The Merciless (h.s.)

Chapter Three

Arabella

I started working at The Cedar Garden when I was twelve. It was only on Sunday's or Mother's day or Father's day, our busiest days, and I was just supposed to be in the back to help wash dishes. My dad was having a hard time hiring a dishwasher, and my grandfather was too slow no matter how fast he went, bless his soul. Sometimes my mom would be able to hold herself together long enough to show her face to the dining room, maybe even help the hostess a little bit. Most of the time, she sat upstairs in the office alone with a bottle of wine.

It wasn't until a couple of years ago, after the incident, my dad let me work as a waitress. I had been asking for about a year before hand, but he kept going on and on about how I was too young and how I have to focus on school and if I needed money I could just come to him...blah blah blah. But after it all happened, he felt he had no choice, but of course he would never tell me that. But, I knew. The way my mother handled life was so unhealthy it eventually overcame her, and he couldn't let that happen to me. Im destined for the same outcome.

There were a couple regulars that always caught my eye. There was always this one woman who would come in about six at night for dinner, and stay in her small booth by the window all the way until closing time at nine. She would order between the same three things on the different occasions that she came: a small tabouli with boneless chicken on top, a bowl of lemon rice soup, or an order of just warmed pita bread with an arrangement of dips. She would always ask for an iced tea with no lemon, and an extra glass filled with ice. Every single time she came in, she showed herself to her booth, and would wait for me patiently. Every single time I arrived to her table, she would tell me how Spanish I looked and reminisce on her vacation in Mexico when she was younger. I never had the heart to tell her I wasn't Spanish.

There was another regular, a man named Bob, who would always sit at the counter that overlooked the kitchen. He always changed it up, his food varying on his mood for the day. He had a couple missing teeth, so he stayed away from the crunchy foods like the stuffed pies, sambosa, and anything that had almonds in it. He was never really a talker, but he did make sure to introduce himself to me and call me beautiful on every occasion he came. He always stared a little too long. My father didn't like that, and neither did I. The feeling that someone's eyes are poking right into every part of you that they shouldn't is unmatched when it comes to discomfort. Especially that inkling that they are all for the wrong reasons, slowly undressing me with their eyes.

I can feel it right now.

I made it off the dock, and onto the sidewalk that leads away from the peer and back towards the city. The music is faint behind me, my feet no longer trampling from the bass vibrations, and ahead of me all I can hear are cricket chirps and promising city noises. My vision is still trying to get used to not seeing flashing lights and complete darkness, and my feet can't seem to remember how to properly walk without conveying I'm intoxicated to some extent.

I should have brought my phone or my purse or stuffed some money on me somewhere, or something. Why didn't I bring my phone? I should have been prepared for a scenario where I am abandoned in a city I literally just got to and clueless as to where I am or how to get around. My father would absolutely murder me if he found out that I was walking out here all alone with nothing. Not to mention, it's freezing. The liquor in my bloodstream isn't keeping me warm anymore. I should have brought a coat.

My anxieties heighten whenever I pass another lone figure or group passing by, or even whenever I see headlights. All different kinds of cars are lined up on either side of the road. I contemplate asking for a ride from someone coming back to their car, but I also can't stop thinking about how odd that might come across as. That also might not be the smartest idea, and I don't have any money to offer. I just have to keep walking. I don't know where my dorm even is located from here or how to get there, but I have to find a way. Maybe I can find a cab and tell the driver to wait outside while I grab money from my room. There has to be a cab roaming around this neighborhood somewhere.