Disclaimer: I own nothing but the general plot of the story. I do not own the characters in the story. I do not claim to own anything but the plot and the idea of the story.


I wrap my hands around the perimeter of the smooth cardboard box and use my muscles to pull on it, unwittingly provoking a gust of thick, dry dust to blow off the shelf and into my face. I brace the box with one of my arms and use my unoccupied hand to cover my mouth. Harshly, I cough into my hand to free my throat of the dust that unwittingly went down my throat. It wouldn't kill someone to clean this place up every once in a while. There's no way the layer of dust on this shelf should be thicker than a blanket, that's for sure. I clear my throat once more and resume taking the dusty box down from the shelf. Since it's not heavy, I brace it against my hip as I carefully climb down off the ladder. My first week of work, while I was doing inventory, I actually fell down off the ladder. Thankfully, Jimmy's is a small store that doesn't get much business during the morning shifts, so nobody was in the store to watch me crack my butt open like that; but the internal embarrassment was enough. I remember when I fell like it was yesterday. I was just checking to see if we needed more bolts and I was getting down when I found that we were all readily stocked up. I missed a plank on the ladder and fell down flat on my back. I laid there for a couple minutes because seriously, I thought I had broken my tailbone. But I got up and I was okay. It only hurt when I sat down to go pee later that day. With the memory of me falling tucked away deep in my conscious thoughts, I grip the railing of the ladder as I climb down and make my way onto the floor. With the box still against my hip, I take it to the front desk and pull the flaps open.

When I open the box, I catch a whiff of the musty smell of the store. It took me about a month of working here to get used to the smell. It smells like a dirty old basement complete with mildew in here, but I guess when you put a bunch of hardware in one small, cramped up little space, the smell of mildew and basement is what you're going to get. The smell used to give me bad headaches when I came in for my shifts but since I got used to it, I don't really get the headaches anymore. Sometimes when the owner is nice enough to give me two days off in a row, I'll get a headache when I come in after being off that long. But that doesn't happen much because the owner's a butthole and he'd rather work me like a slave than give me more than one day off in a three week span. I only get days off in a row when the store's closed and again, that's not often. I pull three packages of padlocks from the box and gather them in one of my hands. Obnoxiously chewing on the piece of gum I've been chomping on for three hours since my shift started, I saunter towards the back of the store to put the locks on the rack where they belong. He should really hire someone to do inventories.

Speaking of the owner, he'd probably kill me if he knew that I inventory throughout my shift. I'm really supposed to do inventory when I clock in, but I fudge a little on that. If I do inventory when I first come in then I have nothing else to do for the rest of my day and I'm just sitting there at the register bored and hoping someone comes in and asks me where the nuts and bolts are. At least when I inventory throughout my shift, there's always something to keep me busy. But if I ever really get caught doing inventory throughout my shift the way I do, I'd probably be fired. The owner's just weird like that. I've been working here for six months and I've only seen him twice—when I worked until closing. I almost always work from 8:00 in the morning until 3:30 in the afternoon, and then Matt comes in and works from 3:30 to 9:00, when we close. But Matt was in the hospital for a couple days a few months ago and I had to work 8:00 to 9:00 since the owner's too cheap to hire anyone else but me and Matt. Anyway, I've only seen the owner twice and he seems like a real case. I used to think he was just a pompous but strange character, so I asked Matt about him, since he's been working here for years and I've only been here for months.

Apparently the owner of the store is actually rather wealthy. He's an author—he writes science-fiction, romance books…so I've heard. When Matt told me that, I thought for sure he was bluffing. I've never heard of such a thing as science-fiction, romance novels. The two genres just don't really go together. I can't imagine reading a book about someone falling in love with the alien next door, but obviously somebody likes it if the man is a millionaire or whatever. I've never actually read any of his books, mostly because I don't have the time to read anything. The other reason is because I wouldn't even know what to pick up in the library because I don't know his name. I'm not afraid of many people in this world, but I'd be a stone-cold liar if I said the owner of the store I work in doesn't intimidate me. Because he intimidates me, I've never been able to work up the nerve to ask him what his pseudonym is. I don't think he publishes his books under his real name but even if he did, I don't even know his real name either. Regardless, he's a pretty wealthy novelist and he lives on the rich side of Sioux City, over on Kemper Street. I can't for the life of me figure out why he'd feel the need to own a hardware store if he makes all that money off his books. But I guess one positive trait about him is that he pays well. $10.75 an hour might not seem like a lot, and I guess in some instances, it's really not. But it beats the hell out of the $8.25 an hour job I used to work while I was in college. The job at Jimmy's pays my bills, I guess.

