Ambrosia

iii.

The blood in my veins pounded loudly, the drumming in my ears increasing as I pushed myself to keep running. Stopping to rest my limbs is a luxury I don't quite have anymore.

Everything that has ever occurred in my life right until this very moment has been a series of unfortunate events, one after another. At some point I stopped blaming the world, accepting that I am the problem at least brought the constant finger-pointing to an end.

I looked behind me to make sure I've managed to get them off my tail.

The back of my shirt is completely drenched with sweat, the sticky sensation would in other circumstances make me cringe, but I keep running, telling myself that if I stop now, I might as well slit my own throat for them.

Even a clean slit would be an act of mercy.

No, once they get their hands on me, I am certain that worse things are in store for me than what I've already endured. Shivering involuntarily at that thought, I lick my lips. Not long now.

The park lights had long dimmed down, only faint sounds of crickets heard against the harsh exhalation of my breaths and the pounding of my feet on the concrete pavement. Maybe it's the adrenaline that ensured I hadn't tripped on my own feet yet – whatever it was that kept me going, I was grateful.

It's funny, 6 months ago I wouldn't have fought so hard to live. If Death himself had come knocking on the door of the dingy house – the only thing I had left in my name – I would gladly welcome him with a kiss.

Today, I dared to spit in his face instead.

A WEEK PRIOR

There is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get.

However, that was never the case when my parents fought. That's all I knew growing up – and I am my father's daughter after all.

Even if I repelled every part of me that was him, it's what's kept me alive. As disdainful as I found that, adapting to manipulate and charm my way through things had proven to be useful – if I got lucky, it earned me some extra cash since working as a diner waitress clearly didn't cut it in the long run.

Love won't satiate this hunger.

Instinctively, I jumped at the baritone voice that grumbled from behind me, "Table 5 needs a refill."

Nodding, I oblige, eyeing Tony subtly. He was in a particularly foul mood today, hence the staff mostly steered clear of him in hopes of not get fired. Putting on my best smile, I walk over to the customer sat at the corner booth, and grab the glass, carefully gripping the material so it doesn't slip. The last thing I need is unnecessary attention, not to mention the scolding I'd get from my boss.

"Is there anything else I can get you, sir?" I search his face, awaiting a response.

"Wouldn't mind a piece o' that ass, darlin'." The man grinned crudely, eyes roaming over me from head to toe. Holding back a snarky remark, I press my lips together giving him no reaction.

Clenching my jaw, I looked him straight in the eye, "I'll go get you that refill then." Turning on my heel, I head towards the counter at the front of the diner.

A year ago, I wouldn't have been as cautious, but I can't afford to lose this job. Getting through college has been my primary focus and a little slip my tongue will cost me everything.

I motion for Chelsea to return the glass to table 5, not in the mood to deal with whatever inappropriate comments from the stranger.

The next 3 hours drifted by slowly, the last customer had just left, the bell on the front door dinged at her departure. With a final swipe across the countertop, a sigh fell through my lips.