Denim enjoyed stocking shelves. Well, when the product was something light, like protein bars. She didn't care to spend too much time in the vitamin aisle though. It was too close to the cold medicine in the next one over. And where there were people buying medications, there were sick people. She definitely didn't want whatever they had.
She finished emptying one carton and heard a mother shriek nearby.
"Tommy! Tommy, get away from that- thing! It could be dangerous!" The sounds of squeaking shopping cart wheels hit Denim's ears.
What is that about? She turned her back toward the sound, determined to mind her own business. Denim wasn't the type to stick her nose where it didn't belong and reached for her box cutter, opening the next box on her cart.
"What the hell is that?" Another customer shouted.
"It's stank ass nasty is what it is!" Someone replied.
Denim's back tensed. Don't get involved. Don't.
"Freak!" Yet another voice chimed in.
Whatever was going on was close, maybe an aisle or two over and sounded like it was drawing a small crowd.
"I didn't know this store let mutants shop here," A customer murmured to her companion, moving quickly past Denim's aisle.
"I'm taking my business elsewhere," her counterpart replied.
A mutant?
Understanding settled in Denim's chest and her stomach clenched. The customers were harassing a mutant. Her fingertips pressed tight against the box cutter in her hand she abandoned her cart to march toward the gathering crowd, and push her way through.
"Disgusting. They should all be euthanized," snarled a customer.
"Abominations. The end of the world is surely near. I will pray for these demons." An older woman preached as Denim passed her.
The crowd was at least ten people thick, and their protests crept their way to her eardrums like a burrowing insect. Denim frowned. "Excuse me, please," she said weaving her way through the crowd.
Most of the customers were too enthralled in whoever they had in their sights and ignored her requests to be allowed through.
"You know I think they're hiring them here now," a woman complained to her husband. "It's repulsive. I mean they sell food here, it's unsanitary."
"They have to hire them, all that equal rights bullshit," he replied.
Denim had never seen a mutant in person. She'd heard about them on the news, had seen video footage of evolved dogs, cats, squirrels, and apes, among others. She had some idea of what to expect. Or so she thought.
"Ew. Ah man, it's bleedin' all over the place!" The customer in front of her yelled, backing up a step. He seemed to be the closest to whoever they'd cornered.
"Get back, get back, biohazard!" Someone beside him yelled, backing into Denim.
Her jaw clenched, and her foot hurt from being stepped on. "I said, excuse me, please!" she shouted as the customer stepped on her.
He didn't apologize, instead turned and barreled through exclaiming, "Its blood could be poisonous!"
"Somebody call security!" Someone in the crowd bellowed.
Denim stopped at the edge of the gathering, all the onlookers behind her. There was another crowd blocking the other end, and their taunts seemed to drift over her head as if she were wearing noise blocking headphones. Her heart began to pound and her legs grew shaky at sight of the being leaning against a creaking near empty shelf.
A shell loomed over masculine shoulders, the tails of a blood-stained orange mask draping very green skin. Denim's eyes swept over his panting form. His eyes were squint shut then opened to look at the shelf. One hand slid toward the right, reaching for a box of bandages but his fingers fumbled and knocked more of them to the floor. Denim noticed the rest of the shelves contents were covered in blood-splattered first aid supply boxes.
"It's filthy and it's bleeding everywhere!"
"Mutant trash, you belong in a circus! You side show freak!"
The crowd's insults didn't seem to faze the enormous turtle-man. He was too injured to care and probably used to it, she supposed. Well she'd heard enough. She'd been bullied as a child and it had messed her up, even as an adult. She wouldn't stand for it. She wanted to rip into the lot of them, but her subconscious reminded her. You need this job.
"Everyone please!" She shoved her box cutter in the pocket of her khaki pants and waved her hands at the crowd. "Please, keep back. He's hurt."
"Security coming through! Get back! Everyone back, please clear out of the area. The police have been called." A taser wielding security guard pushed his way to the front.
Denim blocked the guard from moving towards the turtle. She knew the stores security officer. Keith Lowry, was a retired vet who treated loss prevention like a heinous crime. He'd scare a toddler who'd stolen bubble gum he was so strict, and it really pissed her off.
"Denim, this is a biohazard and he could be dangerous. Step away from the mutant." Lowry ordered.
