I nod, then swallow. I can feel it rising already.
"Excuse me a moment," I splutter, rushing to the toilets.
I burst into the men's and slam the cubicle door shut. I vomit again—blood. My arms wrap around the toilet seat as I rest my head on them, breathing heavily.
Then I hear them—Mitch and Mike.
"Eden? You okay?" Mitch's voice is full of concern.
"I'll be fine. Just… can't keep food down today," I splutter, lifting my head weakly.
"If you feel you can't go on, head home," Mitch suggests.
"No!" I snap, too quickly.
"I'm opening the door," Mike says gently.
He nudges it open. I force myself upright and wipe my mouth with some toilet paper. They both freeze.
"Is that… blood?" Mike stammers.
"No…" I lie, weakly.
Mitch gives Mike a look. Mike exits silently—he knows the chain of command.
"Come on. Step out," Mitch sighs.
I flush the toilet and step out of the cubicle. Mitch checks my eyes. I chuckle.
"What?" he asks, half-smiling.
"Your concentration face—it's very attractive."
"Oh? Just my concentration face?" He smirks.
"No—I mean, not like that…" I stammer.
He snickers and grabs my wrist. My pulse. My eyes widen—he'll notice.
"Strange," he mumbles.
I yank my wrist back, laughing nervously.
"Maybe I'm dead. No pulse and all."
"Spooky. Guess you must be—except you're living and breathing," he teases.
I force a smile as we head back into the food court. At least he took it as a joke.
Lunch break ends. We head off to our next job. I keep my hand tucked in my fleece, grabbing my elbow. I keep glancing at Mitch—his hazel eyes, that side-swept hair…
Then—
BAM. I bump into a man, my hand hitting his arm.
"Sorry!" I panic.
"It's alright, these things happen," he smiles kindly.
I continue walking, flustered. Mitch snickers.
"Not funny! I nearly knocked the guy out," I mutter.
Suddenly—everything jumps forward.
The man collapses, clutching his chest.
He dies.
"Eden!" Mitch yells, clapping his hands in front of me.
I blink, trying to breathe.
"The… the man…" I stutter.
"What about him?" Mitch asks.
I stagger forward, toward the crowd forming around the collapsed man. Mitch follows.
"Get the defibrillator!" I yell.
"No problem!" Mitch runs.
I grab my radio.
"Customer possibly having a heart attack! We need first aiders and paramedics now!"
I kneel beside the man. He drops his arm. He's gone.
"Mitch! That defib—now!"
"Here!" he yells, arriving with the kit.
He begins CPR. I step back, eyes scanning the crowd.
An older woman glares at me—shakes her head, and walks away.
I focus.
"Everyone please stand back. Give them space," I call out.
The paramedics arrive, first aiders guiding them over. They take over. Mitch joins me, silent.
We both look at the lifeless body on the floor.
An hour later, he still hasn't spoken to me—not even a "Pup." He works without looking at me. I start the ride on his signal. Nothing. He reaches over for his bottle, sips, and turns away.
"Have I done something wrong?" I ask.
He drinks again, then puts the bottle back.
"At least talk to me," I snap.
"How did you know?" he asks quietly.
I frown.
"Just had a gut feeling."
He nods, turns away again.
I sigh, sinking into the chair. So I guess I'm finishing this shift in silence.
Break time. I head to the entrance alone, slumping against the reception building. I light a cigarette, pull my cap over my eyes.
"Why can't I just be completely dead?" I mutter to myself, exhaling smoke.
Footsteps approach.
"What are you doing out here?" a familiar voice asks.
I lift my cap. Mitch. I scoff, shake my head, and keep smoking in silence.
"I'm sorry," he says. "It was just… creepy. Like you had a sixth sense or something."
I exhale smoke and keep staring ahead.
"Please talk to me," he kneels in front of me.
I meet his eyes as I flick ash away. I can't make this easy. Not after how he made me feel earlier.
Then—he places a hand on my cheek.
"You're freezing," he murmurs, brushing my skin gently.
I turn away and stand. Toss the cigarette. Face him.
"What makes you think everything's suddenly okay?" I snap.
"I want to make things right," he says, withdrawing his hand.
"Yeah?" I scoff.
"What's got into you?" he yells.
"You ignored me. That hurt. I don't know why it did, but it did!" I shout. "You think being nice now makes it better? It doesn't!"
I storm toward the entrance—he grabs my sleeve. I spin around, glaring.
He pulls me toward him—kisses me.
I freeze. Then kiss him back.
He pulls away, searching my face.
"Was that good enough for an apology?" he smiles.
I grin, pull him in, and kiss him again.
I've never felt like this before. Sure, I've had moments with girls—but this… this is different.
I stop and smile at him.
"Apology accepted."
Mitch laughs, rubs my head.
"Come on then, Pup!"
I jog after him, heart lighter. For once, I feel whole.