RENAISSANCE

8. Reprisals

Two days had passed since the incident, and my only wish was to never again cross paths with that psychopath. The fear that had gripped my stomach was a sensation I never wanted to experience again. His eyes continued to haunt my thoughts as I struggled to escape them like the plague.

I remember staying awake all night, sitting on the edge of my bed, listening to every little noise, every suspicious creak, fearing that he might come back. The following morning, my eyelids were heavy, my eyes red from lack of sleep. I had become paranoid because of him.

That evening, I had gone to bed, but the sheets were impregnated with his scent, so I got up to sleep on the couch. I was irritated; I wanted nothing that could remind me of his presence here, however brief it had been. I wanted to forget everything and pretend nothing had ever happened.

The next day, I washed the sheets. There was nothing left to remind me of his horrible presence in my life.

Out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly saw Carlos, my boss, coming toward me.

Seeing him descend from his office was already an event in itself. Carlos was an imposing man, with a presence that filled the entire room when he entered. His face, usually furrowed with lines of fatigue and frustration, seemed even more closed off today. He rarely worked the same hours as me, usually spending his time upstairs in his office during Anne's shift. On those rare occasions, I could hear him mostly shouting Mexican curses or complaining about wanting to return to his home country.

I hoped he wasn't coming to tell me what I dreaded most, even though deep down I knew it was inevitable.

Fear rose within me, insidious and relentless. I tried to concentrate on my tasks, pretending to count the empty cash register, but the anticipation of this imminent conversation overwhelmed me more and more. Every passing second felt endless, as if time had frozen in a heavy, consequence-laden atmosphere.

"Hey, I need to talk to you, Isabella."

When he finally reached me, I looked up to meet his gaze. He wasn't one to use unnecessary words. His hard and resolute look left no room for doubt. I saw in his eyes a combination of compassion and resignation, which only heightened my unease. I knew the words were about to fall.

"I can't afford to pay your salary anymore, kid. I'm sorry."

There it was. It was just a small sentence, and he didn't need to say more, really.

The impact of those words hit me like a slap. Everything I had feared was finally coming true. My thoughts swirled as I tried to understand how I was going to get by now.

"I'm sorry." Yet there wasn't a hint of regret or pity for me. But he was right, after all; why should he care if I ended up with nothing? He was in trouble himself, and worrying about a kid like me was the least of his concerns right now. In this world, it was every man for himself. That's how it is.

I didn't say anything in response, as no words could come out of my mouth. And what could I say, anyway?

I could see in his eyes that he had already said too much for his liking. Carlos was not a man of feelings, and compassion was not part of his daily vocabulary. He turned on his heel without waiting for a response or reaction from me and went back to burying his nose in his affairs. For him, it was a done deal. For me, it was the start of new troubles.

The rest of the day passed in a kind of blurry haze. Customers came and went, but I didn't really see them. My actions were mechanical, repetitive, devoid of any emotion. On one hand, I had expected it; on the other, I thought it would hit me much later, not so suddenly. I wanted to rejoice at finally quitting this lousy job, but I couldn't. Because now, I had nothing.