Left Behind | ONGOING |

Chapter Eight: The Weekend

Although it is not applicable to this chapter, I will be putting a trigger warning here for the remainder of the book for the following: depictions of any types of abuse, neglect, depression, panic attacks, and trauma in general. I don't want to go too much into detail for spoilers, but if this affects you, I recommend that you stop reading. Additionally, although I do not have anything of the sort planned yet (I have the basic plot of the story written out, but I do tend to add things as I write) take this as a trigger warning for suicidal thoughts and self harm as well. This is the only warning I will be putting inside the story, so read with caution. Thank you to all those who are still reading this story! Please consider voting and commenting to let me know if you enjoy the updates! Stay safe everyone.

L E V I

 My scuffed shoes scraped against the floor as I walked along a cobblestone pathway. There's a slight breeze in the air, and I closed my eyes briefly as the wind ruffled my hair. Shivering slightly, I tugged my jacket closer to my body. It's Friday today, and it had rapidly shifted from the sunny weather we had a few days ago. I wouldn't be surprised if we got snow in the next couple of weeks.

Even though it was only September.

Huffing slightly, I turned the corner. Up ahead is a moderately sized diner, it's brick exterior giving the french restaurant a rusty look. Instead of going through the main entrance, I walked around the building to the staff door.

I quickly pressed a pass code into a box, pulling the heavy metal door open soon after. Next, I walked - or jogged in this case - down the hallway pass a few doors until I finally reached the staff-room.

I still don't know why I had to go through all of those steps just to get into the workplace. It was like my boss didn't want me to get to my shift on time or something.

Since it was a few minutes before my shift at seven started, most of the people I worked with were already there. And by people I worked with, I mean college kids and a quiet middle-aged man. Due to it being the last shift of the day, there were fewer customers, which of course means fewer hands on deck.

As soon as I entered (albeit slightly breathless) the owner of the restaurant, Monsieur Denis, greeted me with a friendly smile.

"Ah, bonsoir Levi! I was wondering where you were."

The man was quite young himself, maybe in his early thirties or so. I'm pretty sure the restaurant was a family business, so that explains how he was running something so successful at such a young age. Not that he doesn't deserve it though; Monsieur Denis is a great boss and an even better cook.

"Bonsoir Monsieur, comment allez-vous?" I asked politely, opening my work locker and putting my backpack inside.

I'm quite proud of the fact that I know some french, even if my mother was the reason why. She came from a French-European family, so she carried the tradition of speaking french in the household to our own.

"Je vais très bien, merci. Go on ahead and get changed, you're on front of house duty today."

Great, I mentally sighed. Nodding, I took my work uniform out of my backpack. Because apparently, La Bise is fancy enough to need one.

Once I exited the bathroom, I went through the side door that led into the dining area. Whenever I had to work up front, I usually had to work as a busser. Oh how I love getting rid of clutter, refilling drinks, and breaking my back by bending down to clean. There's no better way to spend a Friday night.

Nicolás, one of the few people who worked on that shift whose name I actually remember, waved from where he was situated at the host stand. The latino boy was tired, that was for sure. His eyes were drooping slightly, and his black curls were in obvious disarray.