"You back off, Keith. He's hurt. And the rest of you need to move on. If you aren't going to help then go!" She scanned the products scattered over the floor and found a box of gloves. Ignoring the protesting guard who didn't seem to have the courage to come any closer, she ripped open the box and tugged a pair on. Then she tore into a box of gauze pads.
With her hands full of gauze, she stepped so close to the turtle she could smell a mix of copper, and another scent, she swore resembled pizza. This took her by surprise and she inhaled again to be sure. Definitely pizza.
He was big enough that even in his injured state he could swipe an arm and floor her. But as she came closer she sensed no malice from him. In fact the crowd of people held more venom.
"Hi," the mutant managed in between pained huffs. "You, uh, a vet or something?" He attempted to laugh at himself then hissed and drew a hand to his side.
Denim's eyes followed his movement, in part ready to leap back in case he was more animal than human. Animals, after all didn't always understand you were trying to help. But then he'd feigned a joke at his own expense, at that seemed pretty intelligent.
Blood trickled over the fingers covering his side and he leaned on the shelf more. It creaked then began to bow beneath his weight.
"No, I'm not a vet. I just-," Denim glanced at the looming onlookers, felt anger build in her heart. "I hate bullies," she said loud enough for everyone to hear.
The corners of the turtle's wide mouth tipped up. "Yeah, me too," he panted. He opened one eye for the first time to look at her.
Her mouth fell open at sight of his sky blue irises. His eyes were so human, so, beautiful. She couldn't look away from them.
"You, uh, should take a picture," his voice came out weak, between labored breaths.
Denim rolled her eyes. "That joke is older than me."
The curve of his mouth spread wider and little wrinkles met the corner of the one eye. She wanted to see the other but it was still pressed against the shelf that threatened to collapse at any given moment.
"You should sit down. That shelf can't hold you much longer. But before you do, let me help stop the bleeding there." She motioned to the hand covering his side.
"D-don't worry about it, Babe. My bros," he stopped for a breath, "my bros will be here any-"
He didn't get to finish as the crowd seemed to peel away from both ends of the aisle and two enormous turtles filled the space. A third stepped around the purple masked one nearest their end of the aisle. Denim swallowed at sight of him, felt her heart beating hard in her chest.
The blue masked terrapin's eyes shifted from the orange masked turtle to her. She shuffled her feet back and out of his way, almost bumping into the purple masked one. She heard an animalistic growl from the far end of the aisle where a red-masked turtle spat out a string of profanity at lingering onlookers.
The blue one moved then, slipping the orange ones arm over his shoulder and helping him down the aisle. Denim blinked, taking in the surreal scene playing out before her. She'd seen not one, but four mutants, up close. And she'd lived to tell about it. As is if she had anyone to tell.
She blinked again and they were gone. The only indication that they'd been there, was the blood-splattered floor and mess of first-aid supplies. Her world tipped on its axis and she lifted one hand for the shelf to steady herself. It gave one final groan and collapsed, spilling all twenty-feet of its remaining contents over the floor. The shelf beneath it gave way, dumping on top of that.
Denim let out a groan as product piled up to her calves around her. When she looked up, two armed police officers blocked either end of the aisle with their guns drawn.
"I need a drink," she deadpanned.
A Month Later
Denim had reservations about stocking the first-aid aisle. Every time she passed it the scene from that day replayed itself and she'd spend hours recounting the different ways she wished it had played out. She should've done more. Why hadn't she cursed the crowd? Why hadn't she thrown things at them in an effort to get them to go away? Why had they been such assholes? And what became of the terrapin? How had he gotten hurt? What happened?
She reached for her box cutter and opened the carton of athletic wrap. As she hung the rich-vibrant orange tape on its peg she heard a familiar voice from behind her.
"I need like all of that. And I mean, like all of it. Just, you should just, give me the case."
Denim's fingers released the package, hung suspended in the air as her heart began to pound. Great. Now she was fantasizing his voice too.
The air shifted slightly behind her and the hair rose on her neck. She straightened, turning her head to face whoever had crept up on her. One thing she knew about not wanting to be a victim was that if anyone walked up on you, turn to face them and look them in the… eye.
Those eyes.
Her mouth fell open as she found herself staring into two, perfect, heavenly blue eyes, outlined in a worn orange mask.
He grinned at her in an almost childlike way. Then he began shifting his feet, but never looked anywhere but in her eyes.
