"It was an oppressive summer day, the kind where the air feels like it’s thick with smog, even when it’s clear. This was a time before I had reached this level of depravity, though it wasn’t far, where my mind wasn’t broken quite to the extreme it was at present. The sun bore down relentlessly, baking the pavement outside and sending heat waves shimmering off the black-and-white tiled floor beneath my feet. I could feel the heat radiating from every surface, like it was trying to burn through my skin. Sweat dripped steadily down my forehead, sliding off my chin, and gathered in damp patches beneath my armpits, soaking through my shirt. Every inch of fabric clung to me, heavy and suffocating, as if trying to fuse itself to my skin. My throat was parched, dry like sandpaper, and my body sluggish from what felt like hours–just a few minutes in reality–spent waiting for a customer at a customer service job I’d started at a few days ago in search of cash. It wasn’t much, but a paycheck’s a paycheck, even though I hadn’t gotten one yet, whether that comes from flipping burgers or being at this cash register. The copy and paste ceiling of similar tiles wasn’t very awe inspiring or entertaining to stare at, so I pulled out my phone for a quick read. I’d been enjoying a novel a lot recently and was intrigued to read more. My stomach growled angrily, but that was the least of my worries—I couldn’t even think about eating until I’d earned enough to scrape together for a meal. At least then I wanted to eat, an improvement to now. At one point, I struck up a conversation with someone about to head out at the end of their shift. It went a little bit like:

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  Very…philosophical. A true battle of wits, a culmination of knowledge from beyond our time. My job was to ring up customers but the shop hardly got any, a primary reason I’d chosen it, other than its quaint charm. The heat weighed down on me, each degree draining my already depleted reserves, especially after a sleepless night that left me running on fumes. My head pounded in a constant, throbbing rhythm behind my eyes, and my eyelids felt heavy, each blink like pushing through mud. I kept my gaze fixed on my phone screen, not really absorbing anything, and scrolling through an endless feed of slop—just letting the seconds drag by, one long, aching blur of heat and exhaustion. My arms rested on the colder, marble countertop, a bastion of preservation for my homeostatic state.

  A quick snapping of fingers in front of my face, rapid and annoyed, momentarily jolted me into a state of focus, but that focus rapidly faded away. My right shoulder was shook, followed by both shoulders being shaken, and finally a playful shove. I was aware of what was going on, and I ignored him.

  The screen that I’d been viewing vanished from my weak grip, finger halfway between my palm and where the device had once been. The phone had been yanked away with a quick, practiced tug; My stomach sank as I looked up to see Jordan grinning down at me, holding the phone just out of reach, his grip firm and determined.

  “Hey, buddy!” He greeted me. I didn’t even bother to protest; experience had taught me it was practically pointless when dealing with him. Usually he’d…flick it back when he got bored, but he seemed a bit more miffed today than most others. I turned my head to look in the other direction and pointedly ignored him, something he didn’t seem to care for as he grabbed a clump of my hair and spun me painfully to look straight at him. I tried once more to look away, glaring daggers at a cracked floor tile, but failed the moment I heard him speak again and glanced back with interest.

  “Look at what I’ve got here…” He remarked, each word laced with his usual blend of amusement and disdain. “Come on, Alie…this isn’t like you...just come and get it!” His voice sliced through the simmering haze and he chuckled to himself, amused. He dangled my phone, pinched by two fingers, just far enough to taunt me and for me not to try to combat it. His posture was relaxed, shoulders back as he gave that stupid grin, feeding off every moment. He looked ridiculous, too—like he was trying to model himself after a cartoon villain, in my eyes at least. He wasn’t especially tall, but his wiry frame made him look larger than life. His cheap white T-shirt clung to his chest, darkened by sweat stains, and was mostly covered by an unzipped black sweatshirt that hung off his forearms in a self-invented style. His jeans were cut off at a harsh angle, showing raw-red, sunburned ankles, and his blonde hair, gelled up in uneven clumps, was streaked with dirt and grime.

