Made to be Broken

Chapter 4

The bell dinged loudly as I walked through the door. A few people turned to look at me, but I ignored them. I made my way to the back office, pushing the door open to reveal my boss.

"Hey Tony," I muttered.

"Camille." He waved to me without looking up from his phone. "Why are you here so early?"

I shrugged, despite the fact that he couldn't see me. I moved to the back wall, finding a key on my key ring. Going up to locker 102, I unlocked it, a shower of dark green paint dust falling onto my hand at the same time.

"We need new lockers," I stated, while shoving my bag and my little bag from Bronzer into the itty-bitty locker.

"Yep," Tony agreed, obviously not paying attention. I just grabbed my nametag off the back table and went back into the store without another word.

I glanced around, assessing the situation. Heather was working the floor, looking bored as always. Cara was helping an elderly woman at the earrings. And at the cash register...

Was the last person I wanted to see. One of them anyways.

Daisy.

I wasn't prepared to answer her questions. I just felt drained, hoping the day of work would go by quickly. And maybe she wouldn't notice me.

Like the coward I am, I moved behind a rack of dresses. Maybe I could avoid her. Maybe her shift was almost over. Maybe...

I felt a finger poke my shoulder, and I jumped, my thoughts interrupted. I turned around slowly to see Daisy standing right behind me, her face confused.

"What are you doing, Cam?" she asked.

"Just got here..." I mumbled, as of that were somehow an explanation. "I like your outfit."

"Thanks!" she grinned, appearing to have forgotten what we'd just been talking about, but I knew she was just dropping it. For now at least. Her outfit was gorgeous, though. And just so "Daisy".

Shiny, silver mini skirt with star cutouts, black high top converse, and a fishtail partially covering the still readable black letters on her tank-top: "You are on my wish list." Pair that with silver star cuffs on her ears and a stack of colored bracelets on her wrist, and it became an outfit that not many people could pull off. But Daisy could literally pull off anything.

"I love this top," she said, gesturing to the sassy tank, "but the comments are getting a little absurd. I mean some guy stopped me on the street today and said 'I can make all your wishes come true.' So I took out my mascara and poked him in the forehead with the wand. That'll teach him." I rolled my eyes and laughed. Only Daisy.

She continued to babble, so I just walked with her and listened. Listening to Daisy could probably be considered a hobby for me. But it's not like her life is dull.

"So, what are we doing tonight?" she grinned. Her smile looked as innocent as a child's. But get her a little drunk and she'd pole dance, strip, lick whipped cream off of people, sometimes all three at once.

That didn't make her a bad person or anything. But definitely not innocent like a child.

"I think I'm going to stay home tonight."

Her eyeliner rimmed blue eyes widened in horror. "But it's Saturday night!"

"Sorry Daze, I just don't feel up to it," I admitted. Her faced turned sympathetic

"What happened last night?" she whispered. "Cade told me to tell you that he didn't mean it and he's really sorry. How did he fuck up this time?"

I debated telling her for a moment. But I didn't have secrets from Daisy. "He-"

"Excuse me, miss, I'm ready to check out," the elderly woman said, holding up a pair of feather earrings and tapping Daisy on the shoulder with the other hand. Rude. "We'll talk later," she mouthed over her shoulder before going to help the woman.

I didn't respond, just began to oragnize the rack of dresses I was standing next to. Might as well do something, since I was getting paid.

The store actually picked up a bit and Daisy was too busy at the cash register to come back over to me. I was busy too, assisting people with where everything was, occasionally giving my opinion. You'd be amazed at the people that shop at Anthony's. Quite an assortment. But the clothes are cheap, cute, and modern with a vintage twist. I'd already set aside a few things that I couldn't resist. I try not to look around too much because I'm bound to find clothes I like, and I have better uses of my small pay.

But even though the wages were minimal and the benefits nonexistent, my employee discount, along with the already low prices, makes buying clothes dirt cheap. The main reason why I'd applied for the job.

After working for three hours essentially non-stop, the place finally cleared out, and we went to get lunch. I pushed aside the door, my eyes scanning the plaza for a promising looking vendor. Daisy followed, not saying anything at first. I braced myself as we took the short walk to a hot dog vendor barely a stone's throw away. But instead of badgering me about going out, the first words out of her mouth were "Do you wanna come to my place tonight?"

"Two hotdogs with ketchup." I kept my tone neutral, but it didn't mask the confusion on my face. The vendor used tongs to put the greasy hotdogs into stale buns, soaked them in ketchup, and handed them to me. I went to fish a couple bucks out of my wallet, but Daisy beat me to it, much to my dismay.

She immediately began to devour her lunch as we walked away, looking like a vampire with the scarlet ketchup dripping down her pale chin. I told her that, and she rolled her eyes, her mouth still full of processed meat. "That's nasty, Cam," she said after she swallowed, grimacing slightly.

"So...about tonight...?"

I turned to face my best friend, trying desperately to push down my annoyance. She has only good intentions, I reminded myself. Be nice.

But apparently the devil camping out on my right shoulder had murdered the angel on my left. I spoke, my words dangerous and cold as bullets. "I don't need you to take care of me."

She just sighed and sent me a look. "You don't want to go out tonight, and I'm not going without you. So you might as well come over."

I'd forgotten she was bulletproof.

"Melody-"

"-can come too." She quickly diverted my attempt at an excuse, her hands on her hips.

She means well.

"Sure, Daze."