CHAPTER 3

After Livie abandoned me to my fate on the roof, I set about fixing her private torture chamber, which had a varied space of different torture so that I, apparently, could choose my own cause of death.

With the building landlord’s authorization, an old lady in her seventies, we had both set up a kind of gym on the roof of the building; And when I said “kind”, that was it, since we barely had a few dumbbells, a stationary bicycle one of the neighbors had donated to us and a treadmill that Livie's father was going to sell but, thanks to his daughter, now it decorated a specific space to make me sweat, literally, the fat drop.

According to the schedule Livie had set me, now I had to get up every day at six in the morning, yes, of course, and start with that yoke where I had to last fifteen minutes on the treadmill to stretch my apparently atrophied muscles, fifteen minutes on the bike and another fifteen minutes jumping rope, ha! don't make me laugh Olivia, and then, after resting for about ten minutes, I could have breakfast.

So, I barely had an hour to spare to get ready for school; As I worked in the afternoons in a record store, Livie had proposed me to walk when I came home from class and I, like the idiot in love, without knowing what I was getting into, had accepted, therefore, that Monday I had arrived ten minutes late for work, earning me the first scolding of the week from the boss, a guy who looked like he came out of a Tim Burton movie.

"Sanders.” he had called me as soon as he saw me enter the store "you're late, you understand that I will take every minute, right?"

“Yes, sir, but you see, this happened because...”

"I don't care why it happened, Sanders.” he had cut me off "those records won't fix by themselves you know? so do your job at once.”

"Yes, sir.” I answered, going to the pointed boxes "stupid attempt at a walking skeleton, I wish a herd of pitbulls would appear and attack you for your scarce bones.” I said softly.

“Are you talking to me?” He asked, appearing above one of the shelves where the discs were placed.

"Hell, Mr. Fitcher, you scared me.” I jumped back when I saw his face before me "I... I was just, hmm... fighting with the box.” I replied stammering and trying not to look so nervous, "but it doesn't want to open up.”

"Maybe it would open if you used one of these to break the seals.” explained my boss, handing me a cutter, "I think it would make your life easier, Mr. Sanders.”

If I stabbed him with the cutter, would he bleed? I wondered mentally.

I personally didn’t believe it.

My boss was a somewhat... peculiar person. He stared at me when he thought I was neglected, he called my other colleagues by name, but me? by my last name, always.

Mr. Fitcher was the kind of person who laughed at jokes after three hours and was always, always combing the only lock of hair he had, in the reflection the store glass gave him.

The latter is not a joke, once he had put down his comb and asked Samantha, another coworker, if she could lend him hers, earning a look of disgust from the redhead.

I began to arrange the records by style of music on the shelves, there were a few that Livie might like.

I remembered that I had not seen her since Saturday after our almost kiss, I knew that Livie had only given me some dumb excuses not to see me on Sunday, but I also knew there was nothing I could do, she needed her space to think about what almost had happened between us, and besides, I also had homework to do and of course get ahead of me to fix my room before mom came back in and this time she really threw whatever she had in hand and told me her house was not a refuge and she didn’t welcome homeless people, so when my dear mother had entered my room three hours later, she had been impressed and with that she gave me a look of love.

That Sunday afternoon, I had to come to work and because it was a weekend, there was a lot of movement in the store, thanks to that I went straight to bed.

I had seen her very little at school, she had told me not to wait for her after class and thus give me a chance to walk to work, which I was deeply grateful to because I didn’t want to meet the three musketeers of evil sent directly by the devil to mess with a specific virgin chubby.

At that point I made a mental note to ask her how the subject of her diary had gone with Hillary.

“Sanders! “Shouted Mr. Fitcher making me get out of the nebula that I was in and earning me a cut with the deadly weapon that I had in his hand.

"Shit.” I screeched watching a few drops coming out of the cut I made between my left thumb and index finger.

"Oh, sorry, did you cut yourself?” He asked stupidly.

Nooo, it's just ketchup from lunch.

I looked at him significantly as I showed him the blood.

"Well, there is antiseptic in the bathroom, I came to tell you that you will work on Saturday since Samuel is on rest leave.”

“What? I shrieked again "No, Mr. Fitcher, I can't, you see, it's my best friend's birthday and I already have everything planned for that day and...”

"Sanders.” my boss cut me off, "Do I look interested? Not at all. I had already asked Samantha and Nicholas” the owners of the names raised their heads with ashamed smiles “and they both said they couldn't.”

"But Mr. Fitcher please listen to me, I can't either, my...”   I couldn't continue because my boss had taken my lips between his fingers, pressing them against each other.

 Yuck, where had those fingers been?

“I already told you that I’m not interested, Sanders” Shut me the son of a bitch “if you had arrived at your hour as you should, perhaps you would’ve saved, but since that’s not the case, you are the chosen one. furthermore, I don't know what you’re complaining about, you’ll have a double pay day for working on your free day. You said you were saving for college, right?” I barely nodded “Well, there you go, take it as a help, bye.” he said turning to go back to his office.

Oh God.

I was a dead man; I already saw my name in the newspaper in a headline:

"He died of suffocation from having a dumbbell stuck in his throat"

Unless...

***

"No, Mark, I can't.” Nick said. "My grandmother is hospitalized and Mom said all her grandchildren had to go see her.” explained my coworker.

It's not that I disliked Nick, quite the opposite. Even with his look, tall, always dressed in black in the Gothic style, listening to rock and metal music and from what I saw on his neck, a big fan the tattoos, Nick was a quiet guy who always helped me, but right now I hated him to death.

“Do you really have a grandmother?” I asked incredulously, earning a hurt look from my partner; shit, he did "sorry, it just that don’t have any idea what my friend will do to me when she finds out I'm working on Saturday.” I explained trying to shuffle the situation.

"Well, just so you know.” Nick answered, "I'm my grandmother's favorite for being the oldest of her grandchildren and I'm really sorry not to help you with your crazy girlfriend, otherwise I’d.”

"She's not my girlfriend.” I answered quickly.

"Yeah, sure man.” was all Nick said.

“And Samantha?” I asked, changing the subject.

"Has a ballet performance she can't miss.” Nick said with a grimace on his mouth, "She invited us, don't you remember?"

"Now.” I replied dryly.

I had run out of bullets.

What did I do? I couldn't go to another country because my passport had expired.

Kill myself? No, it was not an option.

It was definitive.

I’d die at eighteen, fat, virgin, and blind at Livie’s hands.