Miss Atomic Bomb

You are awakened by the sound of your alarm, blaring Asia's "Heat Of The Moment" from the speakers of your phone. Face buried in the pillow, you slap your palm around on your bedside table until it hits the screen, which you tap randomly until the music stops. You raise your head, groaning, and check the time. It's eight o'clock on the morning. You've managed to get a whole five hours of sleep. Well done.

Sitting up, you stretch your arms to either side as the events of the previous night come rushing back; the bar, getting the shit kicked out of you by Dash, hooking up with her, carrying her, naked and asleep, to her bed... Leaving her...

Your arms drop, and you exhale heavily, sadness washing over you like a tidal wave as you wonder if you made the right choice. Not that it matters now. She's gone, and there's no way in hell she'll forgive you for leaving her, assuming you even have the courage to approach her again.

You glance again at the clock. Five minutes have passed, and you need to get to work. Throwing aside the covers, you step out of bed and walk to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, you see that you look like complete hell. You normally don't stay up that late. Hopefully nothing that a quick shower can't fix. You turn on the water and step in, sighing in pleasure as the hot water cascades down your body. You consider making the time a bit more pleasurable while you're in there, fueled by memories of the events of last night, but figure you've already wasted enough time. After quickly washing your hair and body, you turn off the water and step out, wiping the steam off of the mirror. Your hair is in a disarray, but after drying it and combing it down, you're able to work it into the style that you like. You realize that you need to shave, but after checking how it looks from different angles in the mirror, you decide that perhaps a beard wouldn't look like the worst thing in the world on you. You brush your teeth, put on some deodorant, and head to your room.

You dress in your typical work attire, jeans and a t-shirt, which today sports the cover of My Chemical Romance's The Black Parade. After lacing up your Converse, you close the door to your room to retrieve your leather jacket, hung on a peg on the back of the door.

It isn't there.

After mentally scanning the house for where it can be, the realization hits you. You left your jacket at Dash's house.

Oh fuck.

It's alright, jackets aren't that expensive, you can just buy a new one after your next couple paychecks... Wait, what the hell are you thinking? You're gonna leave your favorite leather jacket at Dash's house forever just because you're too chickenshit to face her? Hell no. After work, you decide, you are going to march down to her house and retrieve it. And if she's pissed, she's pissed. You're gonna take it like a man.

Grinning at your newfound bravado which you know will probably be gone by noon, you exit your house without eating breakfast and begin your trek to the café/bakery where you work.

It's a nice day out, warmer than is to be expected for October, making you glad that you didn't need your jacket after all. After ten minutes or so of walking, you see the café on the horizon. Subconsciously checking the surrounding area to make sure it's clear of any girls with rainbow hair, and feeling a ping of sadness when none appear, your push open the door and clock in to work, walking to the back room to retrieve your apron and name-tag. Pinning it in place on your chest, you walk back out to behind the register, thinking about buying yourself a coffee.

"Missing something?"

You jump so hard, you nearly fall over. Steadying yourself on the register, you look up. There she is, Dash herself, sitting in the back corner, half-obscured by shadow. She sets down the book she'd been reading despite the low light and stands, your jacket draped over the crook of her arm. She's wearing white short shorts, identical to those of last night, the same wrist-band, and a navy-blue tank-top. It's certainly her style.

Stepping into the light, you swallow as you see her face, a mixture or anger and disgust.

"Now's not really a good time, I've gotta-" you begin, stopping abruptly as Dash flips the sign to Closed on the doorway. "... work. How the hell did you get in here, anyway?"

"The door was unlocked," she says, glaring at you as she throws your jacket over the back of a nearby chair. You cringe slightly, as the responsibility had fallen on you to lock up last night, glad that it had been Dash that got there first, and not your boss. "Don't change the subject."

As if the universe read your thoughts, the door suddenly opens, and in strides Mr. Cake, your almost-too-aptly-named boss. Dash has her finger pointed at you, mouth open as if to speak, but remains silent, furious eyes pointed at Mr. Cake. Your boss says nothing as his eyes dart back and forth from you to Dash, eyebrow raised in amused curiosity.

"Oh would you look at that," he says. "I forgot that thing I need for that one specific purpose. I'm just gonna run and grab it. I'll be back in ten minutes. When I get back, I want to see you working the register, understand?" You nod, and Mr. Cake leaves, winking knowingly at you on the way out.

After the door clicks shut, Dash lowers her finger and shuts her mouth, closing her eyes as if composing her thoughts. Then she backhands you across the face. The sudden force and flash of pain are enough to knock you off-balance, and you fall against a table, steadying yourself as you wait for the pain in your face to pass. Looking up at Dash, you open your mouth to prepare your own defense, but Dash cuts you off with another backhand on the other side of your face. A new wave of pain cascades across your face, as you slink to the floor, unwittingly blinking back tears.

"Okay," you say after a moment. "I deserved that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, alright? I just panicked-"

"Oh, you panicked? Yeah, I'm sure you must have been in a frenzy, putting me to bed and leaving me there, naked and alone. Don't give me that bullshit."

"Alone?" you retort. "What, did you expect me to stay? You said it yourself, I was nothing but a one-night-stand. It's not like all the other guys stayed."

"They did, actually," she says coldly. "They normally left while I was in the shower. Some of them even made me breakfast."

Oh. Well, fuck.

"Alright, well, I'm even worse than a one-night-stand, then," you say, defeated. "Just gives you even less reason to come looking for me. I'm nothing worth chasing."

Now it's Dash's turn to be silent.

"What is it?..." you say, a glimmer of hope shining on the horizon.

She remains quiet for a long while. Too long, as right as she takes a breath to speak, the door clicks as Mr. Cake enters once more. But this time, his presence doesn't stop her from completing her thought.

"You're right," she says, voice dripping with icy venom. "You're not worth chasing. And you can go fuck yourself for all I care."

She turns and storms off, each footfall further shattering the brief hopefulness you felt. And then she's out the door, Mr. Cake holding it open for her in stunned silence. You catch one last glimpse of her prismatic hair before she vanishes.

Letting the door close, your boss looks at you, still on the floor, with pity in his eyes. He smiles sympathetically. "You want to take the day off, son?..." he asks, tentatively. "I can have Pinkie cover for you..."

"No," you say with false conviction, which breaks as you sniffle, repressing a sob. You're taking this awfully hard. You never had much hope to begin with, why are you so shocked that it didn't work out?

Mr. Cake isn't convinced. "Go," he says, not unkindly. "Pinkie will cover for you, and I'll have you work a longer shift tomorrow. It's fair. Now go home."

And so you do, making sure to grab your jacket as you go. A light rain has begun to fall, despite the sunny weather. The light bends in the sky to form a colorful prism. Across the street, children tug on their mothers' shirts, fervently pointing at the rainbow in the sky.

All you can see is her hair.