My Fallen Angel | on hold

chapter 1

The diner was especially crowded tonight; every booth in sight was cluttered with plates and partnering people. Every now and then, a table would erupt in laughter or simply wave their hand for me to go over.

"Yes, Mr. Gregory," I said, exhausted. This was the third time he'd called me over. The first had been because his water had been warm. The second because I'd put too much ice in his glass. I so desperately wanted to tell him to shove his free water up his arse, but bit my tongue and slapped a smile on my painted lips.

The greying man with his renowned small hat, perched on his head, looked up at me from behind his glasses with a mix of boredom and like he was about to complain about yet another thing. The rectangular glass caught the ceiling light so that his clear blue eyes looked even more transparent.

"I'd like the bill."

I looked at the small plate that had been covered with the newspaper he was reading, ignoring the empty glass beside it. Restraining a sigh, I retrieved the machine and handed him the receipt. He always insisted on keeping the receipts, even if the total was a mere $4 like it was then.

He got up, leaving his chair out, and walked out the door. I glared at his brown coat, hoping he'd just stop with the antics, or better yet, stop coming at all.

"Charlie again?" My accompany waitress asked, examining her red nail polish from a stool behind the counter. Her apron was still on, but I knew she'd clocked off long ago.

"Yeah," I sighed, putting a plate on the side. "I don't know what I expect, though. He doesn't particularly like 'young people.' He made that very clear." I rid my thoughts of the grumpy, old man and instead asked, "How long do we have?"

"Half an hour."

The half an hour dragged on. Amidst clearing tables and handing napkins to clumsy children, whilst having to clear up their mess, I could feel the tiredness settle into my bones. I wiped the sheen of sweat from my forehead.

The previous night, I'd barely slept- too busy trying to keep my lunatic of an aunt from doing something she may not regret, but would certainly get a mark on her criminal record for. Babybel was the only living thing left of her mother and had been a constant support during her younger years, especially. Now, it was no longer the forty-year-old handing me a packed lunch, but me unloading a bag of weapons from her trunk.

The tables had begun clearing when the bell 'ting'ed. It was nearing the end of her shift, so I grinned at the sight of my slightly roguish-looking friends. They settled themselves in their accustomed booth in the corner and began talking, animatedly.

"Elia, tell him that Sam Smith is British," the Korean girl with dark hair and equally dark eyeliner said, pointing to her twin brother across the table.

"He's British. Sorry, Ben."

Clara grinned, triumphantly, at her brother.

They continued to bicker as I gratefully seated myself in the gap they'd made for me on the plush, red seats.

There were five of us altogether.

Marissa sat in the corner, her ebony hair in stark contrast to her pale skin and blue eyes, a book in hand. She barely looked up when anyone spoke, too engrossed in whatever she was reading.

A laugh broke free from the table, rumbling through me. Felix's dirty blonde hair bounced as his head tipped back in laughter. His green eyes were ablaze with amusement as he listened to the girl in front of him.

"Please tell me you stopped whatever your aunt was planning last night," Ben said, having turned his attention to me when his sister launched into a conversation with Felix. "She put it all over Facebook."

I cringed at the memory of last night, of having to tear the hatchet out of my doting aunt's hands and having to hide her car keys. I shoved a dark tendril away from my face.

"Yeah, it was one of her boyfriends."

That was answer enough for the four of them that had put their attention on me.

Babybel was one of those types of women that spent their time being completely independent, but along the way, had a string of guys after them. She would date a little chaotically and usually without too many feelings. Except this one guy decided to disrespect her in the form of sleeping with someone else. Safe to say, she went ballistic.

"Which one was it?" Marissa asked, finally having torn her eyes away from the page.

"Peter?"

"Andrew?"

"Ryan?"

I paused for a moment, trying to remember.

"I think it was David."

"Big, ginger guy?" Ben asked.

"No, that's Andrew," Clara said. "The one with the wolf tattoo on his thigh?"

"No," Felix chipped in. "That's Ryan."

My face scrunched up as I remembered what I'd told them when he'd first come onto the scene and how we now distinguished him. I told them, "His hoo-ha is no longer hoo but kinda eh."

"Ah yes," Ben said, putting his hands on the table like he was some kind of evil mastermind. "The erection guy."

"Or lack of."

"Anyway," I said. I needed to divert the conversation elsewhere if I wanted to keep my lunch down. "What's this I've been hearing about a party?"

Clara was the first to jump into it. "It's Declan's lot."

'Declan's lot' was basically the gang down the road. They weren't too threatening, but our gang, the Vipers, had formed an alliance anyway, just to be on the safe side. They seemed to throw the best parties, so it wasn't exactly wasted effort.

At a glance of the clock, I motioned for the group of them to leave and they all agreed. I was glad to be out of the stuffy, almost mundane diner.

The brisk hair clipped our faces as it scurried through the deserted streets. Marissa pulled her leather jacket so it was more clung more snugly to her chest and the rest of us followed suit. I watched as Clara wound her scarf back around her neck, jealous that I hadn't thought of bringing my own.

"Oh," Felix said, almost surprised at himself for remembering it, as we were about to part ways. "Your dad wants to talk with you."

This couldn't be good.