Ivy
Creed’s very angry gray eyes finally left mine, and I stumbled backward. I was having a hard time catching my breath as he stepped into my room, his rage radiating off of him like heat. He seemed to fill the whole space with his anger, forcing me harder against the wall. Those crazy eyes turned from me to his son’s, not softening a bit as they found him standing in the little kitchenette.
“Dad, look what I made!” Josh said, not wincing away from his father’s anger. Angry Dad must have been a way of life for Josh, making me feel incredibly sorry for him. I wished I had his nerve.
I was waiting for Creed to continue his rant, to yell and scream about putting his son’s life in danger some more, but to my surprise, the man’s face softened. Creed. His said his name was Creed. I stayed against the wall, watching the two of them carefully as Creed knelt down by his kid. “Eggs. That’s great kiddo. I didn't know you knew how to make eggs.”
“Ivy taught me!” Josh answered, sloppily scooping the eggs onto a plate and shoving at his father. “Eat it!”
Chuckling, Creed grabbed the plate. “Ivy just seems to be full of surprises, doesn’t she, Josh? Alright, kiddo. I’ll try them. Let’s eat, okay?”
I stared at the both of them, trying to decide if it was safe or if Creed was going to trash my motel room. But the two sat down at the tiny kitchenette table, Creed taking the bench and Josh taking the wobbly chair that was barely sturdy enough to hold his weight. It painted a quaint, domestic picture. The two of them sat at my table to eat, poking at the eggs with mismatched forks and pouring ketchup and salt over their food. They chewed like savages, with mouths open and shoulders hunched.
I didn’t quite know what to feel. Unhappy that a criminal and his child had taken over my living space. Burning with the knowledge that such a beautiful man was inside my home, eating the food I had cooked. He was stunning, and his son was shining like the sun rising after a week of rain. A mix of emotions filled my chest to near bursting as I slowly walked back into the kitchenette, grabbed my plate, and sat down at the other end of the bench, as far from Creed as I could manage. We ate in relative silence, the only sounds the smacking of their impolite, open-mouthed chewing.
Josh grinned at me, little bits of egg and ketchup dribbling down his chin. “I did good, didn’t I?” he asked his dad, those little chocolate eyes glowing.
Creed softened enough to actually smile at his kid. “You did good, Josh.”
After they left, there was finally quiet. I cleaned up the mess from cooking and eating as quickly as I could, barely able to keep my eyes open. I only had about seven hours left to clean up, sleep, and then shower, dress, and get to work. But to leave food about would bring tiny, unwelcome, six-legged visitors to my house, and I couldn’t bear the thought of them skittering around here while I slept.
I did manage to finally fall asleep, even after replaying breakfast with the neighbors over and over again in my head. It was nice, if a little nerve-wracking, to have visitors over for food. It almost made life feel normal again. Almost.
I wasn’t ready to wake when my alarm went off, blaring like a siren inside my room. I opened sticky eyes to the peachy-orange of the evening sky. Just another hour or two more and I would be set. Groaning, I forced myself to my feet. I did ten pushups, ten sit-ups, and ten jumping jacks, forcing my heart rate up to help wake my exhausted body. I drank the half of a leftover can of coffee from the fridge, but not even the kick of sugar and caffeine was helping.
Cursing under my breath, I slid into my still-dirty uniform, added a touch of perfume to help cover up the lingering scent of fried food, and went to work. The bus managed to get me there on time, despite heavy traffic. I slumped into work at 5:59 PM, mostly ready for my shift to start at six.
No one said anything to me as I stepped in the back, clocked in, and immediately slipped into work. Luckily for me, working at this dump of a diner every day for the last two months had been enough for me to pick up the intricacies of waiting. I could do most of my job on auto-pilot, which was good considering how very tired I was. I managed not to spill anything or mess up any orders too bad. The day was actually looking alright.
After an hour and a whole pot of free, watered-down coffee later, I was starting to feel like myself again. One of my first customers rejected a sandwich for having the wrong cheese, so I wolfed it down before anyone noticed. The food and the caffeine started to pick me up off of the floor, and I was feeling better.
The diner I worked in got really busy around the dinner hours; it filled to the brim with the poor looking for a sit-down place that didn’t cost more than a few bucks a person, just for a little bit of fun out after a long week of working two or more jobs. Most of the clients were kind; they knew how hard it was to get by on the nothing we all made. There was a kind of community here, a camaraderie as we all battled against the same beast: the poverty that loomed over every minute of our lives. Most couldn’t afford to leave big tips, but they gave what they could. And they shared in the wealth when they made a little extra than what they expected. I even received one tip of homemade jellies once, under the condition that I returned the jar when I was done.
Those were the decent sorts I waited on. Then there were the other kind.
My regulars came in, much to my chagrin. I was too tired to handle their flirting. Why did they have to be creepy about it? Why couldn’t they just keep their thoughts about my body and their hands to themselves? All five of them piled into a booth even though the booths were designed for four, so they could be in my section.
