Chapter 13–Burden of Tracks

It’s 12:51 in the morning and my face is soaked in white mushy texture of facial mask. I have to wash off, get the coffee ready and summon the neural functions to active mode. Research on web design articles should have called my attention first but I have been inspired lately by new found comrades of fiction and movie writing. Hmm.. I felt that I owe them for a quick visit. To my new serial killer writer fave, I am looking forward to reading more.

Chapter 13 was buried and discontinued on this site for some reasons. As my funny movie line quotes, “Don’t go full retard.”  The succeeding few parts were read by people close to me and they were more interested with what-was-I-thinking.  So I am just going to mildly end the last chapter posted with passive elements of retardation.


Chapter 13- Burden of Tracks

Head turns from side to side looking for possible escape. The unlit stock room seems like a good idea except for the heedless crews walking in and out. If I could grab an extra uniform and sneak in–

“Did you get what you need?’ Voice from behind startled the preoccupied mind.

“Gees. Do you ever knock? And don’t you have your own business to mind? I’m still busy picking out things here.”

“Actually yes. But you are now my business too.”  I don’t know what that mans but it certainly drives my inside nuts. Head lowers while contemplating on runaway agenda.

“I see you’re trying to change your hair color.” Right hand is burdened by a box of blond coloring. The necessity to redeem my reasoning is urgently crying for help.

“Uhm, still thinking about it.”

“You shouldn’t. I love the way it is now.” Love. I wish.

Hand crouches on both pockets. Uh-oh. I turned away not wanting to further episodes of humiliation.

“Something wrong?” He snatches my stuff and impatiently walks straight to the counter. I followed quickly taking out the ones I’ve just randomly picked. Lady who’s getting ready to punch items into the machine looks at me puzzled.

“I can take care of these.” She tries to hide a grin after realizing what was happening. “Just a pack of lights and regular black coffee.”

The quiet demeanor towards resistance is bothering. He is watching as I slid the cigarettes in my pocket.

“Next time you won’t have a chance smoking.” He whispers as we headed through the exit door.

“Stop acting like my dad.”

“Oh, I am more than that.” I bravely meet his dark hypnotic eyes as he opens the door for me.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?” Awaken by a dreamy night, I stop for answers before hopping in the car.

“You keep forgetting you came to me.” Yeah. That was a mistake. “You’re smart. I think you’ll get the other reason why.”

I went in without a word. Drive took forever while both minds battle in dead air. He finally parks at Trump’s driveway.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 6.”

“Excuse me? I’m busy and I’d be out.”

“Up to you. I’ll be waiting. Leave now so you can rest.”

My head is shaking out of bewilderment. I hurried to the elevator in case he does another crazy stunt of stalking.

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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

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