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9

Anxious

Gwendolyn

G wendolyn had spent the entire bus ride thinking about the spider and how much she wished someone else would call management about it.

Gwendolyn would do it herself if her building had a submission form on their website that actually worked.

Like many other things, Gwendolyn avoided using her phone for its original intended purpose.

She even had her dentist and doctor’s appointments handled through email and text.

Fuck, you have to get your teeth cleaned Thursday!

“Goddamn it,” she whispered as she exited the bus.

The bus stop was across the street from the long stretch of parking lot.

Master Basting’s location was on one end, with multiple smaller businesses all in a line with it.

It was convenient for most people.

Gwendolyn’s pharmacy was right next door, followed by a pet store, office supplies, and her new dentist office .

Gwendolyn had switched over to them when Master Basting had rolled out their new insurance plan.

It wasn’t new as in good, but Dr. Wilson did take her insurance, and the lady who cleaned her teeth six months ago had at least been gentle.

Small—very small blessings, Gwendolyn thought as she pressed the button to the cross walk.

The moment the light changed, Gwendolyn stepped into the crosswalk.

When a car horn honked, she tried not to flinch at the sound.

When she heard the lewd cat call, Gwendolyn ignored it altogether.

Just another fun moment in her fucking annoying day.

Gwendolyn had only narrowly avoided being hit by two minivans before she made it to the front doors of Master Basting.

It shifted the average down by one, but the middle-aged woman who shoved her cart at her while demanding Gwendolyn put it away might as well have counted as another.

It’s just gonna be another wonderful day in hell, isn’t it?

She waved at Catie on her way in—mostly because Catie waved first—surprised the new hire was already alone at the checkout counter.

Mary was usually very strict about leaving newbies alone.

She claimed it wasn’t good for team building to let a new hire run solo before they got acquainted with the way the store ran things.

What does she even have to worry about?

This is a hobby store, not a Walmart.

At most, we call the EMT during Black Friday because two ladies fought over the last Christmas elf.

Gwendolyn continued to wave to some of the stocking and unloading crew.

She liked them well enough, as they were a lot quieter than the workers on the floor.

Granted, she couldn’t remember their names to save her life.

She was better at remembering faces, likes, or dislikes than actual names.

Ambrosius is easy to remember because no one has a name like—

She visibly winced.

Why was she thinking about him again?

Fuck, could she be fixating on him?

The last thing Gwendolyn wanted was to give what precious space she had in her exhausted brain to that pompous jackass.

Gwendolyn was grumbling about her dislike of the antique store owner when she pushed the break room door open.

Inside was the familiar sight of Sierra’s back as she sat with her legs crossed and Tom at his locker.

Tom was young, brunette, and the same kind of burn-under-fifteen-minutes white as Sierra was.

He was an okay worker.

A mixture of stock and clerk work, depending on what Mary needed.

He was flexible enough—a skill he often demonstrated with how often he would switch schedules at the last minute.

He also had a pair of baby blues that seemed to keep Sierra’s attention for longer than appropriate.

Sierra had chosen a chair nearest to the lockers, practically falling out of her seat as she and Tom exchanged …

friendly banter? Flirting?

Or was it foreplay?

Oh, good.

I get to be an unwilling voyeur to whatever the fuck this is.

She had always heard people describe lust between people as something you could almost taste.

Like an electric charge in the air.

Maybe it was the pheromones—Gwendolyn wasn’t a scientist, so she couldn’t say for sure.

But whatever it was, it was physically turning Gwendolyn’s stomach.

Which was odd, as Gwendolyn hadn’t eaten anything that would cause an upset stomach.

Coffee rarely disagreed with her .

When Sierra reached up to tug on Tom’s shirt, a gesture meant to pull him down toward her, Gwendolyn had enough.

She cleared her throat loudly as she continued to the wall of lockers.

The couple of— whatever —appeared bashful.

Which suited Gwendolyn just fine if it meant Tom moved away from her work locker.

It’s like fucking high school all over again, Gwendolyn rolled her eyes as she shoved her purse inside her locker.

“Hi, Gwendolyn!” Sierra chirped.