When I get back to my spot at the register, I close the box I got the padlocks out of back up and slide it underneath my register. I'll put it away later. I'm really starting to wish I called off sick. I'm not sick or anything I just really don't feel like being at work today. I swear I'm not lazy. I swear to it. I just really didn't want to come in today—for various reasons. I hardly ever call off though. I just don't like to because I know that it's only me and Matt that work here and if I call off, Matt will have to cover my shift plus work his and I know how bad that sucks. I'm not really friends with Matt or anything but I don't think it's too much to be a decent person. Decent enough to care that if I call off, he's put in a bad position. Besides, even if I wasn't a decent person like that, it'd still be a little bit awkward for me to call off when I live right above the store. It really wasn't my intention to move into the apartment right above my job, nor was it my intention to make my boss my landlord, but it happened that way.

I know it's weird that I don't know my boss or my landlord's name, but whatever. I don't really associate with him that much. Aside from me and Matt, there is a manager that pops in every once in a while named Buck. Buck takes care of everything in the store so the owner doesn't have to. All he does is own the place, get it? He owns the building and it's basically like he tries to spend as little time here as he possibly can. I pay him my rent every month. I send the money in the mail and it's always addressed without a name and that's that. We don't interact, I don't know his name and he's kind of mysterious but I guess he likes it that way. My point is that it's kind of hard to call off sick or say you don't have transportation or whatever excuse to get out of coming to work when you live in the apartment above the building. It was convenient for me for a while there but now it's just annoying because if the owner really acted like he gave a crap about the store, he'd know that I'm full of hot air when I say that I can't make it to work today. I live right above the freaking building for Christ's sake.

Sighing out of boredom, I sit down on the stool behind the register and lean against the counter, just waiting for a customer. Sometimes I wonder how this store stays open. I mean, we hardly get any business and everything in here is overpriced anyway. How the heck can the owner afford to keep this store afloat when we hardly make a hundred bucks a day? I'm not really complaining because it's easy work when we don't have any customers but still, I just wonder. The only hard work about this place is having to lift all the heavy boxes and appliances that get shipped in from the delivery truck from time to time. Other than that, I basically get paid for sitting on my butt and drawing on blank receipt paper all day. I used to work in this restaurant back on my college campus called Slater's. I bussed some tables and made pretty good money to pay back some of my student loans. But Slater's was getting kind of slow so when I turned 21, I applied for a job at Hooters. I worked there for two years and let me just say, for the record, that working at Hooters isn't as bad or as gross as everyone makes it out to be. Seriously, I was just a waitress and sometimes I bartended. It wasn't like I was a professional slut or anything of that nature because I swear, I have self-worth and decency.

I admit that their employee requirements to be a Hooters girl were a little bit screwy and straightforward but that was just something I had to do for money, okay? They basically just told me that I had to look good in the uniform and I had to be pretty. The guy that did my interview said I had the look and he gave me a uniform to try on to make sure I looked good in the uniform. I tried it on, he said I was perfect and I got the job. That's all. I didn't have to take my clothes off, I didn't have to strip, I didn't have to be a porn star of any sort. The only thing I needed was a good push up bra and that was it, so all those misconceptions about girls that work at Hooters being big whores and such are totally wrong. I guess the only thing that could be considered as softcore prostitution is the fact that guys tip you if you're pretty. I guess I'm pretty because I used to rack up between $300-$350 in tips every night, I kid you not.

