Chapter Text
Today will be the same as every other day you've had for the past two years, you had made damn sure of it.
The first part of your carefully planned routine is your alarm going off at six-thirty, the sound of an air raid siren jump-scaring you awake.
At one point you had tried to set it to some calming music, so you had a less unpleasant start to your day, but you quickly realized you needed proper motivation to turn it off after a couple times being late to work because the music just made going back to sleep even more enticing.
Apparently, you need to activate your fight or flight response if you want any chance of staying awake.
The next step is staring at the ceiling for five minutes, waiting for your heart rate to slow to a normal level as you try to muster the strength to move.
After that you drag yourself to the shower which you paradoxically never want to get in to, then never want to get out of.
Reluctantly, you put on your wonderful mandated work uniform, dark pants, an incredibly unflattering beige polo, and your name tag. Your boss isn't a hard ass about most things but for some reason he is about this. Well, that and keeping your phone in a locker all day. You think a plain shirt would be perfectly professional, but he vehemently disagrees.
Next on the agenda is breakfast, which is always toast and scrambled eggs with black coffee, sure it's not very exciting, but it's easy, and one of the only things you know how to cook. You usually have about twenty minutes to burn after eating, so you wisely use it doom-scrolling, no doubt the most valuable and healthy use of your time.
Finally, it's time to head to work, you grab your keys and start to head out the door, unable to stop yourself from glancing at a picture of your parents on the way out. That wasn't supposed to be a part of your morning routine, but it practically is now because you can never stop yourself.
Your heart seizes, and you think for the hundredth time that you should probably take that down, it just always seemed too cruel though, taking down their picture in their own house. Not that taking down one picture would do much good, you'd have to redecorate the whole house.
Reminders of them are everywhere. Your dad's old La-Z-Boy he practically lived in, one of his old caps still hanging by the door. The dining room table you and your mom used to put together thousand-piece puzzles on, (rather, she would put it together and you would sort all the pieces, a very important job she’d always reassure you) her Golden Girls box set sitting in the entertainment center gathering dust.
Changing anything would mean moving on, accepting a world they're not in anymore, and you just can't seem to do that.
A little over two years ago they died in a car crash. Drunk driver. Head on collision.
At the time you were living in an apartment with two roommates, they were really your only friends, and they were good ones too, but your parents had left you their house in the will, and you were practically drowning in your grief, wanting nothing more than to be alone. So you gave them the rent for your remaining three months on the lease, and quickly moved into your childhood home. They were persistent in trying to reach out to you, but months of being ignored made them reasonably give up.
You knew pushing them away wasn't healthy, but they would want to talk about it, and you had no clue how to do that. They knew all the details, and you knew they were going to make you face the reality of what happened. It was too raw, too much. It still is.
But now you were truly and completely alone, which is fine, you've gotten used to it, it just means no one has any expectations for you, which is good because if they did, they'd be constantly disappointed, so it works out.
You hadn't been working at the grocery store for very long when it happened. It wasn't supposed to be a long term job, just something to pay the bills while you searched for a better one, mostly because the commute was rough, the closest decent apartments to the store were a forty-five minute drive away. It was a five minute drive from your parents place, so it made far more sense to continue living with them, but you wanted some independence. You regret that decision practically everyday, if you just fucking stayed maybe you could've prevented it.
After you moved back into your childhood home is when you had to develop your routine. You still needed to go to work if you wanted to be able to keep up with bills, but it was like you forgot how to live. So you planned out the bare minimum you needed to do everyday to survive: wake up, shower, eat, work, come home, eat, go to bed. That seemed manageable, it wasn't like you had the will to do anything else, you were in survival mode, you were running on fumes.
Your own little groundhogs day loop, days so similar they all started to blend together. It was safe, it was comfortable, it kept you nice and numb.
