Mozzarella

♠ CHAPTER ONE ♠

Ella POV

I've always dreamed of being fired from my job.

Like they say, an unhappy working area won't ever do you good. And in those movies, when the main character quits, life suddenly becomes brighter. Dreaming about that at night gives me a sense of peace.

But when your stepmother is the boss of the business, it doesn't seem likely.

The long working hours she puts me through are tiring, and all the pastries baked each day just wears me out. My days consist of:

"Bake the cake."

"Make the dough."

And an occasional: "Crap, the cinnamon buns fell on the floor."

That's my life.

The only part of each day I look forward to is 10:00 pm sharp; the time I go to bed. Stars in the sky, silence in the air, and a good book in my hands.

So tell me, why is it goddamn 2:00 am in the morning and I'm at the corner store buying flour for tomorrow.

This place probably sells drugs instead of flour, because, for one thing, It looks as if the cashier could be my grandfather's pot dealer.

I'm harsh, okay?

At least the vicinity was organized. Drinks on one side and food on the other. A coffee machine in the corner and a register up front.

In the end of my little shopping spree, I place a can of soda, a magazine, and a pack of gum on the counter. The cashier- whose breath reeks of alcohol by the way- gives me the stank eye and groans.

"Is that all" He monotonically says.

Do I have everything? Oh wait.

"No, hold on." The cooking aisle only has one bag of flour left. Grabbing it, I thank the Lord for leaving the package for me because if not, I'd have to walk an extra mile to another market.

My worst mistake was sprinting back to the register.

Because one: I look like a dying flamingo when running,

And two: I spilled a plethora of flour on a customer in front of me.

Not just any customer, a customer in a tailored suit. Who the hell wears that in the middle of July. And because he's wearing a goddamn suit, he must be important.

"I'm so sorry sir. I-I didn't pay attention." How can I be so stupid? I seize a napkin from my coat pocket and desperately wipe off the powder

"This is a very expensive suit, I may say," He states, looking down at me with his black eyes.

"Then why the hell did you wear it." I retort, throwing the napkin away. The wiping didn't do any good, large white splotches covered the piece of clothing.

"Looks like it won't come off." He brushes the excess amount of flour elsewhere.

It's late and I'm tired. I don't really want to be dealing with this right now. "No shit Sherlocks."

"Then you will have to pay for this. It's approximately 2,654.89 dollars." He digs into his pockets and pulls out a notepad and pen. "This is my number. You have a month to pay me back or I'll call my lawyers."

Hell no.

"Excuse me, sir." I shouldn't even be calling him sir, he looks around my age. "But have you ever heard of a laundromat, or in other words, dry cleaning?"

"Yes, but making you pay sounds much more fun." With that, he leaves the store with a bag in hand.

No, I can't pay him back with the minimum wage I earn each month at the bakery! I practically live off of ramen noodles while the rest of my family eats lobster or pasta.

I quickly exit the store and look both ways. I catch sight of a male silhouette and begin to chase after him, only running half way before I halt and start panting.

There's nothing for me to do but watch as he walks out of my sight.

Gone.

➵ ➵ ➵

Currently, I am eating noodles from a teacup as I internally cry from thinking about how empty my wallet will be in a month.

Nine out of ten would recommend to never go out in public again.

After the little incident at the store, I didn't even bother walking to another store in order to buy more flour. Step-Mom will definitely yell at me tomorrow morning.

I'm worrying too much. The guy doesn't even know my name, so how can he even find me. No sweat.

I tiptoe to my twin sized bed, careful not to make a sound in order to not wake up my stepsisters and stepmother.

It's been a long day, and all I could think about was the feeling of a pillow against my head. Adjusting my blanket, I drift into a land of serenity.

Only to once again be woken up four hours later by the sound of a newspaper thrown against my window.

Goddamn.