I pick up a pen from the cup full of them next to the register and rip off a decent-sized piece of receipt paper. I draw a line to make it into a tree and swing my feet since they don't touch the ground. I'm not very tall, by the way. I'm actually rather petite. I'm about five foot, six inches tall and the last time I weighed myself, I was like 130 pounds or something like that. I start drawing leaves on my tree and just when I start to give it roots, the bell rings to let me know that somebody's coming into the store. Yay, human contact! I smile to myself as my thoughts are loud. I put my pen down and look up. Usually I greet the customers and tell them "Welcome to Jimmy's!" when they come through the door but this guy looks like he's on a mission so I won't bug him. The more I look at him, the more I realize that I know him. He's one of our regulars. He does construction work down the street from here. He's big and muscular with a white, sweat-stained t-shirt and a pair of paint infested blue jeans. His name's Johnny and he's in here at least twice a week. He walks in the aisle down past the wooden boards and I resume drawing.

"Big man's got you working the slave shift again, eh?" Johnny puts a pack of screws on the counter in front of me and I put my pen back down so I can ring him up. I grab the scanning wand and run it over the barcode. "You ever get a break around here, kid?" I don't think he knows my name. I guess he wouldn't really know it since I don't wear my nametag anymore but still, if he paid like a speck of attention I think he'd know it. My name prints out on the top of the receipts after they print out, so if he paid attention to his receipts, he'd know my name. Instead, he usually just calls me "kid."

"Nope." I pick up his box of screws and put them in a small bag, waiting for his receipt. "My whole day's a break, sitting in this dried up place." I hand the bag over to him and wait for him to slip me the money. He's looking through his wallet for his card, I assume. He always pays with his card. "Boss doesn't believe in breaks." I watch as he slides his card through the outdated machine and as per usual, the machine is malfunctioning. I slap the side of it because that's usually how I get it to work. "…He has enough money; you think he'd pay to replace these cruddy machines." It works now and Johnny punches in his ID number for his card.

"Some people are just misers." He winks at me. Back when I first started working here, Johnny used to hit on me all the time. He used to joke and say he wanted to take me out to dinner and stuff and he was sweet for that. But he used to tell me that I had no business working here, that I should be on the covers of magazines and stuff. His wife came in with him one day and ever since then, he stopped flirting with me. I'm way too nice of a person to just come right out and reject someone like that, but I would never give him the time of day. He's nice and all, but he's not my type. I admit that I have a thing for older men. I really like men that are older than me by a few years. I'm 23. I'm young enough by myself alone; I don't need a man that's younger than me. I like older guys. But Johnny is just a little bit too old and I'm not really into him. He's not really my type. "Take care, kid. See you around." He mumbles, taking his receipt from my outstretched hand. I fashion a slight, subtle nod at him as my silent goodbye and pick my pen back up to continue entertaining myself.

It's actually kind of crazy just how many men a day hit on me when they come in here. I was never really all that pretty back in high school and grade school. I was kind of awkward with long, unruly, dark brown hair. It took me until about sixth grade to grow completely out of my chubby stage and up until then, I was so round and plump. When I finally started my period when I was eleven, I had a pretty dramatic growth spurt. I just got a few inches taller so my baby fat was distributed more evenly and I wasn't so chubby anymore. And then once I got to high school, I had another growth spurt where my boobs decided to shoot up an entire cup size and I got curves. I'm actually kind of skinny these days but I'm just saying that being hit on is actually a nice change because back then, nobody ever even looked twice at me. I guess I'm not completely hideous. My hair is still very much brown and when I take care of it properly, it's actually sort of pretty. It falls just past my bra-line in the middle of my back and I put highlights in it a few months ago. Like I said, I'm rather thin but if I wear a fitted t-shirt, my curves are still very defined. I've been told that my butt is pretty big for me being so skinny so I guess I have a nice butt. My chest could stand to be a little bigger but I'm not flat-chested. So yeah, I guess I'm not totally hideous. I was pretty enough to book a job at Hooters, if that counts for anything.

