#abducted reader

Fucking Aldi, cheap Lidl knock off but cheap is what he is going for and the nearest Lidl is thirty minutes away and there’s no way he’s going to Sainsbury’s. The last time he went in there was to end Johnny’s bitching about how the specific type of protein bars you can only get in there. Full of prissy rich folk who stared at him like he didn’t belong. He definitely thought that too.

But this was the best he was going to get, the safehouse round the corner but completely void of food even though John had told him differently. Simon lazily looked over the high protein ready meals, there was nothing that looked particularly good. All of them watery and speckled with condensation, none of them look appetising but he grabs a Thai green curry and a chocolate protein shake hoping he can stomach the meal once it’s hot.

He trips over himself changing direction from the self checkout area to the bread shelves when he thinks of toast for breakfast before he’s picked up by the heli. As he turns the corner, you’re there. A pallet taller than you full of bread crates, you’re on your tippy toes reaching for the top one, face going red as you almost drop it. You move quickly taking the old ones off and placing the new ones on to put the old crates on top of the new ones.

A tedious motion but part of your job so you do it without a complaint. Simon has to jerk himself back into action when he realises he’s been standing there just staring at you, basking in the silence that seems to swallow you. His life is so loud and you’re so quiet, he’s entranced with it, with how in your own head you are. He can see you’re thinking, pretty eyes moving quickly to keep up with your thoughts. You’re not the most gorgeous women he’s ever seen in his life but fuck you’re pretty. The kind of pretty that makes him wish his children take their features from their mother instead of him.

He’s so awkward when he slips past you to grab a loaf of half and half, not so subtly taking a deep breath of your scent in, closing his eyes for a moment. And in that second he doesn’t see that it’s wrong, doesn’t see that even if it’s not wrong, it’s weird. It looks weird to your colleague who comes over and says you’ll be on the self checkout for the next half an hour while she takes her break. You just nod and put the bread pallet away before making your way to the self checkout. Fob keys in hand and a bright yellow gilet on that makes you look washed out.

There’s something in him that festers when he thinks about you later that night as he stares up at the crumbly ceiling. How unhappy you looked. The slump of your body showing how exhausted you really were even when you painted that fake smile on your face for the whiny customers. Like how a clown paints his face for his performance so he’s always smiling even when he’s crying.

No sparkle in your eyes, nothing twinkling there, no life gleaming behind those pretty coloured orbes of yours. You just looked so miserable. He couldn’t stand it. It caused a pain in his chest to grow in a way he doesn’t understand. A pain that ferments and rots his insides so much so that he returns to the supermarket once more.