Unsurprising, as Gwendolyn wasn’t sure Sierra had a setting outside of chirp and whine.

“Hey, Gwen,” Tom waved—a half-assed attempt, as he was clearly still focused on Sierra.

“Oh, gotta go, my break’s almost over. See you on the floor, Sierra!”

Tom left before Gwendolyn could correct him on using a shortened version of her name.

Gwen was what her boyfriend called her, what family and close friends called her.

Not many people called her Gwen anymore, and Gwendolyn would have preferred to keep it that way.

“So, what did you do last night?” Sierra asked.

Gwendolyn knew Sierra didn’t really want to know.

Her coworker’s eyes were still flicking toward the break room door.

It was just another social situation that Gwendolyn had to participate in, script and all.

As Gwendolyn sat at the table, she wondered what would happen if she told Sierra the truth.

Not because she wanted to share it with her, but more that Gwendolyn was tired of acting like the whole exchange wasn’t obtuse.

Why should we exchange pleasantries?

I’m not excited to be here.

She’s not even excited to be here.

“Oh, you know. Quiet dinner, read a book.”

It felt like pulling teeth to do it.

Gwendolyn had censored so many of her inner thoughts for the sake of an agreeable work environment that it should have been easier.

But something—maybe her mood, or the lack of sleep—was making it incredibly difficult.

As Sierra inquired about the books that Gwendolyn liked to read, she found herself fumbling for an answer.

So, she made one up.

“Oh, it’s a small press book. It’s about a man who runs a creepy antique store—”

Stop thinking about that fucker, you weak-minded cunt!

“—and he’s like a serial killer and he murders a bunch of women.”

Serial killers.

SERIAL KILLERS?!

The lie wasn’t even on par with her usual ones.

Gwendolyn usually kept the topics—even the ones she was lying about—safe.

Nothing political, nothing polarizing, just simple conversations about coffee versus tea, knitting versus crochet, and cats versus dogs.

Dipping into true crime was like—

“Oh my God!” Sierra exclaimed, hand falling onto Gwendolyn’s with a heavy smack.

“You like true crime, too?!”

Why?

a small voice inside Gwendolyn’s head croaked in despair.

“Like, I know Washington is famous for having a lot of serial killers—”

Actually, Alaska has the most serial—

“—so it’s super cliche, right? But I can’t help it! It’s so fascinating, especially hearing about firsthand accounts. Hearing these stories straight from the victims—I don’t know how they do it! Same goes for the unexplained stuff! I really enjoy UFO’s, occult and stuff.”

As Sierra went on and on about her love of true crime—Gwendolyn was questioning the intention, given that Sierra had seen several documentaries featuring the same serial killer.

Once was for knowledge, multiple times seemed excessive in her opinion, but—Sierra was still touching Gwendolyn’s hand .

Gwendolyn only noticed because she could feel something.

A tickling sensation at first, like the feeling of steam rising from a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

A tickle soon turned into a rapid heat, almost as if Gwendolyn was holding a hot cup.

She stared, perplexed as her skin grew clammy.

Was Sierra usually this warm?

And more importantly, how had the other woman not noticed it yet?

Before Gwendolyn could voice her discomfort, a sudden roll of nausea hit her.

The scent of wine coolers hit her nose, causing her to gag.

You are not vomiting in this room!

Gwendolyn ripped her hand away, standing from her chair so abruptly it clattered behind her.

Sierra looked surprised as Gwendolyn covered her mouth for a moment.

“Sorry,” she managed through her frazzled state.

“I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, do you need to—”

Gwendolyn had already rushed out of the room before Sierra could finish her sentence.

Gwendolyn wasn’t the type to throw up.

Even in her sickly state, she somehow managed to keep the contents of her stomach inside.

Gwendolyn spat out the extra saliva that had built in her mouth into the toilet and flushed it once she was certain she wasn’t going to throw up anymore.

She let out an exhausted exhale, rubbing her belly as she moved to the sink.

What was that? Was I having some kind of allergic reaction?

She wasn’t allergic to anything—at least that she was aware of.

Her diet didn’t really deviate from the usual easy prep food she had eaten all week.

