We're not really strangers, are we?

1

We're not really strangers, are we? I say to myself as I stand over your grave, wondering where it all went wrong for you to be there. You said forever, but as I placed the flowers next to the tombstone before me, I knew you were lying. People will never know what we had, because they never knew about us, did they?

Another day at the cafe, wiping the stained tables, scrubbing the life out of them in an attempt to make them look brand new again. It never works, but Jenny insists that I do it because 'it is my job.' Which yes, is true in some sense, but if the stains are never going to come off is there any point, right? I pick up the spray bleach and wipe until the table colour starts to fade into a once cream to white colour.

"What are you doing?" A deep husky voice comes from behind me. I jump up from the table and pick up my toiletries before turning to the person before me. It's practically closing time and no one ever comes in here when I'm working late.

"I- urm- well I was-"

"-This table is mine," The man rudely interrupts me before giving me a sadistic smirk. His dark brown curls droop in front of his eyes so it is basically impossible to see what he looks like. Whoever he is, you can tell he was angry. His jaw becomes more defined as I stare him down before stepping away from the table.

"Well sir, I believe it isn't actually your table as you didn't exactly pay for it, besides I was only cleaning it."

"Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but you see that sign there," He points towards the table to show me the message: Reserved plastered onto a clean white sheet of paper. How I didn't see it there I really could not tell you, but it was there, as clear as day.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry, if you would like to take a seat and I will-"

"- I know what to do," He cuts me off again before slouching down into the booth. I shake my head before walking over to the counter and sitting behind it. It's a pretty average evening here, no one really comes here when the sun goes down, it's like a ghost cafe. We really have no business being open till 10pm at night but whatever the boss says right? To be fair, this rude boy, who is most likely my age, sits in 'his' booth alone at 9:00pm, so maybe there is a reason for being open so late.

"Excuse me?" I hear his voice call over from his booth. I tilt my head up and start to walk over to his booth from the till before he quickly puts his hand up and stands up. "No need to move, I was just going to say I am going to go to the toilet then I'll order. Alright?" He asks with a sense of urgency in his voice. I raise an eyebrow and nod before smiling, almost questioning why he all of a sudden sounded so urgent to get to the bathroom.

I pick up my cleaning supplies and shove them into a draw underneath the till, deciding that I have cleaned enough for tonight. It is only the boy who is in the bathroom, and I guarantee he will not be making a mess. He doesn't look like the type to-

"Put your hands up right fucking now! Open the till!" A masked man suddenly burst through the entrance with a gun wavering in his hands, pointing it straight at me. I throw my hands up and look at him, not saying a word. Does he want me to put my hands up or open the till? Either way, I already know how this will end, probably dead. I should sound more worried, because I am, but words cannot describe how you feel when you are looking down the barrel of a gun, but I can't say that it is the first time. "Are you the only one here?" I carefully skimmed my eyes to the booth that the man was in to see if he had left anything: a coat, a bag, but nothing. This will be my chance.

"No- no it's just me here," I say, keeping eye contact with him. Eye contact is important when having to lie to someone you don't know. If your eyes flicker about the place, they'll know that you are lying, that's just basic knowledge really.