All Yours

I

AURORA

God, what a grueling day. You'd think working at a bustling café wouldn't be the most taxing job in the world, but you couldn't be more mistaken. The relentless pace, the constant clinking dishes, and the endless stream of demanding customers—it's enough to drive anyone mad.

Then there's my boss, a condescending tyrant who looms over my shoulder like a shadow, scrutinizing my every move. My coworkers aren't much better—walking, talking frustrations with all the warmth of an ice storm. It's been two years of this misery, and yet, despite my loyalty and hard work, a raise remains out of reach. The only offer? An unspeakable one—if I slept with him.

Quitting sounds like a dream, but in a city as merciless as New York, where jobs are as elusive as moments of peace, I can't afford to leave. Not yet.

As I near the end of my shift, I restlessly tap my fingers against the counter, the monotonous rhythm a desperate attempt to ward off my exhaustion. My thoughts drift until a sudden clearing of a throat pulls me back. I snap my gaze forward, startled, and meet a pair of eyes unlike any I've ever seen—swirls of deep green and shimmering gold, blending into a mesmerizing shade of hazel that renders me momentarily speechless.

"Oh... hi! What can I get started for you?" I manage, slipping into my polite, well-rehearsed demeanor.

"I'll have the turkey pesto sandwich on sourdough and a bowl of broccoli cheddar soup," he says hurriedly, as though time itself were chasing him.

"Sure, I'll get that out as soon as possible." My curiosity lingers as I watch him. Who comes to a café and doesn't order coffee? Strange.

He strides to the self-serve bar, pouring water into two cups before heading toward the dining area. He joins another man already seated at a booth, his back to me. This second man is striking even from a distance—his white dress shirt clings to a sculpted back that practically radiates strength, and dark tattoos creep up his neck like ivy. His black gelled hair, cropped yet long enough to tousle, gleams under the café's dim lighting.

The first man catches me staring and smirks knowingly, leaning closer to his companion as though to share my embarrassment. My cheeks flush crimson, and I quickly avert my gaze, grateful for the distraction of another customer entering the café.

~~

Finally, my shift ends, and I collapse onto my living room couch with a weary sigh, the day's frustrations melting away as I sink into the worn cushions. The TV flickers to life with the push of a button, the remote an extension of my hand after so many nights of this routine.

I glance out the sliding glass door that opens to the forest beyond my house, but the glare from inside obscures the view. The absence of curtains—a mistake I keep meaning to rectify—only adds to my unease.

My house is tucked away at the edge of a sprawling forest, the kind of place that promises solitude but also fosters the unnerving silence of isolation. During the day, the trees are a comforting barrier, but at night, they transform into a shadowy abyss.

The atmosphere shifts suddenly, a subtle yet unmistakable change that prickles my nerves. I glance around the room, my eyes darting to every corner as if expecting something—or someone—to appear. Nothing.

Just my overactive imagination, I tell myself. Still, I can't shake the creeping sensation, like unseen eyes are watching from the darkness.

A flicker of movement catches my attention. My gaze snaps to the glass door, focusing on the forest's edge where something—a shadow, a figure, maybe just a trick of the light—seems to stir. My pulse quickens.

And then, a thunderous thud shatters the stillness, a noise so loud it reverberates through the quiet night like a car door slamming shut. Panic blooms in my chest.

I hastily turn off the TV and lights, clutching my blanket like a shield as I retreat upstairs with a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in hand, my comfort in this unraveling nightmare. I slam my bedroom door shut and lock it, my heart pounding like a drumbeat in my ears.

I sit frozen under the covers, straining to hear any follow-up sound, but an eerie silence blankets the house. Just when I begin to convince myself it's nothing, I cautiously peek out my window, which overlooks the narrow road back to town. The headlights of a mail truck pierce the darkness as the driver slams his door and drives off.

Relief floods through me, but it's fleeting. Dropping off mail this late? Highly unusual. My mind races, trying to piece together a logical explanation, but deep down, a gnawing dread takes root. Something feels off. I close the window, lock it tight, and bury myself deeper under the covers, hoping the night passes without further incident.

~~

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