I've been working for Michael's for a total of 5 years, 6 months, and however many days in between the months preceding. I never kept track of how many days, since I had long forgotten what day I actually started, but the month was branded into my brain for the countless resumes and applications I had filled out over the past year to try and find more, and hopefully better, work.

I didn't hate working for Michael's. It was a job I was used to, if anything. My tasks on a daily basis included stocking, cleaning, pointing to where items would most likely be in the warehouse sized shop, or even manning a register when we were short staffed, which was a more than common occurrence. If anything, what I didn't like, was the mundane routine of it all. There's only so much you can learn working in a retail environment, and only so many customers who can come in and ask where they could find men's socks before you get annoyed having to say 'right to the back' over and over again.

But at the end of the day, it was a job. A job I didn't find joy in doing, a job that has tested my patience more than once, and a job that didn't exactly plan on having me move away from my designated department; which for the past year had been 'Homewares'.

So almost every afternoon, when I wasn't lying in bed mindlessly scrolling through the Facebook feed on my phone, I would get up, spray on some deodorant, throw on the navy blue button up with the cursive Michael's signature on the front, grab some kind of microwavable meal from the freezer, and get in my car to drive twenty minutes to my only source of income. And depending on whether parking was available close by, I would have either twenty, or five minutes, to spare before I would begin my shift.

Today, I got lucky, managing to park only 5 minutes away from the main building, reserving me an extra 15 minutes of free time. Heading towards the main building, I spotted Rachel out the front, smoking while she stared down at her phone, the lingering smell of nicotine and perfume filling my nostrils, courtesy of multiple smokers taking salvage in the small space. A quick glance up from her screen as I began to pass, and she nodded in my direction, putting the stick to her mouth to take another drag just as I was entering through the back door, and from there I dragged my feet down the fluorescent hallway towards the set of double doors that would open right into the store. The cool sweep of air conditioning washed over me, as I let gravity close the door behind me, and I spot Carol, who's teeth sparkled as she smiled at every customer, accompanying with a cheery 'How are you today?' as they walked into the store from the front entrance. The same smile was pointed towards me as I walked past, a forced one of my own given back, and I begrudgingly made my way to the back of the store, keeping my pace slow, ready to throw my bag into my locker for the six daunting hours.

Heading towards the back, I passed Ladieswear, where a row of moving rails were set up against each other, and a pile of metal fixtures were in a clump on the floor next to an already constructed display rack; empty of any clothes to display. My only guess passing by was that Sam was rearranging her department, starting by tearing down the display rails one by one, resulting in a mess, but one that the girl could probably construct with her eyes closed. But as I passed on by, going between the never ending rail line and stepping around the mess of display fixtures (there was definitely more than one pile) Sam stepped out from behind the wall of rails, making my heart jump into my throat and my feet almost slide across the tiled floor in surprise as I came to a sudden halt. She didn't look nearly as shocked to see me, as she wrestled with a pile of women's coats in her arms, and then proceeded to walk towards the empty railing. My heart continued to pound quickly.

"Sorry Kara," She apologised. "Didn't mean to scare ya."

Though my heart rate was taking a moment to slow down, I nodded surely, "It's fine."

Sam dumped the heavy-looking pile of coats over one of the metal ends of the display, shuffling them so they wouldn't end up falling off her desired placement once she let them go. "What time do you start?"

I watched as she grabbed two single rails from one of the piles on the ground, placing them both on one of the ends of the display fixture. "Twelve," I confirmed.

The thumping of my heart had slowed, letting my anxiety die down with it. Sam nodded, grabbing two coats to place one on each of the rails. "In homewares again today?"

I nodded. Another day stacking shelves and trying to work out what would be best suited on the front end of a display shelf. Seemed like it was where I was going to be for the rest of my Michael's career, but I didn't say that out loud. Especially not to Sam, who pushed on the glasses on her nose and stared at the mess she had surrounded herself in.

"Well, it hasn't been all that busy," she spoke, unprompted. "Should be able to get some work done, I suppose..."

