The Mistress' Revenge

Jane

I pick up my pace when I realise it's too late for me to be at home. My shit at the mall starts in fifteen minutes and I am running late by thirty. I would blame it all on my appointment. But after what happened with Professor Hank today, I knew I needed to get some time with my therapist.

Dr. Phil, who was known for following the structure had somehow agreed to take me in. Even on an off day. So, I walk all worried and tensed and he asks me all the questions.

The result? I forget half the things I wanted to complain about.

"Are you sure this is normal? Shouldn't you get me off the medications?" I tell him, and he lets out a sigh.

"Jane, you aren't on any medications. I have no idea what's making you forget all the things," he says.

Well, if he doesn't have any idea then who fucking does?

"What am I supposed to do, then?" I asked.

"Journal?" He asks, more than he suggests.

"Are you kidding me? I am not going to write everything down. That would make it seem like I have-"

That's when it dawns on me.

"Do you think I have developed Alzheimer's?" I ask, and he looks at me worried.

"That depends. Do you have a family history of Alzheimer's?" He looks at me intently.

"Does it count that my mom often forgets that she has a daughter by my own name?" I say, and he chuckles.

"We both know that's not on Alzheimer's. Just her," he fixes his tie.

"You know her for too long. And yet you cannot convince her that it wasn't my fault. It was one drinking incident! Just one," I was feeling all sorts of things now.

"I want you to know Jane, that your mother went through so much. You nearly killed people that day. She couldn't take all that," he says.

"I was drunk. And maybe I have a feeling that they groped me," I complained.

"But you have no proof. And you don't remember anything," he tells me.

"Cannot you give me anything for this," I hold my head in my hands.

"Jane, I will write you a prescription. But there's no telling what would happen," he says, and scribbles something. I tuck it in my purse, and hand in my credit card to Dr. Phil's receptionist. She gives me the "you, again?" stare and I try just as best to avoid anything that can be remotely disturbing.

And yet, I was late for my shift at the mall. I walked to the Plaza, taking a cab to the mall. Lovegerie was chill most days. But this was fucking February.

I arrived at the Seventh Street, panting. My eyes watching with scrutiny for faint signs of customers. Maybe it was safe to walk in. So I did. Mark sits by the reception desk with his ledger. Be is wearing pink?

"Hello, boss," I wave at him and he looks at me as if I have done something wrong.

"You are late," he tells me.

"I had an appointment with my therapist," I said, and his expressions softened. He sighed. "Well, even if I tried, I couldn't stay mad at you," he says.

"Can you please do the stocks for me? A lot has been going on these days and I am just not feeling upto it," he adds.

"I've got you," I smile, walking to the store room and checking the boxes.

An hour or so passes with me digging for panties and bras in the store room. And even then I am only done with half of them. Between whether I need the job or whether I want to do this job, I was caught in the bottom of panty mountain.

"Jane," Mark calls out. "We have a customer," he shouts eerily happy. I manage to get out of the underwear storm, with ten more boxes staring at me.

"Hello, student," I see Rafael wave at me, while Mark looks at him adoringly.

"Hello, customer," I say, and do not even try to hide the sheer disinterest. What the fuck is he doing here?

"Not to be rude or anything, but you have a thong on your head," he tells me and I reach for it.

"What brings you here?" I asked, and Mark chimes in, "More beautiful underwear," I'd hope.

"Well," Rafael looks like he is caught off guard. "I am not having all that hot hot time," he says.

"Indeed. I wonder what are you here for!" I said, and he looks at me like I am the one who offended him.

"Well, I was wondering if you can give me your friend's number. If you have another one. I cannot seem to catch a hold of her," he says.

"Do you not know this is so fucking inappropriate," I said.

"I know, right! I deserve to get some good sex," he interjects.

"Not that! This is my workplace. It's like you are stalking me," I shoot back.

"Technically, I am not stalking anyone! I will buy some underwear!" He shrugs, and walks up to me. "This one. I will take this one," he says, waving it to Mark.

"Why are you here? You can get Corin's number from the student's records!" I tell him. I will do whatever to get rid of him.

"Who said I was trying to get in touch with Corin!" Man. What's with this guy?

"Then?"

"Well, I want to get to Professor Hank but he won't let me in his office. I want his number," his voice drops. "And a pair of uncomfortable underwear," if you'd please.

"Wait... You don't wear these, do you?" My eyes grow wide.

"When I pay for it, I sure as well will wear it. You are not to judge. You sell this!" He says.

"Yeah? It's for women! Though..." Well, look at that.

"I don't care. Just give me the damned number, Jane," he says and I want to punch him.

"What makes you think I have his number?"

"You sell underwear. And you kissed him. And you probably are allowed in his office," he tells me.

"Well, have you tried reaching to him at office hours," I said, and he gasps.

"God, you are a genius," he leans in and kisses my cheek. "I think I know what to do," he says. Good for him.