Chapter Text
From: You
Sent: Mon, April 28, 2010, 11:38 PM
Subject: .
happy birthday. i heard about what happened. its all over the news. i hope you’re not dead. why did you do that? why did you do that to your dad? i cant understand. you werent like this. i miss the old you. please come back. please text back.
Sent from my iPhone
March 3rd, 2012
The analog clock ticked above you. 9:30 PM. Another thirty minutes until you clock out.
You sigh to yourself as your leg starts shaking uncontrollably; you don’t even bother stopping it anymore. Your hand rests on your cheek, warm against your skin. You look like the human equivalent of the word ‘bored’. The air of the bookstore feels fresh, mixed with the faint smell of your own perfume, and the old books rotting by the shelves. Lights shine above you, lighting the place in a way you don’t really like. The AC actually works today. You look at the door, watching to see if the bell will chime, if someone will come in— no one comes.
The MacBook that belongs to the bookstore sits on the wooden counter, Tony Stark’s face paused on screen. You were watching Iron Man 2; some old lady came in, and you forgot about it. You really lost motivation to watch it after pausing it, anyway. You were merely watching it to pass the time.
You look around lazily to see if there’s anyone you can help with— something you can busy yourself with.
There’s not a single soul in the store except your co-worker, Claire, stacking books on the Comedy shelf.
People pass by, but they don’t enter. Since this is a small bookstore, it sometimes goes unnoticed. Even you cant find the bookstore among the people and other stores in the busy street when you come to work sometimes.
… Jesus, you think, eyeing your surroundings once again, Nobody’s coming in anyway. Why can’t I clock out now?
The thought makes you sigh for the sixty-fourth time this day.
The idea of not being able to leave whenever you want to makes you feel deprived of freedom. Well, it is common sense, but… still. Isn’t it unfair? You’ve been serving costumers for hours now. It’s not for the weak, and you deserve to get proper rest whenever you’d like.
When you work for seven hours, uninterrupted, Monday through Thursday, you at least get the chance to observe people. Or rather, people-watch.
Languages you haven’t even knew existed. Different types of personalities. Females. Males. Children. A person with your dream look. A homeless guy. Lady in a chair. A mom searching for a kids book. A thirteen year old asking for the most “scary and violent” book the store owns. High school students hanging out after school.
Then you clock out. Get to your bus. Listen to music on your headphones on the way. Sometimes give a pregnant lady your seat. Then you walk home. You get to come home to your mom’s warm voice, and your little sister’s banter. You get to eat and rest, then spend time on yourself for three days. Maybe go out to the mall. Go grocery shopping. Meet with a few friends. At Monday, the cycle repeats.
Now that you realize, has this always been the same way?
Since Toby disappeared? Since everything? Since you started this job? Since you let go of your hobbies? Since you started university? Since—
You realize that you’ve been so lost in overthinking that Claire’s sudden voice in the silence makes you flinch, “You spend way too much sitting there and watching Marvel.”
“… What? You can’t blame me. Tony Stark’s crazy hot. I honestly wish I was Pepper Potts. Plus, it’s boring here.”
Claire chuckles, “That’s pretty valid.”
You smile. “Mm.”
… Then, silence settles in once again.
This is why you hate small talk. It becomes awkward after that.
Still, you stop to watch her stack the books for a second. The smile on your face wears off eventually, and as usual, you start to get lost in thoughts.
Claire was… a weird girl. Not that you’re not weird yourself— she’s just not the type of person you see everyday. She knows every reference you make, every book people talk about. She’s the epitome of an internet nerd. She’s your exact match, just a bit cooler.
She’s beautiful, too. She looks like a fairy from another world with her light ginger hair and green eyes. Not to mention the freckles splattered all over her face. She always dresses in long skirts, green tops, all that whimsical shit. She’s the kind of person who would absolutely have beauty privilege. She’s also technically your best friend. She basically got you this job. She’s also totally a fan of reading books. Must be why she’s working in a bookstore, actually.
You don’t even like books that much. You only work here for the sake of money. You’d last read a book three months ago. Song of Achilles. It was nice. It was about that former prince named Patroclus, or something.
… You shake your head. You need to get rid of this thinking trait.
But how could you? It’s, like, a part of you. You literally work in a bookstore. You can’t do anything other than thinking or doomscrolling.