"So, uh, hi, I'm Michelangelo." He held out a three fingered hand to her and she stared at it dumbly.
Long seconds passed before he let out a jittery laugh and moved to withdraw his hand.
She thrust out her own and grabbed his fingers to stop him. Oh! She must seem awkward and desperate, or strange and stupid. Let him go! She stared at her fingers, wrapped around only one of his and barely so it was so thick. His skin was surprisingly smooth and cool to the touch. Reptilian.
He let out another laugh, but it was so fraught with nerves her heart jolted with sympathy. She managed to command her fingers to part and release him then looked from his retreating green hand to his fair blue eyes.
"What's your name?" he asked, smiling.
Gods those are the most innocent and hopeful eyes I've ever looked in. Ever. She swallowed and opened her mouth but nothing came out.
He didn't seem bothered and glanced at her nametag. "Denim? Like, blue jeans?"
"Blue jeans," she repeated. He's big, and muscled, and scarred, and, and… Hot. Wow. Just. Wow.
"I, uh-" He rubbed a hand over the back of his mask then reached by her head for a package of athletic wrap, in the process knocking over everything beneath it. He chuckled and stepped back, rubbing his mask again. "My bad," he said still backing away, then bumping into the shelf behind him and knocking over all of its contents. He spun around, trying to catch things only bumping into more.
Denim was grateful it was early and there weren't many customers in the store yet. Though she suspected it would only be a few minutes before Keith would be there. He watched the cameras like a hawk.
As Michelangelo continued knocking over products she heard a noise from the aisle behind her. It sounded like someone face palming themselves and someone else groaning.
"Man, I'm sorry. I don't, I didn't mean to," Michelangelo filled his arms with band-aids, and gauze then stood before her. "Uh, here?"
Denim stared at him.
What was wrong with her? Why wasn't she helping him? What was he doing there? What happened that day?
Michelangelo's smile faded. "I'm sorry. I didn't, I uh." His shoulders slumped and his voice fell. "I just wanted to say thank you."
"And, and, ask her, Mikey!" She heard a little voice near his head and he swallowed hard, before dropping half the items in his arms to reach up and adjust the volume on a little speaker clipped to the tail of his mask.
"He-he, you, uh, you can hear that. Can't you?" he fidgeted with the device and the volume grew louder instead of lower.
"Just ask her for cryin' out loud. I got shit to do today!" Complained a different voice.
The bitter sound coming through the speaker echoed with feedback, like from a microphone, as if it came from nearby. Denim eyed the device, glanced at a cheesing Michelangelo, then walked to the end of the aisle and looked in the next aisle over but found it empty.
She turned to face Michelangelo again and found him looking over her shoulder as if he were searching for something too. "What are we looking for?" he asked. The closeness of him sent her heart racing and it took her a few seconds to realize she was laughing. She looked up at him, and he down at her with a big smile on his face.
"Who are you?" she asked in all sincerity.
How had someone so clearly not human left such an impression, for his personality was very much so and it wasn't what he was that intrigued her now. It was his antics. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about that day, or him since it happened, and there he was. And she'd been sure she'd never see him again. Her chest tightened as he stepped back and began toying with a box of antibiotic cream behind her. He would leave soon. The store would be getting busy. Would she ever see him again?
"I'm just a guy, really." He said, poking a box with his finger. It slid on the shelf, toward the edge and tipped to fall over but he caught it and put it back. "Uh, Denim, I was wondering, do you," he hesitated, "do you like pizza?" His gaze shifted from the box to her and he appeared to be holding his breath.
"Pizza?" she echoed. "Yes, who doesn't?"
He exhaled a sigh of relief. "That's good, cos if you didn't that would seriously destroy any chances of this going anywhere." He laughed, seeming genuinely relieved.
This? Going anywhere?
His laugh seemed to fall on dead air and she heard the nearby groan again. Michelangelo looked to the mess on the floor and reached for some packages of athletic wrap. He seemed so genuine, warm, and endearing. She found herself reaching for boxes too.
"Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. You know. For that day. And," he dumped the contents into her stock cart. "I'm glad you like pizza. You're uh, too pretty to not like it. That would be just-"
The poor guy. As he squirmed and fidgeted, dropping some of the boxes he was trying to put in the cart, his face worked in deep concentration but not at all on what he was doing and she fought an intense urge to still him.
"Michelangelo," she said, surprising herself as her fingers appeared over his. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"