I guess when I left my job at Hooters back in New Jersey to come work in a hardware store here in Iowa, I was expecting the stares, compliments and date offers to cease. I mean at Hooters, that's practically in the job description. If you work at Hooters, you can basically count on being asked out by a couple men and I was no exception. But going from a job like Hooters to a job at a hardware store, I thought it'd be different. I guess not because just like Hooters, here at Jimmy's, the majority of our customers are men. I've turned down more guys than I can count within the last few years of my life. I didn't turn them down because I'm superficial or anything of that nature, I'm just really not interested in dating anyone at the moment. I haven't been interested in dating since my last failed relationship, back when I was a junior in college. Me and relationships don't really work out too well I guess. Every time I'm in a relationship, the guy gets all possessive and obsessed or they want more out of the relationship than I'm willing to give, or they want to talk about getting married or they want me to transfer schools with them. I won't go as far as saying that I have commitment issues, but I don't know…maybe I have some commitment issues.

I'm just not looking for something too serious right now, get it? I just turned 23 years old last month and I'm fresh out of college. I'm still young. I think it's way too early to be thinking about where I want to be in a few years. I mean sure I want to get married to someone someday and have a kid or two but I don't want to do that until I'm able to support myself. I don't think that's too much to ask for. So I'm not really focused on dating or being in a relationship right now, I'm focused on the fact that I want to go to medical school next year. I finished college at Princeton University back in New Jersey and I'm currently sitting on a biochemistry degree. There's not much I can do with a simple bachelor's degree in biochemistry and I know that, which is why I'm trying to go to medical school eventually. I already applied for a spot at Harvard Medical School and I got accepted into the program but the thing is… they want $4,500 down to secure my spot in the program. I don't have that kind of money to just hand over to them so here I am, working my butt off at a hardware store. I can't really explain why I didn't just move to Massachusetts so I could be closer to Harvard, but what I do know is that when I think of a safe, homely place…the first place I thought of was Iowa.

Not Des Moines where I was sort of raised, but here in Sioux City instead. I just don't think I have it in me to go back to Des Moines. Funny that way, isn't it? How when I can't afford to make it on my own, the first place I think to go is back home to Iowa, but not my true home. I'm not a pitiful charity case; I was just a foster child until I was ten. I got kicked out of more places than I stayed in until I got placed with the Wilsons. They were the only people that were ever decent to me. Karen and Bill, they were. They were both rather old; Karen was 78 when I got adopted and Bill was 81. Anyway, I got placed with them when I was just about to turn eleven and I was their foster child until I was fourteen, that's when they decided to adopt me. I had a really nice life with Karen and Bill. They weren't real wealthy and I wasn't spoiled or anything. I had everything I needed and they were really, really good people. I actually felt comfortable calling them "mom" and "dad" and in a sense, they were my mom and dad. They were over the moon when I got into Princeton; threw me a real big high school graduation party and everything. Halfway through my freshman year of college, Karen called and let me know that Bill had passed. Nothing he could've done to prevent it, he was just old. I don't really think Karen ever recovered from losing Bill like that and within the first month of my sophomore year of college, she went too. I have so many fond memories of being their daughter but I just can't bring myself to go back to Des Moines. So even though I recognize Iowa as the one place I've ever felt truly at home, I just can't find the strength to go back to Des Moines…so I'm here, two hours away in Sioux City instead.

I turn my pen on its side so I only use a little bit of the ballpoint to do the shading on my tree while my foot innocuously taps against the floor in tune to the song that's playing overhead on the speakers. I spend so much time here that I can tell you the exact order of every song that plays and I can even sing them for you if you'd like. It's the same playlist on endless loop and I think it's disgusting that I know every song that comes on, every hour on the hour. No one should spend that much time at their job. I wouldn't even mind if the songs that played weren't so cheesy and generic. I just wish they were good songs, none of that cheesy department store stuff. I mean seriously, I haven't listened to Matchbox 20 since the sixth grade. It's 2015, can we at least get some updated material? That would probably require my cheapskate of a boss to update his equipment, which means that would cost him some money. I roll my eyes to the back of my head at the sound of my own thoughts and just keep shading in the bark of my poorly drawn tree. I'm actually kind of artistic but I don't have much free reign on four inches worth of blank receipt paper.

