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Mitchell doesn’t believe in fate.
Fate, in his eyes, was only a pseudo-fantasy created by poets who wanted to sound romantic, or if they wanted to get into someone’s pants.
Fate wasn’t in Mitchell’s vocabulary. He didn’t believe in it.
Moreover, he didn’t want to believe in it.
But that’s before he met Annie.
It started on a cold and rainy Tuesday night. Mitchell was at the petrol station after a long day at work. Attempting to stay dry, he quickly pumped his car up and stumbled inside the 7/11.
The bell sang when he walked in. Mitchell turned the corner and grabbed a Mars Bar for himself. It was a long day at work, and he deserved a bloody treat. The chocolate bar twirled around his fingers as he waited to pay for his things.
There was a girl in front of him. Her hands were fumbling and digging around her bag, presumably looking for her wallet, but it seemed like she couldn’t find it anywhere. The girl spun around, bits of curly brown hair flew into her face.
“I’m sorry to hold up the line,” she said, shaking her head. But even quieter, she said: “I can’t find my bloody wallet.”
“How much do you need?” Mitchell said out loud. Damn, he should’ve kept to himself.
The girl spins around again. “Uh, twenty quid.”
Mitchell couldn’t believe he was about to do what he was thinking of doing. But then he remembered that it would be nice to help someone out. He reached behind to the bum pocket of his jeans and grabbed his wallet, opening it and handing her some bills.
The girl took it reluctantly, looking at the notes, then back to Mitchell.
“No, really,” she shook her head, thrusting the notes back into his hand, but he wouldn’t take it, so she just kept hitting his chest, really. “I can’t take your money away. My wallet must be here somewhere. I’ll find it.”
“It’ll be my good deed for the day.” Mitchell told her. “Please, take it. I’m freezing in here.” He chuckled. He wasn’t very good with strangers, making small talk and all that.
The girl smiled and thanked him before turning back around, handing the money to the cashier. He handed her the bag and she flashed a cute little smile to Mitchell before leaving.
He brushed the thought of her away. He wasn’t going to see her again.
Then again, a part of him wanted to.
* * *
Mitchell pushed the trolley through the isles, looking for his favourite cereal box. Almost every other shop was sold out of his favourite, and he was determined to find his pride and joy. If he didn’t get it, he would become a nightmare to be around.
His eyes scanned up. He scrutinized every package, trying to identify the one he was looking for. Mitchell chewed his lip and rocked his head when he found it. He reached up to grab it, but there was another hand there.
Hell hath no fury like a man without his god damn Lucky Charms.
“I’m sorry,” the girl said, and he turned his head to her. “You can have it. It’s the last one left.”
Holy shit, it’s the girl from 7/11, he thought.
“Oh,” she said, smiling slightly. “It’s you from 7/11. Thanks for the cash. Hey, let me buy you the Lucky Charms as a payback or something.”
He raised his eyebrow. Maybe it was some form of awkward flirting. “Are you sure you have your wallet this time?”
Annie scrunched her nose and grabbed her wallet that was sitting in the baby seat of her trolley. She waved it around triumphantly. “That was quite rude of you, uh…sorry, what was your name?”
“Mitchell,” he said, extending his hand out.
“Annie.”
“So,” Annie said, grabbing the cereal and throwing it into her cart. “Shall I buy you the cereal now, Mitchell?” she emphasised his name and he couldn’t help but feel something turn in his stomach.
He liked the way she said his name.
He saw her again on two other occasions. One was at the park, and the other was at McDonalds. He didn’t know why they kept running into each other, but it was starting to feel a little weird, almost like one of them was stalking the other. Mitchell tended to keep his head down to avoid any talks.
He wanted to talk to her, there was no bloody doubt.
He just didn’t want to seem creepy.
Mitchell kicked the water tub and walked forward with his mop, cleaning up the stark floors of the hospital. He just had to clean up some sick in the bathroom. He hated doing that. He would always reek of old people and puke when he left. But that was his job, and he had to suck it up.
