Washing dishes proved to be just as boring as one would think. A week went by and Clara had to invent ways of entertaining herself as she scrubbed the grease off with a sponge, the blistering water making her hands numb. She would sometimes count the endless amount of suds, or even sometimes watch the clock to time how long it took her to rinse a plate clean, and then try to beat it on the next one. She also, inevitably, delved into her unwanted fantasies of the stranger who she had hit with her car.
That kept her very entertained.
It was a Thursday night, her shift lasting until eight in the evening, and the day had been unusually slow. She found herself actually wishing there were dirty dishes for her to clean, but unfortunately she had to just stand there against the counter, watching Janice as she gave orders to the other cooks. Clara sighed- a sigh that was sad and defeated- it was painful to watch them do the one thing she had loved since she was a little girl. It was unfair, knowing that if stupid Janice hadn't been such a bitch, that she would be stirring up a thing of batter or frying some trout. But of course, life was not so giving and Clara spent most of the time just standing there, staring at the wall, and attempting to not allow her thoughts stray to the pair of lips that looked the way a cherry tasted.
He was on her mind often. She thought of his deep voice and the way it seemed to vibrate throughout her body when he spoke, even though she only heard a few words from him. She thought of how he had been so stubborn about walking home in the freezing cold with his bloody ankle all twisted.
Clara wondered if he had taken care of it when he got home. Had he let it get worse? Was he still in pain, a week later? All because of her. . .
When the clock read half past eight, Clara untied the apron from her waist and hurried out to her car, her arms hugging her body to ward away the cold. She got in her car, the warm air enveloping her. As she drove, she came to an intersection where she would normally turn right on, the same way she did every day to get back home. However, she thought for a moment of turning the other way so she would be forced to drive down Melhive Street, knowing very well what took place there at nighttime...
~
Thursday nights were the nights when rarely anyone would fight Harry.
Thursday nights were the nights when his eyes were darker than usual, jaw set a bit tighter, and his fists clenched fiercer to the point that his short nails tore through the skin of his palms. Thursday nights were the one time when it was difficult for him to keep his face stoic; his anger was just too much to keep hidden behind a blank expression.
He approached the 'boss', a short man with a round belly and sharp hairs on his chin. Harry's hands were buried in the pockets of his black hoodie where his fingertips were mindlessly picking at the infected cuts on his knuckles.
"Anyone?" He glowered down at the man who had taken him in years ago. The relationship formed between the two of them was mutualistic; Harry got to fight, and Ray got eighty percent of the money. Harry would still show up even if he didn't get any of the money because the minute of numbness he got was worth more than anything.
He was growing more agitated with each second because he already knew tonight would be a no show, as it usually was. He still showed up, though, just in case an opportunity appeared. Harry needed to exert his anger on something or it would just stay bent up inside him, slowly eating away at his reserve. His biggest fear was that someday, not even fighting would be enough to escape from his overwhelming reality.
"No," Ray shook his head. The dying cigarette between his lips bobbed as he spoke, voice muffled. "I don't think there will be anyone tonight. Unless that idiot kid shows up." He snorted a laugh and then pinched the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, taking it away from his mouth long enough to blow out a puff of smoke which dissipated into the cold air. It had been two weeks now since Harry had beaten up the poor, arrogant teenager, but the reminiscence of it still lingered in everyone's mind.
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Till Dawn (HS)
Fanfiction"To have her in his bed, in his arms, with her breath on his neck and her hair tickling the corners of his mouth -- he was finally able to think of his life as not only just a dark hole of violence. Maybe, just maybe, his life could mean something m...