I start drawing a sunset behind my tree and singing along to the song that's playing over the speakers in my head when the sound of the bells from the door opening interrupts my quiet, sereneness. Instinctively, my head raises up to see who's coming through the door and while I'm surprised at who I see, I'm not at all excited. I usually get excited to have any kind of human contact with people whenever we're slow in business, but I could really do without his human contact. I keep my head down and pretend to be extremely busy and interested in my drawing, but I do look at him from the corner of my eye. He's so strange; he somewhat scares me. He's wearing a dark brown, long sleeved sweater and saggy dark blue jeans. He has on matching dark brown businesslike shoes and he doesn't even look hot. It's mid-June and about 80 degrees outside today. Why the heck is he dressed like he's expecting a snowstorm? Mindlessly, I shake my head and actually return my attention to the picture I'm still currently drawing. When I start to shade in the clouds behind my sunset, I hear a loud clanking noise which ultimately draws my attention again.

He's moving cans of paint around on the shelves and not even attempting to be quiet about it. My eyebrows involuntarily wrinkle at his inherent rudeness and I just glare at him. I've gotten a few good looks at him before but nothing really worth remembering. He doesn't look like he's very old; in fact, he looks like he's actually quite young. He has short, dark brown hair with swooped up waves all through the lengths of it. His face is stubbly like he hasn't shaved in a while but his facial hair is neatly groomed into a chin-strap like formation. His body is pretty ripped, which is a shock to me. The two times I've laid eyes on him, he didn't appear this stocky. Maybe it's because his sweater is tightly clinging to his top half…or maybe it's because he's holding paint cans in his hands, which is making his muscles flex this time around. I click my pen to put the ballpoint away and rip up my drawing. I toss it in the trashcan below the register and think of something I can do to make myself seem like a good employee. After all, I do work for the man.

I roll the sleeves up on my shirt and turn around to the supply shelf behind the register. I know I just went off on a tirade about him wearing long sleeves when the weather is hot today when I, myself am wearing long sleeves but there's a reason. Despite the fact that he's a mysterious, pompous human being, he is polite enough to equip the place with air conditioning during the summer months. My usual uniform is a dark blue t-shirt and a comfortable pair of jeans with a jacket to brave the coldness in the store but today, I put a light blue long-sleeved shirt underneath my dark blue shirt because I didn't feel like toting around a jacket all day. The shirts are just plain and blue but whatever, I admit that even though they're not very soft, they're much better than the skimpy Hooters uniform I used to wear. There was no negotiation about my Hooters uniform either. It was a tank top with the cleavage cut out and exposed and a pair of orange, skin-tight shorts complete with knee-high socks, for when I was a waitress. When I was working behind the bar as the bartender, it was the same tank top but instead of orange shorts, I wore a black mini-skirt. The uniform was comfortable but it was a real hassle to have to change in the bathroom during the winter months because I refused to wear it outdoors when it was snowing.

I grab a box of screwdrivers off the supply shelf and start counting how many are in there. He'll yell at me if I don't look busy. He doesn't like for us to have any free time or he doesn't like it when we look bored. If he happens to walk in while we're not doing anything, he'll make us go block. Blocking is when you take the old products and move them to the front and make sure all the labels are facing outwards on everything. It's so boring but really, he'll make us do that. Or he'll make us go around the store and dust because apparently, hardware gets really dusty and customers don't like dusty hardware. I grab a couple handfuls of the screwdrivers, put my "closed" sign up on the counter and walk back towards where we keep the screwdrivers so I can restock them. I won't lie; I wouldn't be doing any of this if he wasn't standing right there. I can't decide if it's rude that he doesn't even acknowledge his workers or if I like the fact that he doesn't try to talk to me. I don't think he ever spoke a single word to me. He didn't even do my job interview; Buck did. Is that rude? I don't know if I like the fact that he doesn't say anything to me though.

"You can't just walk away from the register." His voice is rough, gravelly like he swallowed a mouthful of rock salt. The tone of his voice is condescending, as if he feels the need to let me know that he's above me and I'm below him as his worker. "You're the only person working and you just walked away from the register? This is why I tell you to do inventory before you open up for the day. You can't inventory while you're working and leave the register unattended."

