The Me You Can't See (H.S)

07

TW: Violence

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Haven's POV:

Today's the first day of my new job. To say I'm nervous would be an understatement. Usually, my nerves aren't bad so I don't know why today is different.

I'd fallen asleep the moment I came home after deep diving in the bookstore I'd passed by on the way home, spending way more time than necessary. Something about that bookstore just felt so inviting, maybe it's the orange tabby cat that slept on the top of a bookshelf or the really nice owner, she must have been almost 80. . .she was so nice.

I look at the book laying on my bed through the mirror as I got ready for work. I didn't have enough money to spare to buy the book I'd been looking at for that past hour. She came over to me asking if I wanted her to ring it up for me. I'd debated buying it, flipping it over only to see that it was out of my budget. An old, beat-up book of poems by some unknown author. . .can you believe that I can't even afford a fucking book without having to sacrifice something else.

She must have noticed my internal struggle as I switched between meeting her eyes and the price on the back of the book. I'd splurged on the coffee and muffin that morning and didn't think I could afford to buy this as well.

I smiled softly at her shaking my head, moving to put the book back on the shelf when her hand grasped mine, stopping my action. The old lady, who I learned was named Grace told me to take it, free of charge.

I stared at her shocked, trying to tell her I'd pay her back, but she wouldn't hear it. As I walked home after my encounter with her my heart was warm. Such a small gesture made my day, the kindness of Grace is something I haven't had the pleasure of experiencing before. I'd made a mental note to pay her back someway once I earned some money.

It's about 2:30 pm right now, my shift starting at 3:00 and not ending till 12:00. Maya apologized profusely, constantly asking for reassurance whether or not I really wanted the job when she told me the hours I would be working. Yes, it was a little longer than when I worked at the diner back in Australia but the more hours the more money.

I'm dressed in all black; a pair of black mom jeans and a long-sleeved v-neck crop top with plain black vans. Thankfully, this job doesn't require a specific uniform, only that I wear all black, unlike the diner. That hideous striped shirt and vizor would have been the death of me. I can still hear Zayn busting his ass over laughing when he saw it hanging in my closet.

After grabbing my stuff, hiding my knife in my purse deciding to leave my gun at home I begin the 20-minute walk to the restaurant, which to my surprise is named Nympho. Odd choice of name, but as long as I get paid I couldn't give two fucks.

Stopping in the alleyway, I made sure to leave a little earlier in order to get a proper look at the graffiti on the brick walls. I never understood why people would get so infuriated about street art. Yeah, I guess it is vandalism but who wouldn't want something like this on their buildings. Don't get me wrong tagging, or writing slurs on the wall is not what I mean by graffiti, but true art. Art that tells a different story to everyone who looks at it.

When one person sees happiness another sees despair and so on. The beauty of it is in the eye of the beholder.

As I'm turning to walk to the front of the restaurant someone bumps into me rather abruptly almost knocking me off my feet.

"Hey, could you maybe watch where the fuck you're walking?" I yell at the person who only bothers to turn around and shrug as if to say what do you want me to about it. I flip him off as he rounds the corner and disappears around the bend.