Vermillion

49

Five years later

Circe woke up to the feeling of water dripping onto her forehead.

Her eyes squinted as she rubbed the wetness off of her head, sitting up in the bed and yawning tiredly.

She looked at the alarm clock beside her bed, cursing herself for sleeping in too late.

Today was another long shift at the diner, and she wasn't looking forward to it.

She could barely afford to pay rent, earning so little. She took whatever extra hours her boss offered her, no matter how tired she was, no matter how much rest she needed.

It was nearing her 30th birthday, and she didn't know how to feel.

What kind of thirty year old was single, in a shitty apartment and working a nine to one in the morning job?

An unaccomplished one for sure.

She missed the days of her past.

Not the days she was being tortured or beaten, or the days she spent after she left the Marchesi's stripping and selling her body for money.

She missed the days she was free to do what she wanted, the days she would go out on missions and fulfil her lust to kill.

The days she brought the weak to their knees, leaving them beg for her mercy.

She sighed, pouring herself a cup of coffee, leaving her damp, mouldy apartment without breakfast.

As soon as she stepped into the diner, she was bombarded with work. Mopping floors, cleaning tables, scrubbing pots, taking orders, serving food and organising bills.

She worked in both the kitchen and on the floor. Washing dishes, and waitressing.

The tips were always the same, ten dollars at most, fifteen if it was busy.

But the old diner in the dumps of New York City was overlooked by many, the only customers being locals, who couldn't afford tip on top of paying for their meal.

She smiled when the regulars came in, making friendly conversation about the weather, asking about their families and how they were doing.

She had grown to be quite familiar with the place, as much as she hated it there.

She was just finishing her shift, late at night, when she heard the bell ring from the door, a customer had just walked in.

"Sorry we're not serving anymore" she said tiredly, not turning to face the man who had just walked in.

"Not even a cup of coffee?" a familiar voice asked, and Circe halted in her steps.

She slowly turned around, having to double take before she believed he was really there.

"Ra-raffaele?" she asked, shocked that he had come to visit her.

She had known his location, and he had known hers. They had just never been able to bring themselves to reach out.

Circe had kept in contact with Ilaria and Fleur over the years, even meeting up a few times for a coffee or some lunch.

Fleur had never fully moved on from Kaia, deciding to stay single. She had meaningless hookups with random girls she met at bars, one night stands to keep her going, but she had never met anyone that compared to her angel.

Ilaria didn't like to talk about Mario, but Circe guessed they never ended up together. Maybe he was too late in realising she loved him? Or maybe he had never liked her in that way in the first place.