Given the winter season, I’m more at ease and don’t have to be so paranoid. I figure I have time to not obsessively scan every man on a motorcycle making sure it’s not him. The man who abused my body for his pleasure. But as soon as I hear the roaring of the pipes, I freeze before finally scurrying into the nearest ally cowardly hiding myself against the wall.
What crazy lunatic rides his motorcycle this time of year?
My back is flush with the cold brick, and I close my eyes waiting for them to pass.
Did he find me?
My heart beats insanely fast, feeling it in my ears with the terror gripping my lungs and squeezing.
No. It can’t be him. He’d have to be an idiot to show his face around here. He’s probably long gone by now, hopefully rotting underground somewhere. Dead. Yes, I wish for his death daily. If he’s dead, he won’t be able to hurt anyone else.
The motorcycle zooms by and then and only then am I finally able to catch my breath. The feeling is agonizing being afraid like this.
With a cautious step, I break away out from the ally. With a break in the light traffic, I make my way across the street, taking a quick glance in the direction of the motorcycle, before slipping inside the diner.
The little bell jingles, and some regulars sit at the front bar. Thomas is working on whipping up his famous egg and bacon sandwiches whistling along to an oldie song.
Do I love working here? Not exactly, but it’s a job, and one I’m lucky to have. Waitressing isn’t bad and it beats having to walk four blocks to my old job at the corner store. Not that I would ever consider working there again.
I give Thomas a quick wave as I head toward the back where the break room and lockers are.
On one of the benches, next to my locker, Lydia fails miserably trying to tie her up into a bun. Her thick blonde hair falling out at every try.
“Here.” I quickly hang my scarf and coat on one of the hooks and take the hair tie from her.
“Thanks. I can never get the stupid thing to stay in like you do. You must teach me your ways, oh powerful one.”
I softly chuckle. “I’ve had loads of practice.” A quick painful memory of my days in the yoga studio overwhelms me but I shake it off. “There. All done.”
Lydia spins, greeting me with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to upset the boss man. Wish the fucker would let us wear our hair however we wanted. Not like we’re the cooks.”
Eric’s the owner of the diner and our douchebag of a boss. He has a strict policy on the servers. Our uniforms must be wrinkle free, and our hair was to be worn up. Not crazy regulations but he does send unsettling chills up my spine. Though, every man makes me uncomfortable nowadays.
A loud bang echoes from somewhere inside the room, and I jump, dropping my clear purse to the floor.
Gunshots.
No. Not gunshots. I’m safe.
One of the back cooks had slammed his locker. He nods, passing us by and heading up to the front.
“Hey. You okay?” Lydia asks with her brows tucked inward.
“Yeah. I’m fine. It just startled me.”
She slowly nods telling me she’ll see me up front. Lydia was the first person I’ve made a connection with since Tequila. Having been so closed off for so long, I forgot what it’s like to make friends.
I breathe in, slowly letting the air out and I close my eyes. I’ve been doing so much better. Making loads of progress and then something like this happens. Something so small. But I’m okay—I’ll be okay. He can’t hurt me now. That’s the powerful thing about your mind, you can trick it into believing anything if you allow it.
It’s slow the first half of my shift but by the middle, the evening rush picks up, and me and Lydia are the only servers left.
“Table four wants a redo on their BLT sandwich,” I’m fast at telling Thomas who moved from the front breakfast cook to back dinner cook. He rolls his eyes, and I nearly run into Lydia who just grabbed the tray for her table’s order.
“Good thing my reflexes are on par,” she quips, raising a plate overhead while scurrying away to the front.
It’s certainly a busy day.
I carry the tray of my table’s drink order to the front and catch the host seating three more guests in my section. But my attention zooms in on the male and female, both wearing MC patches on their leathers. My veins turn to ice. Still holding the tray of drinks, I can’t seem to lift my feet off the ground.
