Virgin Lips

9. The very heart of everlasting clichés

"What's that?"

I jumped out of my skin when I heard Ben's voice. "You need to stop doing that." I muttered, my heart still beating fast.

"Talk to you, you mean?" He teased, to which I rolled my eyes.

"Sneak up on me." I don't know why I'm so tense lately. Oh, wait, I do know. Remember that cop that came in after Scott pushed me? She came back, asking all sorts of questions, and as a result, Scott has been a breathing on my neck, wanting to make sure I give her the right story: that I'm clumsy, that he only hired me as an act of charity, some pastor of some church convinced him to because I was in the AA and needed a second chance to rebuild my life. I don't know why he didn't just say I accidentally fell, instead of making up a whole good Samaritan tale, but that's what it is and I gotta stick to it if I want to keep my job. Which I don't want to, but I must.

I know my parents would do somersaults to support me financially, but they can't afford it and I don't want to bother them. Besides, I know that even only trying to ask for help would raise the major argument they have been hassling me with: why don't you just come back home? Find a job here? Clearly the big city isn't your place. I love my parents, but they're very pragmatic, and after 28 years, it's still difficult for them to accept that they birthed an idealist for a daughter.

Well, truth is, the idealist has left her place to the pragmatist that can barely make ends meet, but it's still better than going back home, riding that glorious horse named Failure.

"Is everything alright?" Ben asked, staring straight into my eyes, which is so, so uncomfortable, I swear, I don't know why people still keep it up.

"Yes." I shouldered my bag, and went on walking towards our building. For some reason, Ben has started waiting for me at the bus stop near our condo. The first time we accidentally took the same bus, it was because he'd been running some errands, but then it happened again and again for various reasons, so in the end he realized that our schedules aren't that divergent, so he could make an effort and escort me home like a true gentleman. His words, not mine.

It's been two weeks since that time I "accidentally fell" at work, my back is fine, but you know, someone has realized that literally mistreating me – as opposed to verbally – not only is more efficient, but it also makes his day better. So yeah, I had a few bruises here and there. Not that Scott truly beats me or hits me, no, just ... pushing a little harder than normal, or accidentally making me trip; you know, the whole school bully portfolio.

I'll admit it's becoming increasingly difficult to hide the bruises. One, because they're multiplying; two, because he's becoming careless about where do these bruises appear; three, because Officer Ford has decided something's weird in that diner, so she's become a loyal customer; and finally four ... because I have a nosy neighbor that insists on knowing every detail of my day and my life and when I'm exhausted – which I am every day more because mobbing involves wearing out the employee you want to fire but can't – I don't really control what I say. In short, January wasn't my month, and February didn't start too excellently either. I'm gonna go out on a limp here and say March isn't gonna be a happy hour.

"Are you sure?" Ben asked as he caught up with me.

"Yes."

"We're not back to monosyllables, are we?" He wondered, pouty.

"No." I opened the building's door, and headed to the elevator.

"You sure?"

"Yes." When I replied that, Ben chuckled, and I could barely hide a faint smile, too. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired."

"You're always tired, maybe you need a vacation."

I let out a loud wry laugh. A vacation. Scott would skin me alive if I even dared mention the word. "I need a new life." I murmured, without thinking.