Bradley
It was bad enough that he had to be there, but getting lied to as well…
It had been a day of excuses. First, fancy pants knew nothing about why the bathrooms were a mess; then ice queen couldn’t explain why there were three missing pizzas, and to add another disappointment the Princess covers for the burnout.
They’re a bunch of clowns…too bad it’s my circus.
Vitral would have to wait; bile was calling. His stomach was aching again. Bradley couldn’t tell if it was hunger or gas this time. He just knew the anger, the blood pressure, it only made the pain worse.
No amount of over-the-counter medication was making a dent, and he had to wait for the morning to see his doctor. The old man was puttering along on a golf course somewhere on the mainland.
Fucking figures.
He knew the fool wasn’t going to be able to diagnose him. But the meds we could supply would get him through until he could see a specialist.
Now he just had to stay calm until—
The door chimed, heralding the return of the prodigal son.
“Finally, the burnout.”
Tom walked in, half in a huff, sweating like he’d ran a marathon.
What a fucking slob.
“Hey Bradley, sorry I’m late. I just need to chat with Kat and I’ll be right out—”
“No you won’t.”
“What?” Tom said, confusion dripping off his stupid face like slack-jawed saliva.
“You’re an hour late. Daisy was sick again, so Lucy is staying late, we could have used you, and you let us down.”
“I’m…I’m here now though, and Kat…”
“Kat will cover this shift. We don’t need you here tonight.” Bradley said, self-satisfaction masking his pain for a moment. “Be thankful you’re just losing a shift; if you pull something like this again, you won’t be coming back at all.”
If any part of him thought he was going to far, it was a silent observer. The rest of him was radiating, as if he’d won first prize at the harvest festival. Pulling this shitty kid in his place was his prize-winning pumpkin.
“Okay, I’ll just let Kat know and—”
“You’re really trying my patience now. Fuck off home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Bradley turned away, less to make a point and more to rub his itching eye. He wasn’t sure he’d be proud of himself in the morning; he might even have a begrudging apology to make someday. But that would come after the meds, and for now, hearing the door chime as Tom Charlie Browned back to his shitty red car… It might as well have been the chorus of angels.
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