Oh, how I hate my alarm. How I hate how exhausted I always feel, constantly playing catch-up. Never on top of work, orders, bills. The business that is in a dire state.
And I don’t seem to be able to find a way of pulling it out of that situation. I wish Dad could still work and expand his dream.
I wish I could just sleep for one day.
I wish I could just spend a day without responsibilities. Without the daunting task of managing a business and failing at it miserably.
I wonder if a man like Xander wishes for things like that. For a break. I doubt that. Also, I have no time to think about him.
He’s a fantasy. A prince who passed around on his white horse and took this damsel in distress to a ball. For fun. But that’s over now.
I push out of my bed, Pitt and Clooney groaning in protest. I allow myself a quick cuddle with my two cats. After all, they own the place, so the least I can do is give them a few moments of attention for letting me stay here. For filling all the voids in my life.
They don’t ask for much—just food, a clean litter box, and a place on my lap. And in return, they give me everything.
God, I’m becoming an old cat lady, but fuck it, these two… When the day has been heavy, their purrs smooth the edges, like they’re stitching me back together with sound.
They make me laugh, too, with their ridiculous zoomies, and the way they chase shadows like it’s the most important mission in the world.
They’ve taught me that love doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it just sits beside you, warm and patient, until you can breathe again.
Occasionally, I wonder what my life would feel like without them. The apartment would be too quiet, too still.
Soft paws pad after me as I make my way to the bathroom. I take a shower and get dressed.
Finding a headband, I somehow tame my wild curls and make myself an extra-strong coffee. It should last me until I get to work and caffeinate some more.
When I arrive at the bistro—late due to yesterday’s indulgence—the place is buzzing with anxiety.
All the tables are full—which should make me happy, but I immediately sense the vibe is off. I practically grew up in this place, so I’m attuned to its energy, and today reeks of trouble, complaints, delays, and mixed-up orders.
I should never have gone to the gala.
My employee, Sanjay, looks at me with desperation as I make my way behind the counter. Steam rushes above the coffee machine. Wet footsteps lead to the kitchen, and something sticky is leaking down the counter.
“Can I get the bill finally?” a customer asks.
This is taking too long. Have they forgotten about my latte? This is not fresh.
The nervous whispers reach me as I try to decide how to help Sanjay without slowing him down.
What a fucking mess.
I should never have gone to the gala.
“Sanjay?” I look at his sweaty face while I get the bill for the impatient customer.
“The cook didn’t show up,” Sanjay says, dropping drink orders on his tray before he rushes to the floor.
I look around.
That’s all I do.
For days… or a few long seconds, I just stand there, paralyzed.
The tables are full, and yet it feels empty—of order, of calm, of anything resembling control. The hum of conversation feels like criticism. Every clink of cutlery is an accusation. A napkin falls to the floor, and no one picks it up.
I don’t move.