Plus, you don’t have anything to do in life other than thinking anyway.
Your life is busy, though, as much as you say otherwise. You go to university Tuesday through Friday at the mornings. You work Monday through Thursday in the evenings. You have people you talk to. You have your mom and your sister. You have a phone. You’re nineteen, you’re a young adult. You have a future ahead of you.
So why do you still feel empty?
Is it because of him? He’s long gone now.
You look at the clock once again. Shake the negative thoughts off of you.
It’s 9:54 PM. Finally.
“… We should probably clock out. It’s almost 10 PM,” your voice echoes in the sudden silence; it scares you a little. You start gathering your things from your chair as you glance at Claire. She looks like she’s just finished stacking the books.
“Oh, yeah. I always lose track of time here… it’s crazy.”
“How? It’s agonizing for me. Every minute feels like three hours.”
“Well, you’re not a bookworm. And you certainly don’t like standing there all day.”
“Duh. I’m not boring.”
Claire laughs. You smile back.
As she’s skipping by to go and get her bearings, she abruptly stops near the laptop. Which instantly makes you feel uneasy. You glance up at her. “What?”
“… Did you open that? That’s so weird.”
You look at the laptop.
The movie frame is replaced by a weird, over-contrasted picture that makes absolutely no sense to you. It looks like a person, but— not exactly. White outlines, random holes, black background, colors that hurt your eyes. Below, there’s a weird string of numbers in plain white text:
01001101 01001001 01010011 01010011 00100000 01001101 01000101 00111111
You frown.
What the hell?
Suddenly, your brain is trying to make sense of the image.
Could you have clicked a pop-up? Maybe it’s a glitch? Maybe one of your co-workers left it open. Maybe you clicked an illegal ad without realizing? Yeah, totally. How would that thing open on it’s own otherwise?
Fuck, you’re certain none of these are valid.
Someone has to be messing with you.
“… I didn’t— I didn’t do that.”
Claire raises a brow. “… Welp, that’s kind of creepy. What even is that text? Wait, let me take a photo of that. I’ll solve it at home and send it to you. Maybe it’s a code. Wait- could someone be asking us for help? Oh my gosh, this is giving me chills!”
“I don’t think it’s—“
The second Claire takes her phone out, the image disappears.
Her shoulders drop.
“Aw, man…”
“… It’s fine, Claire. It was probably gibberish anyway.”
“Yeah. Maybe you’re right…” she says, but she doesn’t really look convinced.
“… Anyway, I’m feeling uneasy. Close that thing. It clearly needs to rest. Get your things and we should shut down the store for today,” Claire mutters. Discomfort crosses her face as she looks back at the laptop, before going into the personnel’s room and shutting the door behind her with a soft click.
You stare at the bright screen in silence.
Tony Stark now stares back at you.
“… Tsk. Stupid thing.” you whine to yourself, close the laptop, grab your bag and step out from behind the counter. You fastly walk to wherever Claire is, open the door to look for her. When she notices you, she looks up.
“You got your things ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright.” she grabs her bag and pulls it over one shoulder. When she looks up, she smiles brightly, and nods. “Ready to go?”
“Mhm. Let’s leave.”
Once Claire steps out, you take one last look around to see if you’ve left anything; keys, notebooks, headphones, whatever.
When you’re satisfied, you walk out of the store behind Claire, close the door and lock it three times.
Usually, you lock it two times. But today something tells you to lock it three times.
Finally. You can go home.
After you clock out, Claire walks along with you to the bus stop. First reason being, the way to the bus stop is dangerous at nights. Second, you both like company. It became a routine for you two, anyway. It feels stupidly mundane, but it’s also a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to.
Once you reach the bus stop, Claire waits with you until you both see the familiar shape of a green small bus. You raise your hand to let it see you.
The bus door opens. Before you get in, Claire gives you a hug, “See you next week, doll.”
You pat her back. “See you.”
You watch her pull away and wave. You wave back. She starts going the opposite way.
The bus arrived three minutes late.
You climbed aboard, tapped your card against the reader, and immediately regretted not bringing a jacket.
There was something comforting about watching the city move past you without actually having to participate in it. People crossing streets. Cars stopping at red lights. Someone running after a bus they’d already missed.
Everyone seemed to be going somewhere.
You always sat in the same place on the bus.
Second row from the back, window seat.
You didn’t know why. You just did.
