Normal.

"You know what I hate doing?"

You know what I hate doing? 

Work. 

You know what I have to do?

Work. 

The kitchen of the five star restaurant does not have any ventilation. Well as far as I can tell it doesn't, but then again I'm the only one sweating freaking bullets of here. So I guess it's just me. 

"Lola, please tell me table four's order." The chef behind the counter said shufling around vegetables. 

"Corn hash and steak for everyone at a table of six." I told Stacey, the chef, also my best friend. 

"Lola, table six needs to be cleaned." John, one of the other servers informed me about my now empty table. 

"Got it." I told him pushing the cleaning cart out the door. 

"Excuse me miss, can I have some more napkins?" A lady asked me at table twelve. 

"Yes ma'am." I said placing a stack of napkins on her table. She said her thanks as I continued down the aisle. 

"The cheep scum." I mumbled to myself as I cleared off table six; picking up my tip, which was only ten dollars. I was starting to regret the many stops I made, just to pour him some water. I knew I should have spit in the pricks food. 

I quickly returned to the kitchen so I could take my last table for the night and go home. 

"Table four is ready!" Sasha shouted just as I pushed the cart back in the kitchen. 

"Got it!" I shouted back to her taking the tray with identical plates. I already loathed the man who ordered for everyone, because he was an ass. 

That table ate quickly, thank god, and because the asses ego was all high and mighty he left a good tip. Which I am not complaining about. 

"All right Stacey, I'm outta here see you at the house." I tell her when I go to hang my apron up. 

"Cool, can you feed tofu for me?" She asked as I walked out the kitchen. I threw her two thumbs up so she knew I heard her. I walked past tables and said goodnight to my coworkers; I twirled my keys in my hand as I walked out the restaurant. 

Unforutnatly for me, the boss man makes us park our cars as far as possible from the restaraunt. Do you know that feeling you get when someone's following you and you can't help but think of death? Yeah, well that's how I felt right now. My head wouldn't stop playing all the bad scenes from scary movies to me, so I was more than freaked out. 

I didn't look back, because I knew better than that. 

Wrong. I should have looked back, because the next thing I know there's a bag over my head and I'm being thrown in the back of a car. 

I struggled against my captur, but it did me no justuce. 

"If you don't stop I might just cut your pretty little throat." The deep voice said pressing a knife to my throat, and I knew the slightest movement could end my life. 

Well damn. 

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This was a hard one to write