But now it's been two years and you're still doing it. The massive wound their death had inflicted on you has turned from a sharp pain to a dull ache, and yet you haven't made any effort to move on, to actually live again instead of just surviving. At this point you're not sure you know how to, the thought of doing anything new, anything different, causes an anxious pit in your stomach.
How could you progress your life when they can't?
You shake your head, trying to clear your mind like an etch a sketch. If you didn't stop thinking you were going to be late, you just need to get in the truck and go to work.
But it's hard to keep those thoughts at bay for long when your truck is your dad's old truck. His pride and joy, a red 1996 chevy silverado with an extended cab. You don't know shit about trucks but he said that enough times it's burned into your memory. You never really understood what was so great about it, but it is still running after all these years, so that's pretty damn impressive.
If you could've chosen which of your parents' vehicles you ended up with, you definitely would've gone with your mom's car, but well… they took her car that night, obviously it wasn't drivable after that. Not that you'd ever want to get in that car again anyway.
By the time you snap yourself out of your thoughts, you've arrived. Zoning out that much while driving was probably going to get you killed one day. Or arrested for running over a small child and thinking it was a speed bump. You really should know better than to not give your full focus to driving, but your life is just one big monochrome haze now, it's hard to bring yourself to care.
Pulling into the parking lot a couple minutes early, you notice the parking spot you'd come to think of as your own was taken by your manager. Goddammit Rob. Now the day is off to a bad start. It’s weird he's even here before the store opens, you’re lucky if he even pops in once a week. He is a very hands off manager, mostly just letting you run the store by yourself, that would reasonably annoy most people, but you appreciate that you don't have him breathing down your neck all the time.
You could practically run this store with your eyes closed at this point, not that it was ever that overwhelming. It's a small store, in a small town, you get about fifty customers a day.
Being the cashier, most of your day was usually spent staring off into space waiting for a customer. But for about the past month you had been filling in for the stocker that quit, since you were technically working two jobs Rob had been paying you time and a half. And while you did love the extra money you were starting to miss how little actual work you used to do.
Honestly you had felt a little betrayed when Ralph had quit, sure you understood there were greener pastures than this little store, and sure, maybe most days you didn't say a word to him, but he was a constant in your life, from eight am to eight pm, Monday through Friday, it was you and Ralph against the world. You thought you had something special, a bond that transcended words.
When Rob told you he quit (The bastard never even said goodbye.) you started to spiral a little, not only was the person you saw most suddenly gone, now you had to do his job. You had asked if the cashier or stocker who worked the weekends could fill in, but they could apparently only work weekends. You could count the number of times you'd spoken to them on one hand but they seemed cool, maybe a little too cool, it was intimidating, that's why you never talked to them.
So you agreed to work both jobs while Rob found a Ralph replacement. But that was simply too much change at once, though after a couple panic attacks, you had adjusted. This was just your new routine. You didn't need Ralph, he was a traitorous little weasel.
Apparently no one needed a job though, because it's been a month and there's been a grand total of zero applications.
Dragging yourself out of your truck, you stare down Slutsky's, the place where you spend 80% of your waking hours on weekdays. Not that you're really complaining, being in your parents house fills you with a sense of dread and emptiness that makes work sound appealing.
You unlock and quickly lock back the door so no obnoxious customers can waltz in before opening, yes that has happened and it always scares the shit out of you.
With a deep breath, you take a moment to appreciate the familiar layout. In front of you are eight aisles filled with all the essentials, God knows there's not room for much more than that, with the back wall being where all the refrigerated and frozen food is, and to your left is one lone checkout facing the front door, the door to storage room/Rob’s office–which is really just a desk tucked in the corner of the room–about fifteen feet behind it.
Speaking of the backroom, you see Mr. Robert Slutsky himself (Such an unfortunate last name, it still baffles you he willingly named his store after it.) walk out of it, as usual having to hunch down slightly to not hit his head on the low doorframe. It's not even that low really, he's just freakishly tall, most people that are as tall as him would be intimidating, but Rob is the furthest thing from it, greeting everyone with kind eyes and an even kinder smile. As soon as he spots you he makes his way over to you with purpose.