She takes a step back, placing her hands on her hips, screwing her mouth to the side, looking at her handy work of an empty display rail and two thick coats hanging of the end of it.

"Though in saying that," she adds. "I've been trying to get these coats out for the past two hours." She wipes a hand over her head, pushing her heavily dark, brown hair back, and gestures carelessly to the line of rails that hold more clothes than the walking path can accompany for.

I force a weak smile, unsure of what to say, if anything. I don't hate Sam, I just find it hard to talk with her at times. Though, the same could be said for most people I've worked with over the years.

My feet fall back, ready to continue on towards the back of the store, eager to put my things away to hurry up and get the day over and done with.

"Actually," Sam speaks out, ceasing me from moving my feet anywhere. "Could you take my phone when you start? I may go on my break, actually..."

I nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks," She says, grabbing those same coats again and throwing them over the pile on the end again. "I don't even know why we're getting coats in. Summer isn't even close to finishing"

She marches over to one of the rails filled with clothing, grabbing another two heavy coats in a baby blue velvet material, walking back to her same position and placing the both of them on the end. A sigh of disapproval, and a slight growl, and she takes them off the display rail again.

"And it's not like people are going to wear more anyway," she comments, walking back to the clothing rail. "I saw two girls walk in just before with shorts so short you could see their asses."

She shoves the baby blue coats back in with the rest of their counterparts, and grabs a handful of coat hangers, this time with silky cream button up shirts attached.

"And it's like, are you trying to draw attention to yourselves?" She asks rhetorically. "Cause honestly..." She looks at me as she speaks. "...I don't wanna see some sluts ass hanging out in the middle of the friggin day. Especially not before I go to lunch."

When my mouth begins to feel dry, and my throat measures the same, I realised I've stopped breathing at the hostility in Sam's voice. And though I know she isn't referring the snide comment towards me, there's still a small wave of guilt washing through me at the mention of the word 'slut', like it is directed towards me. Like she knows the secret I've been trying to hide for months.

But impossibly, Sam wouldn't have a clue to my outside life, nor would she care, as she carries on with her work and places the shirts on the display rail. She takes a step back, her hands resting on her hips, and another disappointing, yet slowly giving up sigh escapes through her nose. She looks at the mess around her, taking a quick glance at her watch. I swallow my anxiety down, another wave of guilt washing over me, suddenly feeling hotter than I should in an air conditioned space.

"Anyway, so long as I don't have to see that again," she finishes, running her fingers through her hair again. "I'll let you go and enjoy your ten minutes, before all hell breaks loose and we actually start picking up in here."

I force a weak smile, turning on my heel. "I'll see you in a bit, I guess."

"Sure," she comments, and I swear I hear her cursing under her breath as I walk away.

Rationally, I know that Sam doesn't know about the kind of activities I've been indulging in. I know she doesn't know about the guys I've been seeing, or about the company I've been keeping, or the various things I've done this past month. Nor does she know about my blog, or my history, or my Tinder.

But the word 'slut' still circles in my mind, like she knows everything. Her distaste as she said that word is still a fresh scar against my mentality, and I could brush it aside and pretend I don't care, but that isn't how my mind works in these situations, where the scenarios in my head keep spinning over and over and they continue to play like a roll of film on repeat. They don't even exist and yet they leave me in a state of fear where my heart doesn't stop colliding with my chest and my head becomes so much lighter than air that it feels it could float away from the rest of my body.

It's because I'm guilty of what she says. I am the kind of person she would despise.

And the slight stab doesn't die down. Not even when I pass through the double doors to head right to the locker room, where tall lockers were lined up against the wall and my number '27' stares back at me as I approach it and dial my code on the combination lock. Not even as I place my bag on the hook inside, and head to the accompanying bathrooms to give myself one more look over before I head back out onto the main floor. I still feel that slight pang of guilt, just sitting and floating in my chest. And I know it's got nothing to do with me, but my mind wanders and thinks in all its confusion.

Is this really how people would see me if they knew?