  Then he had the nerve to sigh openly, as if I was the one being difficult here, and I heard something that sounded awfully like him tapping his foot with impatience. What was he waiting for? I kept my face neutral, though I could feel the anger and heat churning in me, pressing under my skin. Every nerve in my hands itched to punch him, but I forced myself to stay calm; I couldn’t afford to lose control, not with him, not right now. Just breathe…breathe deeply and calm yourself…this will blow over soon enough. My fists were clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I took a slow breath and managed, “Just… hand it back, man. What’s your problem?” My hand extended, voice steadier than I felt, hoping he’d give it up and move on. I was being stupid, though; it was exactly what he wanted me to do…

  He only smirked wider, stepping back just out of reach, already scrolling through my messages. His eyes lit up with that gleeful malice, a type that shouldn’t appear on someone even close to his age, and he laughed—this high-pitched, wheezing sound that felt like sandpaper against my nerves. “Oh, there’s way too much good stuff on here to hand it back now. I think Greg needs to see this.” He laughed harder, bending over as he cackled, every bit obnoxiously loud. It wasn’t genuine laughter, from what I could tell, he was purposefully trying to infuriate me. Based on the reflection of the bright screen on his face, he wasn’t even looking at anything, lying out of his teeth. Just hearing Greg’s name was enough to twist my stomach. Greg would take whatever Jordan found and escalate it until it was impossible to handle alone.

  I swallowed hard, keeping my voice as neutral as I could manage. “Right, so this is adulthood for you, huh? Thought we’d moved on from this shit.” My fists tightened further, though I kept my expression blank, willing my muscles to stay in check.

  Jordan just snorted, giving a disgusted look. “Not likely.” he sneered, dragging out the words like he was telling me some kind of life lesson. Sure, he was definitely the one out of us with the most wisdom in all his nineteen odd years of experience. His thumb flicked through the screen with ease, his smirk only growing.

  Heat crept up my neck, my face burning as I felt a lump rising in my throat. I tried to mutter some weak comeback, but it caught, and all I managed was a barely audible sound. It was infuriating, the way he spoke so casually about dragging me into another round of torment with Greg, his so-called "friend." Jordan didn’t have any true power of his own; Greg was the muscle behind his antics. If Jordan was a fly, Greg was the looming spider.

  An apt metaphor; he was looming right outside, I mean. Through the smudged and fogged up windows I could clearly see the outline of him standing outside; muscular with an excellent physique, what I strived for whenever I made a once a month visit to the gym. After all, it was probably his car that brought Jordan here in the first place. Greg lazily vaped while leaning against the glass, creating an eerie creaking, as if it were about to shatter at any moment.

  I swallowed the knot of frustration rising in my throat, trying to rein in the growing urge to just knock him out and take back what was mine. But I knew better. I was outmatched here, not by Jordan’s strength, but by the threat of his protector. It was always Greg. Even though I could take Jordan in a fight—if we were one-on-one, I’d have him on the ground, no question—the looming possibility of Greg’s intervention kept my fists clenched at my sides. Well, that and going to prison for assault, but what can I say, I have very strong priorities.

  Then, that idea disappeared from my head. “So, is that why you do this to me?! You want to see me suffer?”

  “Oh…” He laughed a bit, covering his mouth. “Oh, no, no no! You’re serious? Is that what you honestly believe?”

  I calmed myself once more. “I swear, we’re all adults here. Let’s talk this out.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "Of course you’d think like that…" Jordan sneered, his voice dripping with fake pity, pouting. He stared at the screen, scrolling through whatever he’d found, his lips twisting into a nasty grin.

  I tried retorting something that would have definitely sounded quite clever, but I trailed off before I had said anything, the words escaping me. A hot rush of embarrassment flooded my cheeks. The anger simmering beneath my skin flared like fire meeting gasoline. My face flushed hotter than it already was from the sun, and my fists clenched tighter. I could feel the muscles in my jaw straining as I ground my teeth together, the sound of it like sandpaper on stone.