When he reaches you, he starts to say something then stops, staring at nothing in particular for a moment like he's trying to find the right words. “So I have good news and bad news.” Uh oh. “The good news is, we have a new stocker, and the bad news is, well… Have you ever heard of Gator Tillman?”
Boy, you sure hope those two things aren't related. Because that wouldn't make any sense, Gator Tillman is in prison, and as far as you know, blind. And surely, surely Rob the reasonable man that he is, would not hire Gator fucking Tillman.
“Uh yeah, I think everyone in the state has heard of him. Corrupt deputy from a few towns over, in prison, his dad is quite possibly the devil incarnate, generally known to be an incompetent, power tripping idiot, why?” you hear your own nervousness creep into the last word.
Rob gives you a grave look, like he's about to sentence you to death but at least looks guilty about it, stalling even further, he runs an anxious hand through his closely cropped, salt and pepper hair. “I was really hoping you hadn't heard of him,” he lets out a long sigh, obviously stalling. “Because he's your new coworker.”
You stare at him, mouth hung open. No, no, no, he can not be serious. Rob was not a man who often joked, but he could not seriously expect you to work with Gator Tillman. Being alone with him for twelve hours a day five days a week honestly seems like a safety issue, if that's because he'd kill you or you'd kill him you're not sure yet. Not to mention he'd probably suck at his job.
Instead of bringing up either of those good points, what leaves your mouth is, “Isn't he blind?”
Rob’s face twitches in confusion, seemingly shocked that's your complaint. “He didn't seem very blind in the interview.”
Huh, you were pretty sure about that. Regardless, contrary to what came out of your mouth that isn't your biggest concern. “Rob, you can't do this to me. I really don't think this is a good idea.”
His expression softens, taking on the tone of a parent trying to get you to play with the annoying kid next door, “I know he has a-” he pauses searching for the right words again. “troubled past, but I think he deserves a chance to prove himself. He was very kind in the interview, it seemed like he just wanted to work an honest job for once. Can you just give him a shot for me? If he causes you any problems or makes you uncomfortable, he's gone, I promise.”
Damn Rob's bleeding heart. You would feel like a real asshole if you said no now. Gator may have fooled Rob but it's not going to be so easy with you, men like that don't change, they just get better at hiding the bad parts of themselves from you until it’s too late. “Fine, I'll give him a shot,” you make sure to sound exasperated about it though.
Rob gives you a proud smile, it reminds you so much of your dad. Nope, not touching that. “Atta girl, I do need to ask one more thing of you though,” he says hesitantly.
“You're killing me, Rob.”
I know, I know,” he laughs. “I'll train him, but since I can't be here much, I need you to keep a close eye on him. Make sure he's doing his job correctly, not scaring off customers, not being rude to you, of course.” A look of realization crosses his face followed by a frown. “Also make sure he doesn't steal anything, he has a history of that.”
Being the reason Gator gets fired is an exciting prospect. “Alright, I can do that!” you say with probably a suspicious amount of enthusiasm.
Rob narrows his eyes at you for a moment, then continues on, “Thank you so much, kid. There will be a raise in your future. He gets here at nine. Play nice, please.”
A raise? You should be agreeable more often. “You are too good to me, Robert. And of course I'll play nice, who do you take me for?” You give him a big smile that's meant to be reassuring, but it feels like it turns out far more conniving.
Warily, Rob says, “Alright then, go ahead and get the store ready to open, I'll be in the back until he gets here if you need me.” With that he makes his way to the back, giving you one last concerned look before closing the door.
He knows you maybe a little too well. It's probably pathetic that the only close relationship you have in your life is with your manager, but it's impossible not to love Rob.
You should probably get to work, that conversation made you pretty behind schedule to be ready to open at eight-thirty. And you certainly have to be ready by the time Gator gets here, you don't want to have to take your eyes off him all day, to try and get a read on him, but also because watching that idiot get trained sounds entertaining.
