Mark (Mallick Brothers 3)

Rush had already gotten hired and then quit a job at the next store. We didn't need to spend as much time there as we used to. We knew the ins and outs. The only reason for going undercover now was to make sure no one had implemented anything different. All these years and it had only happened three times, when they updated computer systems and cash registers. But we always wanted to make sure.

You would think that after being hit so many times, they would come up with something better to protect themselves. But the fact of the matter was, we let just enough time lapse between jobs to give them a sense of comfort again. Some years, we only did one or two jobs, thousands of miles from each other. Some years, it was one every couple of months.

We always allowed for that grace period for the news and managers and employees to freak out and start being uber vigilant.

But the fact of the matter was, we all knew because we all worked in so many of these stores, that sensationalism easily got lost among the daily drudgery of the job.

Oh, so that store five states over got robbed yesterday? Yeah, well someone shit in the dressing rooms today so... who the fuck cares?

That was the life of a big box employee.

They weren't paid enough to give a damn about the store's bottom line. Hell, half of them were on assistance thanks to the slave wages. They probably wanted to see the places burn more than anyone.

I really had no right to be in such a sour mood. Compared to the shack in Navesink Bank, NJ, this cabin in the woods in New York State was actually really nice. It was some place they rented out to people who wanted to experience living 'off the grid' because it was completely solar-powered, wind-powered, with fireplaces for warmth in winter and, well, nothing to keep cool in summer. There was a massive garden and a small greenhouse for growing all your own food. It had three bedrooms which made living with four other people so much less stressful.

It was beautiful here. There was no noise pollution to wake you up at night, just the faraway sound of an owl calling through the skies. The air was fresh. The sights were absolutely lovely. I should have been loving it.

But all I could keep thinking about was a little craftsman-style home with a nifty and convenient island in the kitchen, a beautiful bed to roll around in, and a man who smelled like hard work and chances worth taking.

I wouldn't be able to accurately describe to you the feeling of leaving that very night I had spent with Mark.

It felt wrong.

It felt like my body was fighting me every step of the way. My stomach had been twisted in painful knots, making each bump on the ride make a rush of nausea course through me. I felt alternately hot and cold and had to fight an almost constant urge to cry, to slap my hand into the back of Rush's head and demand he turn around and bring me back to Navesink Bank.

But that was maybe exactly why I bit into my bottom lip enough to leave a bruise and said nothing, kept my disappointment and sadness to myself, pretended that leaving Navesink Bank didn't feel like the biggest mistake of my life.

Because it was all so ridiculous, so irrational, so not like me.

Sure, I had a really nice time with Mark, but it was one day.

One perfect, amazing day where I felt more myself, more free, more happy than I had in... hell, I didn't even know. Maybe since my mother was alive.

But still.

Just one day out of thousands of others.

Thousands more to come.

I would get over it.

Though Nixon was right to be impatient with me and worried about me. I hadn't been myself. I had gotten to the house, holed up in my bedroom, taken long baths, taken longer walks. I had become a bit of a loner, lost in thought, not kicking back with them like I usually did.

"My head is always in it," I said, shrugging. Hell, I could pull off a successful hit in my damn sleep after so long.

My head was, in fact, in it.

It was my heart that wanted nothing to do with it anymore.

I had been doing a lot of thinking on that actually. And the resounding conclusion seemed to be- what the hell was the point anymore? We had enough. We had done enough damage. Why were we still so hellbent on finishing the job? It wouldn't bring Mom back. It wouldn't erase her suffering, or our own. It wouldn't change corporate's views on belt-tightening at the risk of their employees' health.

It did, ultimately, nothing.