Pushing into the tiny, faded building, I side-eyed my locker with growing unease. But this had to be done. Just get it over with. I couldn't keep hiding from my own mailbox forever. What an idea.
Steeling myself, I gripped the handle, slid my key inside, and cracked the door gently. Unfortunately, the pressure of the contents finally being freed meant that no matter how quiet I tried to be, the boxes and papers still exploded to the floor.
I shouted, stepping back with a wince. Not surprisingly, every customer stared my way.
I was becoming the local clown.
The packages spilled like rain; angry, bloated rain. In just five days, S had stuffed my locker with an assortment of presents.
A gangly young man in a postal uniform came my way. His brow was knotted, eyes darting from me, to the mess, and back again. “Are you alright?”
On reflex, I shook my head side to side. Then I cleared my throat. “Uh, fine. Just fine.” I motioned helplessly at the boxes. “I didn't expect so much mail.”
“That's not all of it,” he said, flinching at my wild eyes. Nodding towards the counter, he shrugged. “Couldn't keep shoving it inside. There's a bin in the back with about four more packages. Want me to—”
“No.” I cut him off, wiping my sweaty palms on my pants. “No, I don't want any of it. In fact, I'd like you...” I stared at his name tag. “Kerie—or whoever else—to stop putting unaddressed mail in my locker.”
Kerie scratched the side of his neck. “What should we do with all of it?”
Gathering up the mess, I grunted as I stood. “Throw it out. That's what I'm doing, anyway.” I turned, shuffling out of the building with great strides.
Approaching the dumpster out back, I threw everything into it with a grunt. The boxes rattled inside, joining the refuse. I was tired of being responsible for someone else's game.
Hopefully, he'd get the message that he had the wrong target. S needed to find his original play-thing, whoever she was.
Dusting my hands off, I walked to my car and glorified in my decision to get out of this weird pen-pal exchange. Was it really pen-pal, if I could never reply?
Would I have replied?
Biting my tongue, I jumped into my car and fled the scene. I drove as if everything might explode behind me, some violent fireball from an action movie.
I'd made my choice.
No one could stop me.
Not even him.
- Chapter Four -
Alexis
Monday arrived, just as wet as the rest of the weekend had been.
The rain had been coming down all morning. I'd been smart enough to bring an umbrella, the purple material turning slick from the downpour. Even so, as I darted across the parking lot and into my workplace, I couldn't avoid the puddles.
Observing my soaked ankles and flats in dismay, I hurried through the doors and sighed. Did that dumb orange cat really have to be right about Mondays?
The downtown building was large, brushing the clouds where it stood. Inside, multiple businesses rented sections for their own purposes. The tiny plaque inside the elevator indicated my destination—the twentieth floor.
Fixing my frizzy hair, I stepped into the publishing house of Salvador and Goldheart.
The wide room was a crisp eggshell color, dotted with overly green plants; most were fake. The soft hum of people flipping papers or talking about current projects was a constant white noise.
If I looked closely, I could see many of my fellow employees were half-asleep in their chairs. We ran the fashion magazine known as Velcro. I mean, as a secretary, I didn't exactly run much of anything. Not my dream job... but it kept me busy, and it helped pay my bills. What else mattered?
“Oh, Alexis!” Laralie was dressed in her usual style; tight black hose, red pumps, and a skirt that hugged her curves in a way I envied. She eyed my muddy ankles pointedly. “Still raining?”
Grinning good-naturedly, I shook my umbrella out. She stepped back, making sure she didn't get splattered. “Yeah,” I said. “Still pretty wet. What's going on?”
Running her fingers through her short, angular black hair, she nodded over her shoulder. “You've got to come see! You're a little late, but I'm sure there are some left.”
“Some left? Some of what?” Draping my coat on the back of my chair, I glanced at the phone. I was relieved nothing blinked at me; no missed calls. “I should really get to work, Mr. Salvador will lose his mind if he doesn't see me sitting here when he shows up.”
“He's already here.” She ignored my look of fright. Beaming, she gripped my elbow and tugged. “Just come on! Some food would be good for you. Unless you already ate?”
On cue, my stomach rumbled. “This is about food? Alright, you win.” I hadn't eaten breakfast, so if there was something waiting for me, how could I turn it down?
Following her through the office, we took a sharp turn into the backroom. It was where we ate our lunches if we decided not to brave the busy streets of downtown Portland.