At eight-forty, you were busy checking out your first customer of the day, when you glance up from scanning some ravioli and see him.
He's standing by the front door, looking a little lost. You honestly don't recognize him at first, he doesn't have that obnoxious slicked back hairstyle that he had in the news articles you read, instead it's falling naturally over his forehead in a way that you were sure required far less product, it did a lot to soften him. You were sure that was probably his intention, that and being less instantly recognizable.
What gave him away was the fact that he was wearing the same uniform as you, he even already has a name tag with his dumbass name on it. You imagine he would rather not have to wear that, kind of ruins his disguise, because God-willing there aren't any other Gator’s in the state.
He must've really wanted to impress Rob if he got here twenty minutes early, Gator didn't strike you as a particularly punctual person. You could see why Rob fell for his “changed man” act, he is putting on a good show.
After looking around for a bit–for Rob presumably–and not seeing him, his eyes land on you. He gives you a friendly smile, you reluctantly return it but it doesn't reach your eyes. He patiently waits until you're done with your customer before walking over to you. As she walks by, the customer does a double take at Gator, eyes landing on his name tag before she hurries her pace towards the door.
Well, looks like you are going to have a very easy time getting him fired if that was the way most customers react to him.
Gator either didn't notice, or was used to that being the reaction to his presence, his easy smile never faltering on his way over to you.
“‘Scuse me miss, do ya know where I could find your manager?” ‘Miss’? Gross, only old people called you Miss and even then you hated it. You realize then you've never heard his voice before. He has quite a heavy accent, and his voice is a lot more pleasant than you were expecting, though that could've been another thing he purposely changed to appear nonthreatening.
You try to keep the disdain out of your voice as you say, “Sure do mister, I'll go get him for you, just wait there.” His smile grows at you calling him ‘mister’, you were trying to make fun of him but it seems like he took it as you being friendly. Jesus, he really is dense.
Quickly, you make your way into the backroom, not wanting to spend another second talking to him. Rob is sitting at his desk, focused on his computer. In a truly atrocious Lois Griffin impression you say, “Rob… the reptile is here.” You don't expect him to get the reference, but you couldn't resist.
You break him out of his trance, and he looks at you with the most confused expression you've ever seen a person make, then slowly recognition flickers across his face. He seems to have got the gist, but certainty not your joke.
Ah well, you know what they say “To be great is to be misunderstood.” It couldn't possibly be that you're not funny, nah, no way.
His eyes glance to the corner of his screen where the time is. “Oh, he's early, and I told you to play nice.” As Rob gets up he levels you with a stern expression. Goddammit you hate when he does that.
“What? I didn't say it in front of him,” you say defensively.
“He's trying kid, the least you can do is try too.” Saint Robert strikes again, making you feel like an asshole.
“Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm gonna try,” you say with a sigh, walking back into the main store.
“Thank you. Now, let's get you two properly introduced!” Rob says with a pat on your shoulder.
Great.
Rob makes sure you're following close behind as he walks over to Gator. Not that you would try to escape, you already disappointed him enough today.
Rob meets Gator with a firm handshake and warm smile. Gator didn't deserve to have Rob in his life, this was so unfair. “Nice to see you again, son. Are you ready to get to work?”
Gator smiles wide, looking like everyone does when they're first graced with Rob's overwhelming warmth. “Yes sir I am, thank you again for giving me a chance.”
God, he is such a suck up.
Rob, of course, eats it up. “Well of course, everyone deserves an opportunity to prove themselves.” He looks at you expectantly. “Isn't that right?” Okay, he was clearly enjoying this a little too much.
You pull a tight-lipped smile, trying not to talk through your teeth. “Yep, that's right, Rob.” Gator's friendly smile shifts to you, like he actually believes you, which is crazy because you are not a very good liar.
