I Adore You [CURRENTLY IN REWRITING]

I

Hellloooo

first chapter

rewritten!

I sighed. I fucking hate my job. Should've gone to college. I thought to myself. I didn't go to college because I am broke. Simple. I'm broke as shit. Now I'm working a job I fucking hate in the middle of a ghetto nowhere.

"Adore, we have an order on table four. Get your arse up." My manager yelled.

I groaned, putting my skates back on. I work in a place just like Hooters, except we wear skirts and skates because, in my manager's words, 'the men need more access to your arses!'

After about five more hours, my shift was done, and I was cleaning up. I'm working minimum wage. I'm not about to clean like I'm happy with this job.

No friends here.

No respectable people here.

I sighed, nodding to myself when I finished cleaning.

Good enough.

I went to the back to talk to the manager about my paycheck but paused when I heard a different person talking. Not the annoying fake accent. It was another accent, barely there but still there.

I tiptoed and peeked slowly to see what was going on.

"P–please, Mr. Günther, I'll have your money soon, promise." My manager quivered behind his desk as a man dressed in a white dress shirt tucked into black dress pants propped his legs up on the desk. He was...huge. The office looked smaller with him inside.

He smirked, his tattooed hand rubbing his blonde beard. "Was that not what you said six months ago?"

"Ok, ok, you can take collateral from me until I can pay. One of my girls is still working. She's beautiful, plump, and quiet."

I almost made a sound. That son of bitch.

The man, Mr. Günther, stood up, his men behind him pulling out their guns. "No, it's ok." He stopped them. He didn't seem too mad. He seemed pretty joyful, actually. He pulled out his own gun. "I don't take collateral," he shrugged. "Waste of time," he said before shooting my manager straight through the head–luckily, I closed my eyes, but then I opened them back up as soon as loud gunshot noise rested.

I gasped when I saw the body–the blood.

Dumb bitch.

He looked at me, and I didn't wait to decipher his look. I started running. I didn't look back. I didn't care that I couldn't hear footsteps. I ran until my throat started to hurt, and I couldn't breathe without my chest hurting. I made it to my doorstep and looked behind me.

No one. They can't catch me. Nope.

Fuck.

Yup, that's my sign. I'm quitting my job. I'm definitely not going back. I think I saved myself some of the trauma by closing my eyes, but I still gasped and looked at my manager's dead body and that fine-ass man.

I couldn't care less about my manager, but oh my god, this is going to stain a little. "Fuck,"

I called my friend, Samantha. "Hello–?"

"Samantha, tomorrow, before work, I need you to meet me in the cafe. Please. It's urgent!"

Samantha laughed. "Ok, ok. I know you found a new man, though. Nothing new."