sac·cha·rine

I have a stalker, guys! It’s so exciting! Actually, TBH, I think he is just one of the dozen or so folks who frequent the bookstore literally every. Single. Day. There are people that do that, I hear.

I noticed him the first time two weeks ago because he looked familiar, like a jungle juice combination of several, mismatched males friends of mine. He had a pleasant, indifferent look on his face as he scoped out the titles on a front table. The next day, I was on a different floor, shlepping around 100 cupcake cookbooks or whatever when I saw him again. The same fucking weird cheery look on his face that seemed to exhale, Hmm…?  

This continued every day I’ve worked since then. But, you know, he seemed to be enjoying himself, not hurting anyone and wearing a reasonable enough uniform involving pants that could only be described as slacks. Minimal leering. Whatever.

Yesterday he entered the shop and beamed around as always. Then as he passed the info desk, I noticed something very wrong about his neck I hadn’t seen before. It was. A. Massive. MASSIVE. Hickey.

The fuuuuck, I thought to myself. What had seemed like an innocent, sweetish quirkster was somehow manipulating someone or something into sucking on his flesh enough to warrant a blood-speckled bruise. I wondered if the sucker knew about the suckee’s daily visit to the big box bookstore. And if he/she/it found it to be a settling daily practice.

This is my life.