Far too amused at your misery, Rob says, “Why don't you two introduce yourselves? You're going to be spending a lot of time together after all.” Now he's just rubbing it in.
Gator holds out his hand for you to shake. “Name’s Gator, pleasure to meet ya.”
Under Rob's expectant gaze you reluctantly shake his hand, he holds on to your hand far longer than you're comfortable with. “I'm-” you use the hand he's not holding hostage to point at your name tag. “Well you can read, can't you?” You really didn't mean for that to come off so rude. More so just trying to point out the absurdity of introducing yourself when you were both wearing name tags.
Rob bumps his shoulder against yours, a discreet reprimand.
Gator’s smile falters. Great, the one time you weren't making fun of him he thinks you are. His grip tightens on your hand to the point of actually being a little painful, before he seems to remember he's supposed to be putting on an act and lets go.
And there it is, the real him. That was honestly easier than you thought it would be. One little perceived dig at his intelligence, and his whole good guy act crumbles.
You know what? Maybe this would be fun. If it was that easy to get under his skin, you could make a little game out of pushing him until he breaks. That would be a much more satisfying way to get him fired. As much as you don't want to break Rob's optimistic world view, you want to be right even more.
Gator lets out a humorless laugh. “Sure can, miss…” he glances at your name tag, and says your name with barely concealed contempt.
Wow, you had never gotten anyone to hate you that quickly.
Noticing the tension, Rob interrupts, “Well you two will have plenty of time to get to know each other soon, but for now let me show you the ropes, son.”
Gator stops glaring at you to turn to Rob, mask slipping back on. “Sure thing,” he says with a forced enthusiasm.
As you watch Rob lead him away, you start to plot all the ways you could push the buttons that would make him snap. Obviously insulting his intelligence was a good one. Oh, this was the most excited you've been in a while.
The next two hours consist of you lazily watching Rob lead Gator around the store teaching him the various aspects of his job, and you getting annoyed every time a customer or them going into the backroom prevents you from doing that.
Gator appears to be taking it very seriously, giving Rob his full attention, asking a lot of questions, only occasionally breaking his focus to shoot a sideways glance your way.
Finally, Rob leads him back over to you, with a decisive clap of his hands he says, “Alright then, that should cover everything, and I need to get going. If you have any more questions, Mr. Tillman,” Gator noticeably flinches at the use of his last name. Interesting. Rob nods towards you, saying, “then she will be more than happy to answer them. She's been working your job and hers for the past month.”
Smile overly sweet, you say, “Sure will, Mr. Tillman.”
This time he doesn't flinch, instead he glares at you before mirroring your smile. “Aw sweetheart, no need to be so formal, just call me Gator.”
Oh wow, sweetheart? The first hints of his misogyny are already showing. You had greatly overestimated his ability to keep up his act. Guess it's still hard for him to handle disrespect from a woman.
Loudly clearing his throat, Rob interjects, “Well I'm gonna get going.” He pauses then looks at you sternly. “Remember what I said, kid.” And now you feel guilty again. You should've waited until Rob left before you made any more jabs, but that was just too good of an opportunity.
You give him a shameful nod and with that he's gone. Now it was just you and Gator for the rest of the day. Let the fun begin.
Before you can get a word out Gator was already saying, “I'm gonna get to work.” and quickly walks off. Damn. Well, you'll have plenty of time to wear him down.
For about an hour, you did just as Rob said and kept a close eye on Gator. Unfortunately, he wasn't doing anything wrong. He was doing all his tasks efficiently and without error, not slacking off once. Eventually he started aimlessly wandering around the store seemingly looking for something to do. When he can't find anything, he walks over to where you're lazily slumped over your register.
“What should I do now? Already did everything Robert told me to,” Gator asks.
“Well, now you just wait until there's something else to do.”
He looks at you incredulously. “Really? That's it?”
“Yep, there's a lot of down time with this job. It's one of the perks.”