The same old woman usually sat three rows ahead. The same guy with the blue backpack got off at the fourth stop. Sometimes you saw a little girl holding her father’s hand.
You’d started recognizing strangers without ever learning their names.
Maybe you really do like bus rides. Or you’re just observant.
Could be both.
. . .
By the time you got home, it was 11 PM.
“I’m home,” you announced, hanging your bag on the hanger by the door.
“Hi, sweetie.” your mom appeared in the hallway, smile on her face.
“Hi.” you smile back. “Where’s Emma?”
“She’s out with her friends.”
“At this time?”
“She’s fifteen,”
“You didn’t even let me go to the library at fifteen.”
“Well— this is a one time thing.”
“Sure,” you chuckle. “You eat dinner?”
“I waited for you,” your mom says, going back into the kitchen.
“Huh? Why?”
“You know I don’t like eating alone.”
“… Right.” you follow her inside, looking around.
“Why don’t you go and change? It’s almost ready.”
“Okay.”
Dinner was quiet.
After eating the meal, you helped your mom wash the dishes. To do at least two chores a day was an unwritten rule for you and your sister.
But, you were an exception on your work days. You usually still did two anyway, but today, one felt enough.
You went to your room as soon as you put the dishes in the dishwasher; to your comfort zone.
You jump on your bed, take a long sigh as you lay on your stomach. You reach out to grab your phone from the nightstand.
Finally. Quiet. You can rest. Doomscroll on Instagram as much as you want.
You open the Messages app first to check if your dad had messaged you.
Instead, you see the string of texts from Claire:
Claire:
hii made it home lolz
my parents r being soooooo annoying omg. istg i’m leaving this house as soon as i get the chance
are u home yet ????
hellouuuu
You smile to yourself. It’s nice having someone text you and worry about you.
To think, you do have friends. A few from your university, a few from high school. Just… you couldn’t really call them actual friends. You merely hung out with them when they asked if you wanted to come. It was a nice change. It was useful when you needed to breathe.
Still. Claire’s your best friend. She’s been there for you since Toby disappeared, and you owe her the world for finding a job for you. She’s your ride-or-die.
You text out a reply without much thinking, swinging your legs absentmindedly.
You:
haii i got home
sorry i didnt text u, im home, had dinner w my mom
hbu
Claire:
errr i argued w my mom so i didnt eat dinner
i just want to read books and listen to the smiths all day ugghrhrh
u should go to sleep tho didnt you wake up at like 6 am tdy
You weren’t surprised anymore.
Claire’s parents either argued with each other, or with her. Poor girl didn’t get a second of peace in that place.
She didn’t tell you anything about it, either, so you chose not to engage, and ignore.
You:
guess i did…
sooooo glad tmr’s friday lmao i need a breaakkk
anyway,, i’ll go crash then
see u next week !!!! baiii
Claire:
good night :-) ily
With a sigh, you close your phone and throw it on the mattress.
That damn phone takes 48 hours of lifespan from your life every week, you’re sure.
You adjust your position and sink further into the soft pillows, the bed creaking under your weight. You slowly close your eyes. They burn from the lack of sleep.
Sleeping sounds good right now. Yeah, it kind of does. Get a good eleven hours of paradise, then you can wake up and go to your classes.
Then you have the weekend to yourself. Maybe you’ll go shopping with your sister.
…
You flinch as the sound of something hitting your window reaches your ears.
“… What the fuck?” you stand up almost immediately and hurry over to the window, stepping over the piles of clothes on the floor, stumbling a little.
Damn it, just when you were about to sleep.
Your eyes scan the surroundings.
Nothing.
You clutch the window handle and pry it open. You look outside. Left. Right.
The vast set of trees afar stare at you innocently. Two streetlights shine down on the crosswalk. A red car drives by. No person in sight.
Your brain scurries to make a logical explanation again.
Could it be the wind? No, there’s not a single swoosh of wind in the air. Maybe your upstairs neighbor— scratch that, this is a single family house. Maybe something flee from the trees? Could it be a bird? Maybe it was the neighbor’s kids from the other house?
It probably was a bird.
You sigh and close the window slowly, and pull the curtains over it this time.
You can’t be bothered to look anymore. You’re too tired for it.
You lay back down on your bed. Close your eyes. Let sleep consume you.
You’re gonna be fine.
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