And she never really considered herself terribly anxious, but…

Gwendolyn washed her hands and even flicked her face with the cold water.

She dried her hands with the thin dry paper towels and dabbed gently at her face.

She ignored the little heart mark on her lip.

While her body slowly calmed down, Gwendolyn’s thoughts were anything but calm as she vacated the restroom.

She tried to rationalize as she made her way to the front of the building, but by the time she clocked in at register three, Gwendolyn wasn’t sure she could.

Nothing makes sense.

Why doesn’t anything make sense?

For a moment, Gwendolyn contemplated the probability of her being terminally ill.

It was an extreme thought, but most of the ones Gwendolyn had were like that.

She was theoretically too young for memory issues.

Gwendolyn kept arguing with herself as she checked out customer after customer, and only half listened while Catie talked about her college courses.

By the time Jake came in to take Catie’s place at register one, it was time for Gwendolyn’s lunch.

She grabbed her purse and made the small excursion to the pharmacy, this time without the threat of any minivans running her over.

She passed the familiar elderly cashier and made her way past makeup aisles and toys, until Gwendolyn reached the snack aisle.

Lunch usually consisted of going to the refrigerator section for a snack tray or TV dinner, but Gwendolyn didn’t have the stomach for regular food.

She couldn’t explain why, but while she had been thinking about the spider, Gwendolyn had gotten a strong craving for sour candy.

That craving only grew stronger as Gwendolyn passed by the usual line of chocolates and sweeter candies.

When Gwendolyn finally found the sour worms, she felt her mouth water as she snatched the large bag off the shelf.

Gwendolyn didn’t even wait before she tore the bag open, ripping a few of the sour worms from free and stuffing them into her mouth.

When the tart flavor hit her tongue, Gwendolyn let out a small sound of pleasure.

Before she could swallow the chewed-up worms, her fingers were snatching more from the bag.

She couldn’t explain it, but she felt like she was starving.

Like her stomach had just opened wide at the first melt of granulated sugar on her tongue, and now she couldn’t think of anything else.

Gwen chewed loudly, open-mouthed as her teeth tore into the gummy candy without a care in the world.

A stark contrast to the way her stomach had turned violently at the start of her shift.

A noise drew her attention mid bite, and she was surprised to see a white woman in her thirties with a tight ponytail standing a few feet away.

A sleeping baby was strapped to her front with what essentially looked like a window curtain.

She was eyeing Gwendolyn like she was some disgusting frat boy.

Gwendolyn wasn’t the type to open food before she paid for it.

If this had been any other day, she would have quietly purchased her candy and waited until she was in the break room to eat.

But there was something about the way the woman’s lip was curled in disgust that really bothered Gwendolyn.

She eyed the woman in return, noting the organic dark chocolate in her own hand and the curtain wrapped baby.

Crunchy mom, huh? Bet the shoes are vegan, too…

“You know those are full of unnatural sugar, right?”

Gwendolyn’s eyebrow raised, her only tell.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s basically white sugar, and white sugar is like cocaine. You’re basically eating cocaine,” the woman explained with a snooty expression.

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Gwendolyn said.

Then without another thought, she grabbed as many sour worms as she could pinch between her thumb and pointer finger and stuffed them into her mouth.

She made sure to keep eye contact with the woman as she chewed with a satisfied bob of her head.

Then, as an extra insult, licked her fingers.

The woman’s face grew as sour as she clutched her baby—much to Gwendolyn’s satisfaction.

“Thanks for sharing,” Gwendolyn said before turning on her heel and walking away.

She grabbed two more bags of sour candies, and a bag of honey mustard pretzel bites.

A bottle of sparkling water and allergy pills completed her haul.

The cashier gave her a disappointed look when she dropped the opened candy bag onto the counter, but Gwendolyn ignored it.

She paid with her debit card, snatched the offered plastic bag, and made her way back to work.

She didn’t even think about how uncomfortable the encounter with the stranger was, because for the first time, Gwendolyn hadn’t been uncomfortable.

There was no guilt for not following the script, no anxiety associated with deviating from the social expectations.

It was just Gwendolyn and her sour worms.