First of all, I put my closed sign up. Second of all, it's not like I walked out the store. I'm right in the back for crying out loud. Third of all, I'm always the only person working because you're too cheap to hire more than two people. And fourthly, it's not like anybody wants to rob this store anyway. There's not even five bucks in the register so if they did have the guts to come in here and rob the place, it's not like they'd get away with more than that and maybe a box of screws. "I put my closed sign up." I retaliate, innocently defending myself in the best way I can. "And I wasn't really inventorying, I was just…" My voice trails off as my eyes meet his. I'm far from stupid and I can always tell when people are listening to me, when they're ignoring me, when they're happy with me or when they're displeased. I can tell by the blank, lifeless look on his face that he couldn't care less about what I'm saying to him right now. So I just save my breath and shut my mouth. "Sorry." I whisper and busily make my way back to my register. I take the sign down and put it back behind the bottle of water we keep to wet the bags when they stick together. I'm not usually this obedient little puppy dog that seeks everyone's approval the way I just did with him, but he's my boss and I'm desperate for this job. Besides, I'm usually pretty soft-spoken anyway.

I'm not, nor have I ever been a confrontational person. I don't like to argue, I don't like to fight and as much as I hate it about myself, I'm a people-pleaser. I really want everyone to like me, generally. In high school, I got voted "Biggest Sweetheart" and "Best to Take Home to Mom." I'm not a hard person to get along with and I swear I'm not mean or rude. I have manners and I'm ladylike. But one flaw about myself is definitely my temper. I don't like to fight or anything like that but it really doesn't take much to set me off. I've always been a bit of a hothead though. I have such a bad temper and I really try to keep it under control but sometimes it gets the best of me and it gets me in trouble. But throughout the years, I've learned how to bite my tongue and control myself when someone irritates me. So instead of flying off at the mouth like I want to with him, I just lean against the counter of the register and resume waiting for a customer.

He's checking the tags on the paint cans like it's a really important job. His back is turned to me but if he started talking, I'd still be able to hear him. Of course, he has more to say to me; more belittling to do. "I know you're the one that does inventory throughout the day, and that's why the shelves are always understocked." Again, his tone is accusatory. Specifically because his back is turned, I roll my eyes at him and shake my head. Six months of me working here and this is the most he's ever said to me before. He yells at Matt all the time but he's never once yelled at me. I'm beginning to wish I had knocked on wood. "I hired you to do this job and if you can't do it right, I don't have a problem getting rid of you. You're replaceable."

Again, I roll my eyes and keep my mouth shut. Call me a surrealist or an optimist, whatever. But I refuse to believe he's that coldhearted. Nobody's this mean to people, right? Something must've happened to make him so pompous, arrogant and insensitive. People aren't just naturally so derogatory the way he is. I'm not saying that I think the world is all lollipops, butterflies and rainbows. I'm not saying that at all. In fact, I know it's not. I've had my fair share of crappy things to deal with and I know that there are so many evils out there in this world. But for me, I believe that there is much more good in this world than there is bad. I believe that everyone has some good in them—even serial killers. There's good in everyone. But still, me believing that there is a little bit of decency inside this human being, doesn't make him any easier to deal with. I wish he'd leave me alone like he's done for the last six months of me working here.


A/N: So by now, I'm sure that you guys know how I run my stories. You know that I like to spend a few chapters establishing the setting and building up what I want the characters to be like and all that. So this whole chapter was of course, explaining what life's been like in Jo's shoes. Next chapter will explain all about Alex and how his life has been. As you can see, there are some differences between here and what happens in the show. So to clear things up, this story is COMPLETELY AU. Nothing will be totally the same as what it is in the show. It's totally and completely Alternate Universe.

I just had this idea for this story and it's really unlike anything I've ever seen done in the Jolex stories. I've never heard of, nor have I ever done anything like this story before. With all that being said, I hope you guys aren't disappointed in what I've come up with. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by this story...if you like things that are very different.

So yeah, I hope you guys like this! :)