  “Fatherless fucking asshole…” I muttered, with Jordan managing to hear.

  Jordan’s grin widened in response, his head cocking slightly. “Wow, that’s rich coming from you,” he shot back with a raised eyebrow. His gaze lingered, taunting, watching for any reaction. His words hit me like a sucker punch, the reminder of my situation cutting deeper than it should have. He knew exactly how to hit where it hurt, and he wasn’t going to stop until he’d wrung out every drop of misery he could get from me.

  “Sir. I’m going to-” came the frustrated call of a co-worker, stopping himself when he realized Jordan wasn’t listening, or even looking in his direction, still scrolling onward. “Sir! Listen to me!” Jordan finally turned to face the man, disgruntled and looking perplexed that someone else would jump into the conversation. His nose crinkled in a way that one might assume he had an unpleasant smell lingering right under his nose. “Mind your own damn business,” was Jordan’s unceremonious answer. Refusing to back down so easily, my co-worker, Jeffrey, shouted, “I’m going to need you to leave! You are verbally abusing the cashier, and that is simply not acceptable in any context. I do not care what your history is and don’t ever want to ever-” He was cut off as Jordan interrupted lazily, “Yeah, yeah, get on with it already! I’ve heard the spiel before…”

  “Sir!” Jeff commanded, unrelenting, though not making moves towards my foe. His Hawaiian t-shirt and khakis were the opposite of imposing, and my supposed ally in this fight flinched any time Jordan even made a slight head movement towards him. I held my ground, forcing my fists to relax, locking my gaze with Jordan’s, unblinking, as he turned back to me. With every second, I could feel the exhaustion, the heat, and the simmering frustration…a migraine building up. I resisted the urge to snap back again, my throat tightening with the effort. I knew I couldn’t escalate this—not if I wanted my phone back in one piece. Not if I wanted to avoid another black eye, another mark that would take weeks to fade. I forced myself to swallow my pride, keeping my eyes locked on Jordan, hoping that he’d get bored soon enough and move on. I would do anything but show him how well he had gotten to me. Still…I couldn’t just let him be. That would be unfair, unjust even. A paragon of a travesty.

  “You fucking murderers! Heartless, sadistic, twisted motherfuckers!” I screamed into his face, leaning closer. My tolerance was about to end, right here, right now. Jordan grabbed my cheek and squeezed.

  “Me? A murderer? What the fuck are you on, and…what are you then? The devil? You’re the only killer I see. What about Chris? You’ve probably forgotten him already, too. You lie, you slander, you divert blame. We did nothing to you in comparison. You are twisted. You’re actually sadistic. You are fucked up, inside and out!” He screamed back, in just as much of a fury as I was, advancing on me.

  My rage had festered, and I’d eternally sworn not to let this misgrievance remain unpunished, nor what else he had done to me. He was guilty of a thousand crimes, a thousand injuries to my pride and body. I’d eternally sworn to stop being a hypocrite, but here I was, with perfect access to Greg, not going after him. I guess…I’m afraid. I always have been. Maybe, if I just had a better chance…Get a bit braver? Or, start working out at the gym…Unrealistic…And who was Chris?

  “Look, kid…I don’t actually wanna do this. Well, not entirely. You know why I have to. You know it’s an act. You know that this will be posted by the guy recording us right now.” He gestured at my co-worker, who continued to hold his phone high up. “Just drop the claims, quit the accusations, and I’ll let you be,” He whispered in my ear, drawing close for a second then pulling back and turning away.

  “I’d rather die than let that…literal calamity be without problems in their life.” I replied, deadpan, more confidently than I felt internally, although I choked up when starting; Still a major win in my book.

  “You can’t even string together a sentence without pausing to think every few words, but you think that you have the right to make my life like this? Do you know what those legal fees did to me? To my family?” He bellowed, right back to his previous tone.

