the other side of the store, biting my lip.

“Yeah, go ahead,” he nodded. “Do you want me to get ya a Slurpee while you‘re in there?”

“Yeah, sure. Can you get me a cherry one?” I asked.

“Sure thing,” he replied, diverting his attention back to the candy.

I then made my way through another aisle, humming absentmindedly. The bathrooms were isolated in the back, forming a small alcove, of which the Mopping Guy was attending to.

“Excuse me,” I said, trying to ease past him. I could hear the ringing of the music blaring through his stereo headphones, so it was clear that I wasn’t going to get his attention any time soon. “Excuse me, sir,” I tried again. His head was ducked down, focused on his task at hand. Annoyed, I tapped his shoulder, maybe a little too firmly, but I really had to piss and this guy wouldn’t give me the time of day.

He jumped back, startled, clutching his chest, his mouth agape. His hair was stringy and gray, hidden underneath a navy blue cap; he had a goatee that resembled a tangled spider web and he also had a mole on the contour of his chin. He then grinned, showing his crooked teeth, a gold cap placed on his canine tooth. “You gave me quite a scare there,” he exclaimed.

“Sorry,” I brushed past him. “If you didn’t have your damn headphones in…” I muttered ruthlessly.

“What was that?” he asked defensively, plopping the mop back into the bucket.

“Nothing,” I replied rolling my eyes, going into the restroom.

I did my business and washed my hands, looking in the mirror under the translucent light. My face was badly sunburned, the red prominent on my pale skin. My hair was also rumpled and and scorched from the humid air. Running my fingers through the messy ringlets, I threw it into a sloppy bun, exiting the bathroom hastily.

The Mop Guy was standing right outside the door as I walked out, his headphones now placed around his neck. He looked enraged; his eyebrows were arched, a disgruntled expression planted on his repugnant face.

“Uh…excuse me please,” I said, now irritated, attempting to walk past him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he snapped, putting his hands on his hips.

“I beg your pardon?” I narrowed my eyes at him, crossing my arms. I walked around him, however, my shoulder collided with his, giving him the opportunity to grab my elbow.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, digging my nails into his fist, eventually prying it off mine.

Before he could do anything else, I kneed him in the sack, then running to the front of the store. I saw that Garrett was waiting for me, his hands in his pockets, while two Slurpees, one red and one blue, sat on top of the counter.

“Let’s get out of here,” I told him hurriedly, tugging at his arm, moving toward the door.

“What happened?” he asked, lifting his eyebrow.

“Nothing,” I replied curtly. “Let’s just leave.” I glanced at the back of the store anxiously. The guy was staring right at me, ferocity evident in his eyes. He made no movement of approaching us, but I was still perturbed nonetheless.

“Hold on, let me just pay for these,” Garrett said, digging through the skin-tight pockets of his skinny jeans.

I pulled a five dollar bill out from my pocket, slamming it on the counter, grabbing Garrett’s arm, running out of the store.

“Whoa, whoa. Hold up,” he exclaimed, taking a sip of his Slurpee. By now, we were walking along the pitched-black road again, Slurpees in hand. “What was up with you in there?”

I huffed, putting a hand up to my face. “There was just this creepy guy back there, in the bathrooms, and he wouldn’t let me leave. I panicked.”

“Well, why didn’t you just tell me? I would’ve socked him hard in the face,” he replied, surprisingly concerned.

“I don’t know,” I said, biting my lip. “I did end up kicking him, though. In the balls.”

He chuckled. “You would, Nicole. You would.”

“Hey, I was just defending myself,” I retorted, sticking my tongue out at him.

“Sure, sure,” he laughed. “I could have easily punched him, though.”

I smirked, chuckling. “Have you seen yourself, Garrett? You’re as skinny as a stick. I’m sure he could have pounded you.”

“No way,” he said, shaking his head. “Have you seen these guns?” He lifted his arm, flexing his barely-there muscles.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. You wouldn’t die or anything.” We were now slowly approaching Nick’s house as it sat quaintly in the early dawn of the morning. The lights were all off at this point, and no form of movement could be detected from the inside.

“I really wouldn’t,” he told me, smirking. We then stopped at the beginning of the walk at Nick’s house. “But all jokes aside. You do know I have your back, right?”

“Well now I do,” I laughed softly.

He looked at me, rolling his eyes. “No, really...I mean it.” I could tell he was sincere by the tone of his voice and the pleading in his eyes.

“Okay. Thanks,” I replied, smiling up at him.

As we started up the driveway, he put his arm around my shoulder, squeezing it tightly, whispering in my ear, “We wouldn’t want anything happening to the Nicole Freeman, would we?”