THEN
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"You desired my attention but denied my affections"
-Mumford & Sons
Emily walked into the Pizza Shack with her usual serious frown and uncommunicative air, and Razor greeted Emily with his usual sarcastic tones.
"And here's Emily Kmetko, so excited for her shift at the Pizza Shack, she shows up a whole hour early. Now that's dedication people."
Emily glowered at him. Her stomach was doing flip flops under the assault of mingled pizza related smells, and she had only arrived early in order to flee her living situation. But she couldn't afford to miss a shift now anyways. Razor continued flipping and pounding dough while Emily donned her apron.
"Why so grim?" Razor smirked, "Everything good at Casa Damon?"
Emily grimaced, "I don't want to talk about it."
Razor raised his hands in mock surrender. He rearranged his face, widened eyes and jack-o-lantern grin, to lessen the implication of being seen caring about something.
"Just want to know he's treating you right," he said.
Emily caught a whiff of something that had her mentally counting the steps to the bathroom. Forcing down the urge, she smiled.
"Thanks. That's really sweet."
Then she couldn't hold back anymore and had to sidestep customers on her way to the single stall bathroom. Someone might complain but she really did not care. All her life had gone down the toilet anyways, and now she wasn't even able to do her job. Her lousy job that she hated.
Razor was obviously unaccustomed with what to do when a girl returned from puking in the bathroom due to teenage pregnancy, but he rallied when he saw the bright pink spots on her face, all the more stark against the whiteness of feeling sick. He handed her a cup of water, not sure what else to do.
Emily took it and sipped. "The, uh, the smells make me sick," she explained.
"No worries. Take it easy," Razor replied before going back to his pizza creations.
"Ha," Emily scoffed.
Easy wasn't something she was familiar with. This was not an easy shift anyways. Emily lurched and dragged through the endless minutes mostly by staying away from food preparation. Razar helped when he could. Mercifully, after interminable hours, it was closing time. Emily stacked the last chair when Razor flipped the lights.
They walked out together, and Emily dragged back, having only the bus and an uncertain welcome before her.
"Can I offer you a ride home fair lady?" Razor bowed comically.
Emily laughed and agreed, but she was quiet on the way home.
"So really, how's my boy Damon doing?" Razor finally asked.
"You don't talk?"
"Not much lately."
"I think he's gone cold on me," Emily was rueful, "Great timing huh."
"No way," Razor automatically replied, wanting to make her feel better, "he's just really confused."
"I don't think he wants me here."
"Well he came after you didn't he?"
Emily had no answer for that and Razor pulled up to the curb. He reached across Emily to flip open the lock.
"He'll come around," Razor said.
"Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow?"
"Same time, same place. I'll be the one slinging pizza dough," Razor quipped.
Emily smiled, but it faded by the time she reached the door to Damon's apartment. She hesitated, but there was nowhere else to go. When she went inside, Damon was lounging on the couch, guitar in hand. He sat up abruptly, placed the guitar on the floor, but didn't seem to know what to do next.
It was all just so awkward. Emily saw with exact clarity how much she didn't want to spend another night afraid to move, afraid to change the channel or open a book or breathe loudly. Every move she made rippled and amplified the net they were caught in, strangling ease and freedom. Emily couldn't take it for one more second.
"This isn't working Damon," almost involuntary, the words hung in the air like black powder.
Damon wasn't unguarded at the best of times, but now his face was at its most thunderous.
"I didn't exactly ask for this," he shot out.
"You think I did?"
"You push me away and then out of the blue..., Emily, I swear I'm trying my best."
"This is your best?" Emily couldn't help scoffing.
"What, should I just suddenly be in love with you again?" Damon asked, his eyes burning.
The volume steadily rose, releasing a month's worth of pent up explosion. They argued until there was no beginning and no end, only these two locked in a duel to see who could inflict the most pain upon the other.
Eventually Emily's foot came up against her suitcase and she upped the ante.
"I don't even have a place to put my clothes," Emily retorted, kicking the sloppy suitcase wedged between bed and dresser.
Damon strode to the tiny closet and began ripping shirts from hangers, flinging haphazardly. It was an insult now to offer her the space. It was petulant.
"There, is that what you want?" Damon snarled when the closet was empty and surrounded by misshapen mounds.
"This isn't what I want," Emily said.
"What the hell can I do Emily? It's never good enough for you."
"I've given up my dreams! I've given up everything," she choked out.
"We are going nowhere. My album is going nowhere. I am going nowhere," Damon ranted and shook, "Once a loser, always a loser."
Emily didn't answer. The slam of the door behind her told Damon everything he needed to know.
A/N: Posting during Hurricane Sandy :) Great time to get some writing done, isn't it!
