Custmomer Service : The Slow Downfall of Happiness [Chapter Twenty]

I'm in the parking lot at work thirty-five minutes before I'm supposed to be. I like to be early. I hate having to rush and worry about being late.
I turn my car off, and within seconds it's already scorching. So I grab my CVC shirt [name tag included], my black polish-able shoes, and a roll of Mentos and walk to the front door. As I enter, the automatic doors slides open and I slide my sunglasses onto the top of my head. I see Tawnya on register number one, a line of people, and Bella at register four. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and she's wearing her broken glasses. They're held together by invisible tape. She's wearing her pin stripped white top, her breasts about to pop out. Sometimes I wonder if she wears those shirts to test me. I'm sure she'd deny it, even if it were true. Or maybe she just likes the way she looks wearing those kinds of shirts? I doubt it though.
Even though she has an amazing and almost perfect figure, whenever she's in leisure, she wears really baggy attire. A big, faded T-shirt, and pants. Nothing special, but comfortable, the way she should be all the time. But beauty and uncomfortably must not be allowed to overlap it seems.
Oh, well. She looks stunning regardless.
I have stupid fantasies sometimes, about Bella. About bringing her along as a date to future events I know I'll be at. Such as Carrios and Sakura's wedding. I know I'm going, I know I'll most likely be the best man, and I know that the three of us [Sakura, Carrios, and myself] would all love Bella to go, as my date of course. The idea of her coming along isn't all that out there, I mean best friends can go to weddings together, there's no harm in that. I also know that one of them, Carrios or Sakura would invite her, or at least ask me to bring her as my date, on account of me not interacting with too many females worthy of keeping any sort of substantial interest. Bella is one of those rare few who, might and most likely would, go to the wedding and have a great time. And probably one of the only people I know who wouldn't be embarrassed or ashamed if I made a toast to my brother and new sister. I imagine that Bella would look beautiful, she usually does even without trying, but I know if she tried to make herself look good, she could do a damn good job at it.
I have to admit, I can't retain the image of Bella in a dress. I find it disrespectful to check out a woman while her male companion is present. I do it because I care, and because I don't feel that most men take the looks of arousal as compliments. I do. If I was dating a girl and she got all dolled up for me, and we were strolling around town, for whatever reason, I would definitely feel accomplished and flattered. Because every one of those looks, every time a guy's eyes fuck the shit of out her, its a compliment to me; the guy she got dolled up for.
That and work, work was another reason I couldn't check out Bella's bewildering figure. I hate my job. No, scratch that. I hate checking, being on register. I hate having to fake that smile for all those self-absorbed people. They can all go eat dick.
I digress.
I'm walking in, moving against the line of people that stretches past the DVD rack, and past the copy machine. As I walk past register four I make eye contact with Bella who, at first raises her head. I return the gesture and he eyes sparkle, I can see a smile forming at the ends of her lips, but she's trying to suppress it. That smile can be from only five things that could be running through her head;
1.) Me arriving means that Tawnya is off in a half of an hour after I clock in.
2.) Me arriving means that she can go on her lunch break soon and read the new chapter of "A Silver Bullet Western 2: An American Hunter in Paris" by stealing internet from Starfucks.
3.) Me arriving means that I'll soon have a register, and she can get off, because everyone knows I'm the greatest cashier to ever live, apparently.
4.) Seeing me makes butterflies flutter in her stomach.
or
5.) She's thinking about a group of pigs each with a different face; one Shia LaBeouf's, one Ryan Reynolds', one Johnny Depp's, and one Richard D. James' are running a train on her and the thought gets her wet.

The answer will never be solved, but personally, not that I'm vain or anything -- but I think it's number four.
Cut to the two of us in the break room taking one of our really long on-the-clock breaks.
"How true is that story?" She asks me.
"Pretty true. I mean, mostly true." I say.
"I do not throw myself at you!" She says.
"You should." I say back. Her face scrunches up, she's pretending to be disgusted.
"You're dumb." She says and storms off. Which is completely fine for her to do, but if I were to do it she'd claim my walking away would make her upset. It's funny how much of an illusion of power I give her. Hahahaha.
Cut to another time at work. An attractive but rather slutty girl is in my line. She pays with a one hundred dollar bill. So naturally, I have to call Bella to the front for change. Bella walks up with a slight smile, probably thinking about something amazing I've done, that makes her love me, but then she sees this other girl -- bending forward, exposing a massive amount of sexy cleavage. Which I don't mind looking at because I'm single and not dating Bella, but if I were I could resist the urge to look, because Bella has nice enough cleavage to satisfy my needs. And also, Bella's breasts appear to be much fuller than this girl's, which I also admire. So four out of five dentists approve: Bella's titties over this girl's. The fifth, by the way knows that this girl is a slut and would most likely put out, therefore increasing the chance to see them, which is ultimately the goal when admiring breasts. Every guy imagines what they would look like.
Pink or brown nipples?
Lots of stretch mark or hardly any?
Big areola or small?
Saggy or not?
Firm and full or droopy and narrow?
The thoughts go on and on, ladies. Ask any guy when you're walking the streets, if he's comfortable with you, and heterosexual, he'll tell you. You'd be surprised how imaginative men are.
I digress.
Bella's slight smile fades like darkness in a room after the lights are turned on. I can feel the tension building. Bella touches me on the shoulder as she takes the money from my hands, the slutty girl catches this. She then starts to verbally flirt with me, eye fucking the shit out of me. She squeezes her titties together, not gonna lie, it looks nice. Bella throws the money at me and storms off.
Cut to about ten minutes later, the two of us standing in the center aisle.
"Bela, what's wrong?" I ask her, honestly concerned.
"Nothing." She says. She's pissed, and even worse, she's denying the fact that she's pissed. Which, by the way annoys me. Almost as much as watching her ignorance to the two of us and our romantic undertones.
"Are you upset because of that girl?" I ask.
"No, I don't what you do. I don't care who you talk to, she's just a bitch." She says getting more angry with every word.
"Bella, calm down. I don't like her." I try and assure her. "She seems kind of slutty too."
"Well, I'm sure you'd like that, right? At least you'd be getting some." She says and storms off.
It's amazing how two sentences can make you feel so dirty. Do I really come off as such a perverted bastard? Do I honestly come off as having a one track brain like that? If so, then I might as well kill myself.
I don't want to be remembered as that. Especially by one of the people that knows how most of the cogs in my head work.
It was in that moment, as Bella was storming off that I decided it might be better if I didn't try as much anymore.
I mean I managed to grab her attention without any extra effort to begin with, and who knows, perhaps my extra effort is that force that pushed all the others away? I think practicing with Bella as my best friend was the best way of training for her to become my wife.
But that doesn't mean it was a walk in the park. Nothing is easy when it comes to Bella.

-Sir Jestro