Run To Me | BAK sequel

8.

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: Mentions of drugs! This is a big theme in this chapter.

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You were at work when your phone began to buzz in your front pocket, pulling your focus away from the customers for a mere second before you just let it ring. The gentle buzzing becoming almost nonexistent. Also, you knew that answering your phone during rush hour was practically prohibited considering it was one of your busiest. But then it rang again.

Gentle music rang through the downtown cafe. Waitresses dressed identically to you, not including your torn up sneakers waltzed around, their simple black aprons swooshing against their clothed thighs with both full and empty plates in hand. They were catering the lunch menu, the special being a soba noodle salad with roast vegetables and a choice of chicken or tofu, add a side of fries for only four fifty extra.

The walls were decorated with faded red bricks, the word 'food' hung up on the wall illuminating the entire restaurant while pale blue and green seats crowded the wooden tables and it was quite the sight- but a calming one, nonetheless. You collected empty plates and cups, balancing them up your arm or as Rosie called it, your 'ultimate magic trick'- never having worked out how you could hold as many as you could at a time.

You found that working in a cafe was difficult, yet much better than working in a full-blown restaurant and while it was hard enough to work in a cafe you were lucky to work in one of the smallest cafes in town, one practically closed off to the rest of the world. Most of the customers were usuals, like the ninety-year-old couple that came in twice a week for a cup of tea and a shared muffin or the college kids that came when their workload grew to an extent unlike any other and they needed to unwind.

There had been a fair amount of times where you'd run to the bathroom in a panic, clammy hands slipping against the door handle and feet slapping against the tile floor when someone would come in with the same hair colour as him, eyes blown just as wide or with that same, maniacal laugh that still taunted you at four am. The bathroom smelt awful and it looked it too but for a few moments, it'd become your safe space, an unbreakable bubble of security.

Your phone buzz's again this time into your hand straight after placing the dirty dishes onto the sink, drawing you into the corner of the kitchen where you were facing the restaurant, where you could make sure they wouldn't miss you if you popped away for a few moments. The kitchen assistant- a sixteen-year-old boy sends you a friendly smile and you sent one back, his blonde hair tucked back neatly in a hair net.

The gentle clattering of dishes pulled the attention away from the waitress in the corner of the back room, voice muffled slightly by the noise as you speak into the phone. No one seems to give a second glance.

"Hello?"

"Mrs Holland?" The voice on the other end cuts in, voice slightly muffled with thanks to the dishwasher.

You really react to the old name, knowing that legally it was still yours, and Rosies. "It's actually Y/L/N, but yeah, that's me."

"It's Keira from the daycare- Ms Thomas." Her voice was sweet, but not kind. Instead, sickly sweet like honey, like she was forcing herself to be kind to you for god knows what reason. "You need to come down to the daycare, it's about Rosie."

You remember Rosie coming home from daycare, handing you pictures and rambling about her day. Mentioning how Keira or Ms Thomas pushed her down the slide and Ms Thomas helped her with finger painting. She adored the older teacher, talking about how she wanted her curls to look like Ms Thomas's black ones'.