The red-head laid in his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. He had the job. The one he had applied for a few months back. He'd already done the interview and drug test, but they had rescheduled orientation but never called him back. Now though, they had just called to tell him if he still wanted the job, it was waiting for him. orientation was only two more days away. Well not even two.
He wanted the job, he really did. He needed the money for himself. Part of him though, didn't want to have to go to work every day. It scared him. He would be just another worker, just another number, just another ant amongst the thousands of others.
Well, maybe not thousands at this job..., but a few hundred. Even if he would only not even encounter a third of these workers, the sheer numbers terrified him. He had worked there before, last fall, during school. It was only part-time then. Five hours, every day, some Saturdays. It was hard at first, but it got easier, he even thought he might be good at his job. Not great, not bad, but just average. Good enough to stay, not bad enough to get fired.
Now though, he heard a lot had changed, and it worried him. He worried he wasn't going to be able to make the cut, he was going to be too slow, they were going to yell at him for doing things wrong because sometimes he needed things explained more than once and crash courses just weren't enough. He didn't want them to think him stupid or slow, because he wasn't, he was smart, just somethings didn't make sense to him. His logic didn't apply or couldn't make sense of what they wanted.
It had happened before. People thought him slow because he hadn't understood or because he phrased things differently. They didn't have to say it, he could see it in their eyes. They thought him beneath them. He knew where that path led, his self-esteem wasn't high, their judgements would make it plummet. Even if they were only people he would see at work, even if after the job ended he would probably never see them again.
Fear. It was what trapped him in the bed. It constricted his lungs, it was a weight upon his chest, lead weights attached to his limbs, a black hole of thought and feeling.
He was so afraid. His sea-foam green eyes stared at nothing. Each breath was an enormous effort. The fear, it was doing what it always did. Crushing his reason, crushing his thoughts, crushing his will, crushing him.
His phone vibrated, that's what snapped him out of it.
He snatched it from the shelves beside his bed.
It was a text from Zaku, asking him if he'd gotten the job. He replied that he had, asking the other male if he had gotten hired as well. The purple haired teen replied that he had, also, been hired. They would go to orientation together, in Gaara's dark red mustang. They continued to text of insignificant things, such as what they were doing, how they were, their plans for the last days of freedom as Zaku called them.
Gaara didn't tell his friend his true feelings, saying he was fine, just lying in his bed, probably going to spend his last days gaming as much as he could. His guildmates needed him to help with an upgrade. Zaku replied that he understood and that he was great, out driving around with his boyfriend Haku. Gaara smirked slightly at the mention of the effeminate male the purple haired teen had taken as a mate, however temporairily or not.
One of the first things Zaku had told him when they met, was that he was gay. He told Gaara he could shove it if he didn't like it. Gaara had chuckled, a smirk tugging at his lips.
It wasn't until much later into their friendship, that Gaara told the other he thought he was as well. The other boy had grinned and high-fived him.
Feeling better, Gaara sat up, picking up his laptop. He had gaming to do, as he'd told Zaku.
Shikamaru groaned, it was Sunday. Worst. Day. Ever. In the history of days. It was so very, very dull and boring. It made him want to do nothing but sleep. Other days, yeah he wanted sleep, but not like on Sunday. Sunday was the best sleeping day. There was nothing on tv, nothing to go to, friends were busy with family shit, his mom made him have dinner with them; at the table! It was, completely and totally, the worst day ever imagined.
It was already noon. He was not looking forward to getting up. He had to though..., or else his mom would come in and yell at him to get up.
He had to do laundry..., then shower..., then go have dinner with them. Then, and only then, could he return to blissful sleep. He dragged himself out of bed, still wearing his boxers and fishnet t-shirt. He tugged both off, dropping them into the basket before finding fresh boxers and a plain gray shirt to wear. New clothes on, he then went about sorting his laundry by color. That part didn't take long, it was the washing that did.
Four hours later, finished with laundry, he found a pair of black jeans and took them into the bathroom with him. He showered slowly, unhurried although he kenw his mom was probably waiting on him to finish so they could enjoy the dinner she had made. It didn't matter. He wasn't particularly hungry. But he would have a little something, to make her happy. Even when his stomach raged at him to eat, he honestly didn't feel like making the effort to make something and eat it. It was such a total drag. Sleeping..., that was easy.
Shit, he jerked awake. He had begun to doze standing up in the shower. The water was starting to get a little cold. How long had he been like that? He shook it off, turning off the water and climbing out. He dried and dressed himself, pulling back his still wet hair. He slowly made his way down the stairs to the kitchen, making himself a small plate of the offered food and then sitting in the dining room table where his mother and father waited.
They talked, but he didn't really listen, picking at his food, eating enough to make them leave him alone about eating before he got up and washed his plate. Walking back to his room, he started to doze off a couple of times, when his head hit the cold pillow, he was out cold, dead to the living world.
