Page 1 of Pain Run Rampant

Chapter One

There’s nothing worse than blowing hours at the campus library, especially when you spent all morning in class. I don’t have a laptop of my own, so any papers or research I need to do in order to get stuff done, I have to sit my ass in the library and force myself to do it.

It sucks. I hate it.

But once you get going, you can power through stuff even if it’s the last thing you want to do. I’m currently writing something about social media’s effects on kids for my psychology glass, but it’s not really something I care about. Then again, none of this is. I’m only here so I’ll have a slightly better chance in the job market after this.

And for my dad. He never went to college, and even though he died almost ten years ago, I want to make him proud.

I’ve just found my final citation source when my eyes flick down to the time on the old computer screen—and I realize I should’ve been at work five minutes ago.

Shit.

I print off the article from the website so I don’t have to go searching for it again, grab it off the printer, and stuff it in my bag. Throwing the bag’s strap over my shoulder, I log out of the computer and do my best to hurry my ass out of there.

That’s the thing nobody tells you: when you’re juggling too much, sometimes you mess up and let a ball drop to the ground. It’s bound to happen sooner or later.

I don’t have a vehicle, so I book it through campus and zigzag across the streets surrounding it. It’s early dusk, just after six. I’m a closer tonight, which means I’ll be at it until eleven. What would’ve been a five-hour shift will now be a four-and-a-half-hour shift by the time I get there.

God. I can’t believe I forgot. Got so caught up in that stupid paper that I forgot to keep track of the time. I should’ve set an alarm in my phone or something.

The store I work at is one of the few actual supermarkets around. Surprisingly, there aren’t many in the area. Thankfully the uniform is hole-free jeans and a plain shirt. You grab a blue vest when you’re in the backroom.

Yeah, kind of gross when those vests are shared among the employees, but whatever.

I’m out of breath by the time I race through the doors of the store, and I take one look at the front end and see it’s a decently-busy night. My boss—the front-end manager—is standing behind the customer service area helping out a customer with an exchange, but once she sees me, she frowns.

There’s no sneaking in this time. I’m late and she knows it.

I put in my code to get into the backroom and hurry to punch in as quickly as I can. Technically you’re supposed to punch in after stuffing your belongings in the lockers and putting on your vest, but a few minutes is a few minutes. Depending on how it’s rounded, that can mean a quarter of an hour’s worth of pay.

I’m out on the floor in less than five minutes.

It’s not a very rewarding job. It barely pays the bills—my textbooks, food shopping, the rent at Frank’s—but it’s the only job I could get around campus that I didn’t need a car to get to. Yeah, who knew in America you’re severely limited when you don’t have a car?

I’m hoping when eleven o’clock rolls around and it’s time to close the store down for the night that Maggie, my manager, will have forgotten how pissed she was at me for being late again.

Don’t know why, but I’ve been more and more forgetful lately. That, or the looming midterms are stressing me out more than usual. I’m not a good test-taker, and I hate studying morethan anything. If I ever get a good grade on a midterm, it’s sheer luck.

The hours pass slowly. I’m someone whose job it is to keep shelves stocked and clean, to help customers—ahem, sorry,guests—find whatever they’re looking for if they ask, and to run to the front end to ring register if the regular cashiers get backed up. Basically, I do a bit of everything.

Still, it’s boring, and as time goes on I can’t help but feel like I’m stuck, like I shouldn’t be here. Not only in this job but also in general. Who am I trying to kid? What hope do I really have that I’ll actually make something of myself just because I’m going to college? There are no guarantees for anything in life; I learned that lesson young.

It’s a shitty way to go through life, I’ll admit, but it’s also the most realistic. The real world doesn’t cater to your every whim. When you’re a child, you’re so carefree and eager to grow up. For those of us that were forced to grow up sooner, we’ve had more time to accept the harsh realities that come with losing everything you’ve ever known.

Eleven o’clock rolls around and the store empties. Maggie makes a repeating announcement over the speakers, saying there’s so-and-so minutes until close. Find what you need and come to the front end to check out. I’m hoping that by the time I go up there, she will have forgotten my lateness.

I mean, it’s not like the store itself couldn’t run without me. Being late affected no one.

Unfortunately, when I mosey to the front of the store, I see Maggie waiting for me near the door to the backroom. Her arms are folded, and her wrinkled gaze narrows in my direction. She gestures for me to follow her, so with my head hanging low, I do. Before I know it, I’m sitting in her tiny, cramped office.

Seriously, it’s fucking small. Barely big enough for a desk and the computer on it, let alone her chair and mine.

Maggie stares at me for a while before she speaks, “You were late tonight, Rey.”

There’s no use denying it. “I know.” Might as well own up to my fuck-up; it was my fault for forgetting to keep track of the time while I was at the library.

“This is the third time in a month.”

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