  My hand instinctively brushed against the switchblade in my pocket—a weapon I carried in case I ever ran into Greg. I couldn’t help but dream of killing him, of avenging my parents, of revenge for it all, though I knew it was a dangerous dream. I had to leave him suffering. To draw it out. He probably did the same to them, somehow. For every action in nature, there comes an opposite and equal reaction. For every act of terror inflicted, there comes an act of vengeance. I just…wish I could. I wish I could do just about anything other than swallow and lick my lips.

  “Oh, don’t you dare go for that!” Jordan bit out, reaching deep into his sweatshirt to pull something out. I ducked under the counter frantically, but it was hardly enough as I felt a barrel of cold, hard metal pressed into the side of my head.

  “How much do you think this would sell for, you goddamn liar?” Jordan asked, his voice dripping with sarcastic curiosity infused with unbridled rage equal to mine. Liar boy was referring to Greg’s adamant denial of involvement. Because I was just a liar, right? Because there was not a single fingerprint or ounce of evidence? Fuck that guy.

  Jordan pulled his weapon back and walked away from me once more. He twirled my phone between his fingers dexterously, tossing them from hand to hand, coming close to dropping it more than once, but making a show of catching it.

  “Could probably get you fired…you shouldn’t treat a valuable customer like this…What do ya’ think?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he bolted out the door, his sneakers squeaking loudly against the floor–he made sure to knock all the boxes of snacks off of one shelf he passed by just to pile onto my work load. I stared after him, frozen. The door hung open, closing far too slowly for it to appear to be in good condition. I was just able to hear Greg as he drew back up to his full height and conversed with Jordan, who’d gone past him.

  “You really are one incompetent bastard…Don’t let him get to you, don’t wanna be arrested, do you? I told you to wait until he left and we could do it together..” Greg instructed.

  “Yeah, yeah…” Jordan replied solemnly.

  “You found a new dealer yet? That last guy’s rates were way too high.” Greg asked, changing the subject, while pulling keys from his sweatshirt and jangling them around as he fiddled with the ring.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ve been searching, and there’s one we can check out later tonight. You want this?” Jordan asked in response, extending my phone to Greg.

  “Not in the least. Just break it, the almighty king of the assholes himself deserves it.” I stared as Jordan crushed the phone beneath his feet, forgetting his plans of sale to make my life even harder. It wasn’t the end of the world. But it sucked.

  Still, that I was the ‘King of the Assholes.’ Guess the hate is quite mutual. My teeth dug into my lower lip and I blinked a few times more than necessary.

  “All hail the king… Quite an improvement, anyway. I think the glass really needed that little touch up,” Greg commented, raising his hand in a mock salute and smirking.

  “Yeah…I probably should have actually sold it; the wife’s been giving me some trouble about the financials,” Jordan complained, as his form disappeared to the side. Greg took a long, slurping sip of some drink he must have been carrying. “Forgot how close our situations were, but oh trust me, I get it. You wouldn’t believe how much child suppo-” I couldn’t hear any further as they moved too far away for me to hear.

  If only the floor would open up and swallow him whole and make me not have to deal with him anymore. No, that wasn’t enough, something worse, like spontaneously catching on fire. I didn’t have a phone anymore to call the police, but if he was sent to jail, by some miracle, I hoped it wouldn’t treat him or Greg well. I picked myself up gradually, feeling as if the pistol was still pressed against me.

  Jeffery, who had returned to pretending to be working on stocking shelves of products in another lane just glanced at me before returning to his duty, not so clandestinely hiding that fact he’d been recording the encounter since when it got interesting enough for him to post it. My problems weren’t his. He didn’t care for me. Why should he care about me? It was…human nature to want virality online. To be fair, he seemed shell-shocked and just about to scream. I stood up to clean the mess as he said in what I assumed was a fake-sympathetic tone, “Wow, what in the world was that?” and something relating to whether it was too late to call the cops. It was, in fact, his duty to have notified the police. I’m pretty sure you should do that when you witness a crime take place.”