So, no. I can’t say I’m upset the garage is changing owners. But Idoneed to tell the biker that keeping me around is a bad idea. My working here is a liability, plain and simple. The only reason Patrick hired me in the first place was because no one else wanted the job. And, no one else wanted the liability risk. I’m sure this man won’t have any trouble letting me go once he figures that out.
Sighing, I grab the keys off the desk and call for my ride.
Another fun fact about having reflex syncope? I’m not allowed to drive or operate heavy machinery. Or swim. Or ride roller coasters.
But honestly… I’m okay with that one.
My phone pings with a notification that my ride will be here in an hour.
I could probably walk home faster than that… but with my condition, in this heat, dragging along my fat, out-of-shape body?
Yeah, not happening.
So, I sink into the chair behind the counter and wait.
My stomach growls, loud enough to echo in the empty shop. I sigh and reach for one of the protein bars I always keep near the desk.
Another thing those jerks used to make fun of me for.
“Look at Eli,”they’d laugh.“He’s so fat he can’t go five minutes without food.”
Yeah, I’m fat. And sure, I could stand to lose twenty… maybe more… pounds. But how am I supposed to do that? I’m built with a wider and shorter frame to begin with, so even if I starve myself, I’ll never look small.
Not as big as that biker, though.
But still broad.
And I can’t exactly exercise. Not in the way it would take to actually lose weight. That’s a surefire way to land myself on the floor. My heart and my head can only handle so much before everything goes dark.
So I eat. Three meals a day, plus snacks. Not because I’m greedy.
Because if I don’t… I faint.
Again… my life freaking sucks.
The doctors told me my case of reflex syncope is one of the most severe they’ve ever seen. Most people with the condition faint a few times a year. Maybe once or twice a week at worst.
Me? I’m down at least four times a week. More, if I’m stressed about something.
For the most part, I know my body. I can usually tell when I need to back off, sit down, take a minute. Or when I’m safe to keep pushing through.
They also think I’ve got a touch of Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, or POTS, mixed in for good measure. Basically, my body sucks at regulating blood pressure and heart rate when I’m standing too long.
Which is one of the reasons I went down in front of that biker.
His smile alone had my heart rate spiking, but that wasn’t what did it. My body had already been screaming warning signs…lightheaded, hot, the edges of my vision closing in. It always does before I faint.
But there isn’t really a place to sit in the garage, and Patrick kicked me out of the office for his meeting with the biker half an hour before he even showed up. So I was out there on my feet for at least an hour before their meeting was over… and another fifteen minutes while Patrick was talking to his lawyer.
I kept my head down and took deep breaths, trying to stave it off. I’ve done it a thousand times before…breathe slow, focus, ride it out.
But then he spoke to me… and like an idiot, I looked up too fast.
I knew I was going down a second before it happened.
So freaking embarrassing.
But it is what it is.
