AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Can I get a refill here?" A sharp voice cut through the hum of the diner, pulling me back to the present. I turned to find Mrs. Leary holding out her cup like a queen demanding tribute.
"Of course, Mrs. Leary." The pot tipped, the dark liquid swirling into her cup. Her gratitude was absent, but I didn't serve for thanks. No, I served because it was expected, because it was all they thought I was capable of.
"Sweet girl," she muttered, not unkindly, a sentiment wrapped in condescension.
"Thank you," I replied.
I caught my reflection in the chrome of the milkshake machine—a ghost of a girl with dreams too big for her britches.
"Hey, Ella, when you gonna let me take you out?" The new voice slung itself over the counter. Rick, the local mechanic with hands perpetually stained with grease, never missed a chance to ask me out.
"Maybe when the stars fall from the sky, Rick." My laugh was light, but my heart pounded a warning against my ribs. It wouldn't be so bad, would it? He's handsome enough... and those big hands...
"Keep playing hard to get, doll. Makes the chase all the sweeter." He winked, his baby blue eyes staring into mine.
"Careful, Rick. Some things are better left unconquered."
"I'll keep asking 'til you say yes, babe," he threw back, the words trailing after him as he sauntered away.
Hours bled into one another, as the diner slowly emptied. I scrubbed tables with vigor, the scent of disinfectant sharp in my nostrils, each circle of my rag erasing the stains.
"Hey, Ella, you missed a spot."
"Annie, your eagle eyes never miss a chance to critique." I scrubbed harder, the muscles in my arms protesting, yet I welcomed the burn. My step-bitches never failed to show up at least once during my shift to torment me. I guess today was just before closing.
"Guess it's hard to see through all those grand illusions of yours." Izzy laughed.
I stayed silent. What good would it do anyhow? When they saw they weren't getting a reaction out of me, they left.
Eventually when the neon 'Closed' sign buzzed in the window, I peeled off my apron, tossing it in the laundry bin. Each step toward home was laden with weariness. If it wasn't one job, it was another.
I slid my key into the lock, the sound echoing too loud in the quiet. The house stunk. One of them must have tried to cook.
Stairs creaked underfoot, each one a groan of protest at my return. In the sanctuary of my room, I peeled away the layers of the day until nothing was left but the ketchup stains on my skin.
I got up to lock my door. Time to study. The musty air in my room clung to me. I slid the laptop from its hiding place beneath the bed, the cool metal a shock against my skin.
"Psychology of Power Dynamics," the screen blinked back at me.
My fingertips danced across the keyboard, diving into forums where fellow classmates shared their theory practice.
How Priscilla and her spawn had unknowingly been my case studies, their every sneer a data point in my silent research. I jotted notes with fervor, each keystroke a rebellion in black and white.
The worn springs of my mattress creaked as I stretched out, the day's grime clinging to my skin like a second layer. Fuck showering today. I need to rest.
Another day, another dollar. I fingered the frayed edge of my blanket. The fabric was thin, and scratchy, but I didn't feel like spending money on a new one. I needed to save it all for when the time was right, and I could escape.
I closed my eyes, the laptop's hum fading as I surrendered to the exhaustion. But even in the clutches of weariness, my mind whirled with Freud and Jung, their theories lulling me to sleep.
Three: Chris
I leaned back in my leather chair, the smell of whiskey and cigars heavy in the air. My best friend Adam sat across from me, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he detailed his latest conquest.
"Man, you should've seen it," he laughed, downing another shot of expensive scotch. "This bitch was begging for it. She couldn't get enough." I smirked, picturing the scene in my head.
"Sounds like your kind of night," I replied, knowing that our reputations in the mafia world meant women were drawn to us. We were the bad boys they loved to hate, but desperately wanted to fuck.
But deep down, I felt something gnawing at me. Loneliness? I had done things in my life that would make most men's blood run cold. And all for what? Loyalty to the family? To Priscilla?