I could feel my shoulders tensing as they called out my name in synch, waving their hands frantically and waggling their eyebrows. Everything single one of the bastards looked me over in a way that made me wish I could go home and shower, but I didn’t let them know how much I hated it.
Resigned, I took a deep breath and headed over to their table. “Good evening, guys. Did you get menus?”
“We don’t need menus, sugar,” the greasy leader said, his eyes locked on my breasts. “I can see exactly what I want.”
I rolled my eyes. “Alright, Carl, keep it down,” I said, smiling to soften the less than nice way I was speaking to him.
It didn’t matter; not a single one of these assholes gave a damn about what I had said. I walked up to the front, grabbed five menus and handed them out to the boys. Not that they needed it; they must have memorized the menus by now. They came in here to bother me every damned day of the week.
Ignoring their roving eyes and piss-poor pick up lines, I brought them coffees and water, trying to avoid their groping hands. Charlie ordered first, his usual of eggs and bacon and toast. Charlie was the least rude of the five, and I smiled at him. Charlie looked like the kind of guy who drove a Mac truck cross-country for a living with his big, silvery Santa beard. He had watery blue eyes and skin like leather. And he was the best looking of the five. The others always looked dirty, their hair matted with grease and dirt. There were always black lines carved into their hands like they worked on cars for a living. And from the state of them, they wear their work clothes everywhere and never wash them.
I wanted to gag at the collective scent of oil and body odor that permeated the air around them. But instead I smiled, hoping against hope they would tip well. These men definitely were a little richer than my normal clients, and they occasionally felt “generous” enough to leave more than ten percent. I just had to keep them in a good mood.
Smiled. Flirted. Hid my wince. Made a joke. Winked suggestively. Made another joke. Kept smiling even though I wanted to gag.
All was going pretty well; they’d only managed to grab me twice and all five had the glassy-eyed look of contentment on their ugly faces. Until Creed walked in the damned door and ruined it.
The bells went off at the front of the restaurant, and the little fifteen-year-old hostess was missing again. Probably off trying to bum cigarettes off of the kitchen staff. I rolled my eyes, slipping to the front to grab a handful of menus. My heart flipped over in my chest as soon as I saw who was waiting there.
I cleared my throat, looking down at the floor so I wouldn’t have to see Creed’s steel-colored eyes. “How many?”
“Five,” he answered gruffly, the sound of his voice sending shivers from my shoulders down to my toes.
Grabbing five menus, I brought them over to the booth in the corner. It was the most comfortable of the booths in my section, and the only chairs that weren’t drenched in sunlight. I studied the five men, my eyes widening as I studied them. They all looked much like Creed usually did; leather-clad and gruff, tattooed and tough as nails. I had to swallow hard twice before I could manage to ask, “What would you gentlemen like to drink?”
“I’ll have a Coke, Ivy,” Creed asked. The other men seemed to defer to him, letting him lead and order first. It was like the pecking order inside of a pack of wolves. There was so much potential, violent energy in the room, I kind of felt a little like a child in a lion’s den.
Just as I finished taking the bikers’ drink orders, I could hear my regulars shouting from several tables down. “We’re starving, Ivy. Move that pretty ass to get our food now!” Carl snapped.
I wanted to punch him, hard. But I took a deep breath and smiled instead. “Your food isn’t up yet, Carl. I’ll get it to you as soon as they have a chance to cook it.” I sighed, then looked back down at Creed’s table. But much to my surprise, the five men weren’t looking at me; they were looking down the aisle at Carl and his four too-loud friends. “I’ll be just back with your drinks, gentlemen. Just as soon as I bring the baboons their food.” I smiled at the bikers, and they turned back to me, the tension broken at my little joke.
Creed was the only one who didn’t chuckle. The only one who kept his eyes locked on the other table of cretins. Not liking the way he was eyeing the other table, I decided to hurry away, aiming for the back counter, where I hoped that Carl and his buddies’ food was ready. It would be nice to have a moment of peace while they had their stupid mouths full of food.
Luck was with me, because their food was up. I loaded up my shoulder with a big tray and piled on all five of their plates before shuffling over to their table. I handed out all of their food, sliding each dish across the table with a deft flick of my wrist. I almost made it away from their table without incident.
Until Carl decided to drag me into his lap.
“Come on, pretty girl. We need some live entertainment while we eat.” I nearly dropped the tray as he swung me around, one hand on my ass and one on my waist as he held me prisoner against his dirty body. I squealed unhappily, nearly twisting my ankle as I tried desperately to stay upright.
Suddenly, I was being yanked away from Carl, and I nearly crashed into the table behind me. I glanced up just in time to watch Creed, who must have flown from his seat the moment Carl touched me, slam his tattooed fist into Carl’s ugly face. Everything seemed to slow down as blood spurted from Carl’s now-broken nose.
Then everything erupted into chaos.