Shattered

Hazel (e)

Hazel
2.
New York City was bigger than I could have imagined. Or maybe it's bigger because I've never been anywhere outside the confines of cornfields and endless colors of green and blue. Living on a big stretch of next to nothing for miles on end was an entirely different sight from the vast miles of skyscrapers and traffic that seemed to leer at me every which way I went.

At least cows didn't beep at me for missing my turn, and picking berries never hurt anyone.

The buildings, the traffic, the masses of people, the constant bright lights. It seemed this place never seemed to sleep. It seemed there was always something to look at, which made it nearly impossible to take in everything because something else was always catching my attention.

I nearly got trampled on a few times because it seemed no one here had any sense of the words 'excuse me,' or 'sorry.' There were hardly any people in the country, but I might as well be invisible to the mass crowds of New York City.

Mom warned me of the dangers of living in a big city, could hear her warning tone ringing through my head even still. And as I watched cars beep at pedestrians rather angrily, maybe mom's words weren't for nothing.

I had to physically crane my neck in order to reach the top of most buildings, dazzled with shiny ads of fancy faces and cars and whatnot.

This is crazy, I thought. But I was crazy for doing it. I haven't been here very long, but I was slowly but surely adjusting, albeit the rude people and chaotic traffic, I was loving my new home. My apartment was cozy, my new boss adored me. It seemed I was fitting in rather well.

Or at least, that was what I wanted to believe. The familiar tug of fear that filled me was a reminder of why I was in the city in the first place. This was what I always wanted. Right?

Someone beeped behind me, startling me away from my daze. Why had I driven? It seemed most people preferred to ride bikes or walk, and my apartment wasn't even far from where the coffee shop was located. Somehow though, a week in, and I still haven't managed to learn my lesson.

I pushed away the creeping thoughts as the local coffee shop came into view. The Daily Grind Coffeeshop & Co., nestled between two clothing stores was a tall, older building with large glass windows that looked out on the busy street. I stepped inside, greeted by the familiar coffee scent and the sound of hushed voices.

I knew only a little about coffee. The taste, the smells, the loud, complicated machines that could make about a hundred different flavors in the span of just minutes. This would just be a start until I found the one job I wanted. Thanks to mom and dad's country-club style restaurant, I realized I had a knack for the business world.

I was good at what I did, so it was only right that I followed in my parent's footsteps.

While I searched for a job, I would stick to being a barista.

When Christopher Riley hired me, he was rather reluctant. I assured him that I would be able to catch on quickly, and after a relatively successful training, I could tell Mr. Riley felt much better about having me on board.

"Hazel!" A familiar voice interrupted my thoughts. "Finally."

I glanced one last time around the mostly empty coffee shop before settling my gaze on Chase staring at me behind the counter.

The scrubby-haired, oddball of a guy that was my co-worker glanced over at me. I grabbed my orange apron, as if to distract myself from his stormy gray eyes. Chase was the one who suggested working at The Daily Grind, and as my apartment neighbor, I took his offer up and applied for the job.

He was the one reason I was beginning to second-guess this job.

By the looks, Chase had to be no older than the age of thirty, and once explained to me that he was on probation for "doing some bad things," as he ultimately put it, and that he couldn't leave for another year. It seemed to explain my growing unease quite a lot.

Mr. Riley assured me that Chase wasn't that bad of a guy when I came to him about my sketchy coworker. "He just needs to be looked after," he told me.

"You're on for the day tomorrow." Chase said.

"Why?" I watched him for a second, confusion morphing over my features.

"Boss let me take off just this one day. Said Jules would be able to cover for me."

"Oh. Okay." Is all I said. I was suddenly thankful for the customer that came to the counter.

In the short span of time that I've known Chase, I've come to realize it was best to steer clear. His presence didn't sit well with my stomach, and couldn't help but question Mr. Riley's words.

Whether a criminal or not, his easy demeanor and the way his eyes followed my movements, I was thankful to be working with Julia the next day. I noted in my head to remind Mr. Riley to change my schedule.

I liked this job, the simplicity of the workload would be just enough until I could find a real one, and the reason why I came to New York in the first place. That is, if I ever could make it that far.

For now, I could bear my coworker.

I go to take the customer's order. The familiar business suit and tie attire, eyes molded to his cellphone. A large latte with two shots of espresso.

The majority of customers seemed to be the ones headed to work. The fancy, business men and women with their unsmiling faces and Louis Vuitton purses. After seeing a handful of them more than once, in the span of a week, I eventually came to the conclusion that they that couldn't get through the day without their fix of caffeine.

I did my best not to stare too hard.

I'd never seen anybody so rich that they could come in multiple times a week, even a day. It made me wonder if I'd lived under a rock my entire life.

Mom and dad were pretty well off managing two, fairly well known restaurants, both places that served the locals of our suburban, Midwest town. A lot of the times, they served those who were coming from the city, those workers with high-end jobs and personalities that I was fairly certain got the better of mom and dad.

I glanced down at my attire, which surely wouldn't have made the cut for mom, especially not at a job like this. You're better than that, her sideways glances reminded me. But then there was Chase's sly gaze. The silky cream tank top made with only a ball of thread and swift fingers. The thrill I got from wearing my homemade clothes greatly outweighed Chase's wandering eyes, but I couldn't help but make a show of pulling the gray cardigan tighter over my shoulders. He looked away.

The day went by rather slowly, leaving me wondering when my shift would ever end. Chase had left to go home an hour ago, leaving me with only the company of the few remaining customers glued to computer screens.

By the time a new customer came in, there's only an hour left before closing. Startled, I set down my rag and looked up to find a man in a neatly pressed, navy blue suit coming toward me.

He looked no different than all the other remaining customers. Fancy suit, a focused, unbothered gaze. Unfriendly features. He screamed wealthy in every which direction.

But there was something else. That scar. At first, it startled me, but I found myself unable to look away. The ridged outline of raised flesh ran from the top of his right temple, and just barely touched the top of his neck. Although rather young looking, the man held such an air of poise that I found myself standing up straighter and even went so far as to pick off a piece of imaginary lint from my apron.

There was also something close to arrogance in his statute that screamed "stay away" rather boldly. Still, I couldn't help myself but stare as his eyes swept the menu above my head. Whatever it was, it wasn't exactly friendly.

Suddenly, cold green eyes met my stare, and I swore everything stopped. Definitely not friendly.

a/n - I apparently had no idea what I was doing at all when I first wrote this book, so it is currently being majorly edited. Some chapters might have some missing parts, but I'm working on fixing them
:)

(e) just means the chapter is edited