Simanda one shots

Get out of my life

It's an ordinary day. There are clouds in the sky, but they aren't ominous or foreboding. Even if I was completely paranoid, I could see no reason to stay at home and hide from the world. As it was I'm only slightly paranoid, so I went to work and got on with my day.

Sometimes the past just bites you in the ass at four o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon.

I had just finished setting up my contract and left it to be answered overnight and took the elevator up to my small little locker, which we all had, to grab my coat and head home. The thing about elevators is that awkward conversations tend to occur. The three main topics typically include; "Woops, I went to the wrong floor", "Wow, these things take forever" and - my personal favourite - newbies asking for directions. Apparently, I look like the kind of person who always knows where the washroom is. Fortunately, I have found headphones to be the perfect stranger conversation deterrent, whether music is playing or not.

Leaning against the elevator wall, I wait politely as the car unloads on the fourth floor. Finally disembarking, I look up at the locker room and I feel the blood drain from my face. There he was, all five feet eight inches of him leaning against the cream-coloured cement wall. He has filled out since I had last seen him a few years ago, muscles visible underneath his black leather jacket where there used to be just skin and bone. His brown eyes search mine out and a half-smile emerges on his face. In my shock I can only come up with one word.

"No," I murmur walking slowly past him into the locker room towards my own.

"Hey Mandy," he says, his voice still deep and gravelly.

"No, no, no. Not happening." I continue walking faster grabbing my coat off the back of my locker. I wave goodbye to the other people in here before reaching for my bag. Turning around I walk right past him struggling to shove my second arm into the coat sleeve. Walking briskly now, I head into the stairwell. The echoes of my footsteps are joined by the sound of another's and I know he's following me. Suddenly, I'm yanked backwards by my right arm and spun around to look at the face that had haunted me for years.

"Where the hell do you think you're going, huh?" He asks, frustration seeping into his voice. Bringing his other arm to my left shoulder to keep me against the wall, he looks me straight in the eyes. The force of his gaze hits me like a shot to the heart. "I find you after all these years and you run away at first glance?"

"I'm relocating myself." I reply quickly, trying to keep my tone light. "My first instinct was to run and book a plane ticket to Bali and never come back. However, I sort of need to stay here to get my work done. So, I'm going to find someplace I can yell at you without people thinking I'm a crazy person."

"You are a crazy person." He smiles at me while loosening his grip. I slid away from him, carefully ignoring the curious glances of my co-workers walking by.

I look back at him and can't help but emit a small sigh. Memories of times gone by fly through my head and I quickly turn away. Buttoning up my coat, I keep my eyes trained on the dirt streaked floor. "I am what you made me."

"I was an idiot." The remorse in his tone evaded my defences. Don't look at him. Don't let that voice manipulate your emotions. Don't remember what happened. I walk down the stairs, counting my steps as we descend.

I finally succumb to the impulse to say exactly what we are both thinking. I mutter softly towards the ground. "You were something much worse."

"Mandy..."

"Save it." I snap, the use of my old nickname breaking me out of my silence. I pause briefly and look back at his lanky form before continuing, "Follow me, or not, whatever."