He walked past one of the open rooms and he was almost knocked over by the person walking out of there.
Mitchell blinked, shaking his head. They must’ve bumped heads or something. He prayed it wasn’t a patient. He would be in so much shit if it was.
He didn’t know what would’ve been worse: bumping into a patient, or bumping into Annie.
Bumping into Annie, he decided, was worse.
She groaned and held her head, blinking up to Mitchell.
“Mitchell?” she said, her arm falling to her sides. “Have you been stalking me or something?”
He didn’t know if that was fun, cheeky and flirty or serious.
Mitchell put his chin on the top of the mop. “I could ask the same to you.”
Annie walked away, and something inside him made him follow her. Way to make her feel comfortable.
“Why would I be stalking you, though?” he asked. The water tub made a sound whenever he dragged it across the floor.
“I don’t know,” she shook her head, crossing her arms. “Why do killers kill people? Why does my skin get dry in the winter? Why does—”
He raised his hand to stop her and he chuckled. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
Annie’s eyebrows went up, and he felt a flush spread across his cheeks, as if he was some young maiden.
They went their separate ways and a few hours after their meeting, he trotted home, wanting to forget the incredibly embarrassing moment they had.
He plonked himself down on the couch and swallowed the shot he made for himself. He grunted, shaking his head because of the bitter taste. He sighed and slumped down on his seat, turning on the telly to watch The Real Hustle.
He was rudely interrupted by George.
“Who were you talking to at work today?” he asked.
“I talk to a lot of people at work, George,” Mitchell said, rubbing his sore temples. “Please be a little more specific.”
George sat down beside his mate. “Er, early twenties, brown, curly hair with a—”
“—Annie,” he cut him off. “Yeah, what about her?”
“Who is she?”
“God, you sound like an over-protective father.” Mitchell got up and walked into the kitchen.
Of course, George followed him in.
Mitchell lowered his head into the fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer. He opened the top and drank.
“’m not,” George protested. “You were blushing and everything. God, it was horrifying seeing you like that. I was just wondering if she was some new girlfriend or something.”
Mitchell almost spat his drink out and onto George.
He coughed, shaking his head. “No, she isn’t my girlfriend.”
“Then who is it?” George cooed, poking Mitchell’s sides.
“A…friend.” Mitchell sighed. “Only a friend.”
“Where’d you meet her?” George asked, sounding like a little girl who was asking her friend who she had a crush on.
“We’ve been bumping into each other a lot. I was just talking to her at the hospital. That’s all. Now, please. I’m missing quality-Mitchell time.” Mitchell tried to push through George, but George blocked his path out.
Sighing in defeat, Mitchell reeled back.
“How many times have you guys ‘bumped’ into each other?”
“Jesus Christ, why are you asking me so many questions?”
“I just wanna know you’re safe.”
“Oh, my God…” Mitchell gasped dramatically.
“What?” George sounded concerned.
“You really do sound like an over-protective father.” Mitchell clasped George’s shoulder, pushing past him and making his way back to the couch. “I’m not your fifteen year old daughter going on her first date, George.”
“Maybe it’s fate,” George said randomly as he plonked himself down beside Mitchell, etching closer and closer.
“Have you been mixing your medication, George?”
George waved that off with a dismissive hand. “You keep seeing each other around…” George trailed on. “How many times has it been?”
“Five,” Mitchell muttered as he took a sip of his drink.
“Damn,” George muttered. “That’s not just coincidence anymore.”
“So, let me get this straight,” Mitchell turned to face George, moving his body to get settled. “You think that some higher power is trying to get me and Annie together?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Bullshit is what it is.” Mitchell turned back around, and George shook his head, leaving the room.
The thought dwelled on Mitchell’s thoughts throughout the night, and he found himself tossing and turning later on during the night.
God fucking damn it, George. Mitchell thought as he rolled around on his bed.
George gave him the idea.
And the idea wasn’t going to leave anytime soon.