Just Him&I: In a Universe of Cruelty

Part 7

The workday was coming to an end. I was absentmindedly cleaning one of the tables, where a drunken customer had made a mess. This wasn't how I had imagined my first day at work.
He had burst in like thunder out of a clear sky, started shouting, throwing everything in his path. Then he yelled something about the bartender and almost punched him in the face, as he put it. A woman took the unfortunate man away; honestly, I wouldn't have kept my cool, but I didn't need any trouble right now. The job was good—nothing difficult, and the pay was average, which suited me.
Tired, I rubbed my forehead and continued wiping the wine off the table. My hands trembled slightly from the force of my actions.
Ernest, with a calm face, was picking up the glass from the floor. It seemed like she had seen this many times before. Maybe she just didn't think about what it could lead to.
Jean was cleaning the coffee machine and carefully wiping the glasses.
His short hair fell in small strands over his forehead. I had already finished wiping the tables. The manager had left long ago, so we were closing the shift ourselves.
The city was enveloped in dense, consuming darkness, as if it was swallowing it with long, greedy fingers.

— Girls, I'm off, you'll lock up! — Jean shouted, tapping his fingers against his temple. I lifted my head to look at him, rubbing the back of my neck and breathing in deeply. He winked at me and smiled.
I was a bit bewildered by his actions. So, I just nodded. I didn't know how to respond to his attentions—first the hand kiss, then all those smiles throughout the day. I had noticed it often.
I felt genuinely uncomfortable, and I wouldn't be afraid to say even unpleasant. He was good-looking, well-read, and capable. He could joke at the right moment, tease in a way that made us both laugh. But I didn't see him as a boyfriend. He seemed kind of odd, and not in any specific situation—there was just something about him that pushed me away, maybe the fact that he was showing too much interest in me. I'm not sure exactly, but I felt it. And up until today, my intuition hadn't let me down.

— Well, girl, you're in trouble — Ernest's face showed a grimace of surprise and sympathy. She smiled slightly and continued sweeping up the pieces of the broken glass, worth 15.21 RON*.
Not too expensive, but the woman argued that she wouldn't pay for it. She screamed like a madwoman throughout the café, threatening to sue us, saying we'd be sweeping floors in public restrooms, all while dragging her husband by the arm. In the end, we managed to get the miserable money from her. And with a bang, she slammed the door on her way out.
Муж и жена — одна сатана! as the saying goes.

— What do you mean? — I asked in surprise, lifting my head and sitting down on the chair nearby, pressing the back of my cold hand to my forehead to calm down. Our chef, Vivienne, had long been home. Mostly, in the evenings, customers ordered snacks, so she would come to work at 10:00 AM and leave at 7:00 PM, after preparing the food. The hot dishes just needed to be reheated, in case. She wasn't very talkative, but I hadn't noticed any malice or aggression—calm and without unnecessary fuss. That's what I liked about her, unlike Ernest, who never stopped chatting. Sometimes it annoyed me, but I wasn't angry at her. This chattering was about a customer—some handsome guy, as she called him. But I didn't pay any attention to them.

— Well, he's got a thing for you! You can tell by the way he treats you. Didn't you notice?! — she practically shouted, and I gently covered her mouth to make her a bit quieter.

— I've noticed, but he's not my type. Honestly, he confuses me a bit. — I looked at her, and she nodded in understanding. It seemed like she agreed with me.

— I agree with that. He's definitely strange. But he's a very good and kind guy. He often flirts with female customers, and it helps our stats—not a bad thing for our café. We've worked together for about three years. When I started, he was already working here, and honestly, nothing has changed since then. But this is a completely different situation. Maybe just give it a try; no one's asking you to marry him. — I closed my eyes and just listened to her talk, which had dragged on for far too long. Honestly, I was just pretending to listen—my head already hurt, and my temples were throbbing. I wasn't interested in the conversation at all, so I just let her vent. Everything had been cleaned up, but we were still sitting there, and I was lost in my own thoughts.

My phone had died, and I was walking in complete silence. Every now and then, stepping on dry, yellowed leaves that spiraled down the street due to the strong wind.
Buses had long stopped running, and I couldn't afford to call a taxi. It seemed like no one was outside, as if something had scared everyone, and they had locked themselves at home, watching a movie with a cup of tea.
I wanted to get home as quickly as possible and finally lie down. It would take me about 30 minutes to get there. I didn't even notice how I started thinking about what James might be doing. Maybe he had gone to some bar, drinking the cheapest beer, or maybe he was waiting for me at home. Or maybe he wasn't thinking about me at all. Which I take into account—I'm nothing to him, so there's no reason for him to worry. We've only known each other for a few days, and I'm staying with him for an indefinite amount of time.
The road was lit only by old streetlights, casting large shadows like tentacles on the ground. I wasn't scared, but I felt a bit tense, as if something terrible was about to happen. My heart skipped a painful beat, and I tightened my grip, pulling my keys from my pocket as a form of self-defense. I tried to calm myself, but panic was rising in my throat like poison, strangling and tickling it with icy, long hands.
My brain was signaling danger, sending the appropriate signals.

"Run! Run!"

I was thinking to myself, but I didn't pick up my pace at all. Fear had shackled my legs and arms like a hostage. I knew this wasn't just some guy who didn't have enough for his next dose. He'd distract me by asking for the time, and then, when I stopped looking at him, he'd hit me with something heavy and take everything from my pockets. No—this was a real threat, and if I didn't speed up now, the end would come very quickly.
The footsteps were loud and distinct, as if there were more than one person. I turned into a dark alley, and he followed, waiting for this moment—my biggest mistake.
His footsteps quickened, and so did my pulse.

"Hit first!"

I wanted to swing, but my hand was intercepted. He expertly pinned me to the wall, and I felt a dull pain at the back of my head. I closed my eyes for a few seconds and hissed, then finally decided to look at my pursuer.
But instead of a face, I saw a mask—a black mask smeared with white paint, as if someone had taken a brush and painted it chaotically. He wore a heavy bulletproof vest and a complex tactical uniform from some agency I couldn't recognize. Maybe he didn't belong to an agency at all—maybe he worked alone. Heavy boots and several knives strapped across his uniform. He pressed one of them to my neck, painfully digging in, leaving a small scar.
Through the mask, I could only see angry, furrowed, brown eyes and nothing else. He pressed his entire body against me, not allowing me even a breath of air. The key had long fallen from my hands with a clattering sound.

— Miss me, sweetheart? — he asked, with a certain joy in his voice. I couldn't see it, but I could feel his lips stretch into a deadly smile. It was pure English without the slightest Romanian accent.

*
15.21 RON - 3.19 USD