Lost in July

XV

Dedicating this chapter to all the American women & people affected by the Supreme Court's overruling of Roe v. Wade. Everyone should have the simple right to choose what they want to do with their bodies. I encourage you all to keep making your voices heard & fighting for your fundamental human rights.

With that said, thank you for reading. I hope this lets you escape reality for a bit. enjoy <3

Margo
~
Serving breakfast to patients might as well be a prison sentence.

I have never come across so many disrespectful people. Maybe it's just the anxiety and mental illness that is making everyone forget their manners, but fuck, I am pissed.

I'm about ready to smack someone with a pancake.

Is it bad that it makes me feel better that Collin is suffering the same fate?

He's beside me, making breakfast sandwiches while I serve the food from the cooks in the back.

Collin took the blame for the entire situation even though we really only chose the staircase so I could smoke a damn cigarette.

Now we're stuck on kitchen duty, serving a bunch of bratty patients and getting heckled by the chefs. (If you can even call them that).

"This sucks," I groan for the ninth time.

Collin looks at me unamused. "Say that one more time Margo and I swear, I'll throw a sausage patty at you."

I roll my eyes, flipping him off while I put two pancakes on the boy's tray in front of me.

Fuck. Now I'm out of pancakes.

I sigh heavily before dragging my feet to the back kitchen to ask the chef's for more pancakes.

Good old Chef is here today, he's in his thirties, definitely dilf material, and the only name he's ever given me was 'Chef.'

"Hey Chef," I greet, trying my best to be kind. I frequently get on his nerves and he frequently gets on mine. I used to sneak back here all the time when I was younger and more curious.

He looks back, his frown staying glued to his face. "What do you need now?" He grunts.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes in his face. "More pancakes, please."

"What're you, givin' 'em out for free?" His New York accent is highlighted with ever word, evidence of his tenure in the city. I'm guessing he is from the Bronx.

I scowl. "No. They're a popular breakfast item,"

"I'm grillin' here. Does this look like pancakes to you?"

"Jeez. You could've just said 'ask someone else, Margo.'"

"Go away kid, i'm busy."

Such a shame that all that muscular body and rustic facial hair goes to waste with a shitty personality.

I sigh and wander around the kitchen for a moment. Trying to spot the other chef.