“Why the hell do they even need two people workin’ at the same time then? I mean you were doin’ just fine on your own weren't ya?” Now that's a smart question, surprising coming from Gator.
“Oh I was, I have missed how little work I need to do now though.” His expression turns a little judgemental, as if he had any room to talk about working hard. “It's mostly a liability thing, Rob doesn't like the idea of one person working alone all day, especially women, which make sense, lots of bad men out there.” You raise your eyebrows at him in a way that makes it clear he is included in that.
He grimaces, honestly looking a little guilty. That can't be right though, he can't feel remorse, he's a Tillman for God's sake. “Sure are, Robert seems like a good one though, looking out for ya like that.”
“Oh for sure, Rob's the best, always makes people feel safe, sees the best in them, I mean he hired you didn't he?”
A retort looks like it's on the tip of his tongue, then he swallows roughly, his words, you imagine. “Yeah, really took a chance on me, been impossible to get a job since I got out, think I applied to damn near every job in the county.”
You perk up, pushing yourself off the register. “Speaking of, how are you out of prison so quickly? I mean, you did a lot of shit didn't you?”
There's that guilty face again. He must've practiced it in the mirror. “Got a reduced sentence from a plea deal an’ bein’ a criminal informant, told them ‘bout all the people I should've arrested if I was doing my job right.”
Well that's an annoying loop hole. “Huh, lucky you.” You say flatly. “One more question, weren't you blinded?”
Now that got him to flinch, one more sore subject to add to the list. “Turns out that was temporary, somethin' called hyphema, blood was blockin’ my vision, it cleared up after a couple months,” he speaks in a stilted way, clearly uncomfortable with the subject.
This man just did not have to deal with consequences, did he? “Wow, you are one lucky man, Gator.”
His face turns solemn. “Don't feel that way.”
Ouch, that felt a little too real. Now you kinda feel bad.
Your guilt must show on your face because he says, “‘S okay darlin’, I deserve it.” Jesus, what is with the condescending pet names? “I'm gonna go see if I can find somethin’ to do.”
As he walks off you start to consider maybe, possibly, he was trying to be better. But if that's the case, he should be good for some tests. But maybe he's had enough for today, you'll leave him be for now. Tomorrow though is sure to be fun.
The day continued on without incident, besides a few dirty looks from customers shot Gator’s way, he was completely unfazed though, it must be his normal. Even though he definitely did deserve it, that must really suck. Unfortunately all the people in this town are cowards, so no one said anything to his face. Now that would've been some good entertainment. Honestly you were expecting him to be more outwardly obnoxious, that'll probably come later, he's just trying to make a good first impression.
You show Gator how to close up, and before you know it, the store is locked up and your workday is over.
Gator stares blankly at you for a bit, like he's not sure what he's supposed to say, then more than a little awkwardly comes out with, “Well, see ya tomorrow.”
“Guess so, later Gator.” You couldn't keep the shit-eating grin off your face. It had popped into your head, and you just had to say it.
He gives you the look of a man who has heard that thousands of times. “Good one.” he says, completely monotone.
“Sorry man, I had to say it at least once.”
He laughs, which is more than a little surprising. “‘S alright, everybody does. Night.” As he starts to walk off, you notice something. Your truck is the only one in the parking lot.
You run to catch up with him, asking, “Where did you park?”
You make him jump, he was too busy trying to turn on a flashlight for some reason to notice you beside him. “Didn't park anywhere, don't have a car.”
“Oh shit, that sucks.”
“Yep,” he replies, clearly wanting to be done talking to you.
“How long is the walk to your place?”
“‘Bout thirty minutes. It's not that bad though, good exercise.”
If you kept following him you would've been out of the parking lot, so you decide to stop. “Alright well, be safe.” Why the hell did you say that?
He turns around, a smile on his face that looks just a little too smug. “Thanks darlin’, I will.”
Yeah, you really fucked up with that one. Now he's going to think you give a shit about him. You'll just have to make up for it tomorrow then.