Two Edges of One Sword (Carlisle Cullen/Reader/Charlie Swan)

VI

The bell chimes when the door slams closed again.

"Come right in, sit anywhere you'd like–!" Your body swipes past the couple that had just walked in and you nearly slam the two steamy plates onto the table down the aisle. "And we've got that for ya, anything we're missing?" The people in the booth shake their heads, unanimous 'no's and 'thank you's bouncing back and forth. You barely take the time to register what they had said and race back to the bar, scrambling to crawl underneath the counter to grab more menus.

"Get seated!" You wave an arm above your head, signaling to whomever else on the other side. You can barely hear your own voice, it's immediately drowned out along with the cacophonic ambience of everyone else's conversations, all at once. Your body shoots back up from the ground and you're shuffling the menus in your hands, trying to organize them neatly.

Fuck! It's always hopping at noon! A part of you almost found working at the café endearing, yet at times it proved to be exhausting. You couldn't tell what it was, but today seemed to be even busier than usual. People were coming in as fast as they were leaving. Booths were somehow staying full after the food had come and gone. It wasn't even three hours into your shift yet and your heels were already throbbing from running around so much, filling up coffee pots, taking pastries out of the oven, grabbing dirty dishes and wiping tables. Your poor coworker had been behind the grill, in the sweltering heat, for hours now. And it was still only noon.

You wondered if this shift wouldn't have been as overwhelming if you and your Mom's conversation from last night wasn't bouncing back and forth in your head. Normally you could tank hours like these, no questions asked, yet it was like you could still hear her words crystal-clearly, almost like she had been waltzing up and down these aisles with you. You swipe at a bead of sweat that had begun to pool at your bruised-brow, trying to think back to last night.

–

"And I'm sure you'd like to explain where you've been??" She almost shoves the rigid-feeling washcloth deeper into your eye. The blood in your face begins to pulse under the pressure and you wiggle out from under her hold.

"Get off me, Mom, stop," your hands rise to the level of your eyes when you signal her to back off, "a lot happened tonight and you're not helping."

"A lot?" Your Mom's body seems to freeze at the connotation. "(Name), you walked in with an eye blacker than soot. Where the hell were you?"

"Work," your arms fly into the air for a moment. You weren't lying. "I was at work."

"This happened at the café??" Her face scrunches up and your ears pick up on the recoil in her voice. "You're kidding."

"No. I'm not." Interestingly enough, there isn't a pathetic tone to your voice. "It's not gonna happen again, you don't gotta–"

"You still have yet to explain to me what exactly it was that 'happened'." Her face stares into yours, almost as if it was made of stone. The stoic look she's giving you nearly sends chills down your spine. You swallow and your eyes fall to the ground, struggling to find exactly what to say. The silence twists around the space, reaching every level of discomfort in you.

"I... I don't..." the courage you had found only moments before had been completely wiped. You fiddle with your fingers into each palm of your hand. Your brain cycles through a million different images of the night in your head, trying to figure out where exactly to start. The stillness bounces back and forth between you two for a while.

"If you don't want to say anything," it seems like ages when your Mom finally speaks again, "that's fine. But if you're not gonna tell me, then," it's her turn to look down as well and she places her hands neatly into her lap, "(Name), I don't think you should work at the café anymore."