Beautifully Broken

- 3 -

My body burns.

As it normally does the day after her beatings. I've been sleeping all day, trying to muster the strength for work in a few hours. I haven't heard my mother's steps anywhere in the small house. I think she went out to do whatever addict, low life mothers do. 

I slowly raise to my feet, feeling out where my worst injuries were. Looking over my shoulder I see the clock: 4:00 p.m.

Nightshift at the diner starts at 6:00 p.m.

Since it's Thursday, I don't work at the club. I'm relieved that I only have to work one of them today. I know that I wouldn't be able to go through both, not today. From the way the left side of my face is throbbing. I know that it won't look pretty. 

Looking into the mirror I see it all, my black and purple eye staring right back at me. The small but painful bruise caressed my cheek. 

What am I doing to myself?

Even if I had the strength to leave, where would I go? Where would I run to?

My eyes get that familiar heat behind them. I let it out, I let it all out. The feeling of hopelessness is too overbearing. I fully understand that there is no way out. In a place full of corrupt cops and abusive mothers, I try to understand what good I'm doing even living. 

I'm never going to be anything, I'm never going to get out

I have a broken heart from the world around me. I want to have hope, but I just don't see a future for myself. Not a positive one.

I try to get up from my place on the bathroom floor, but I'm too emotionally drained to even stand. 

Knowing I have to cover the bruises and go to work, I get started on my makeup on the floor. Then crawl to my bedroom to get on a work uniform. 

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

***

I've been in the parking lot for a solid twenty minutes now. Trying to muster up the joy and smile I normally show on my face. It's not my day, but I can't cancel work. I'm getting paid overtime for this, and if I want to find some hope at all. This will help. 

With a long sigh, I throw my door open heading into the diner. 

Walking through the employee door, I find out that there are only two other workers in. Both from the kitchen, I would be the only server here. I have worked night-shift only a few times. Each time as only been full of drunks, old men, and travelers. 

Sometimes even old men that are drunk and traveling

The energy seemed off this time. I only had three customers in a span of six hours. It was now midnight and my shift ended at three. 

As my back was turned to the door, wiping tables. The door chimes, singling that someone had entered the diner. The way the diner is set up, the customer picks the table and waits for a waiter to bring menus. I quickly grab the menus and walk to the table they chose. Looking up my heart skips.

The striking light blue eyes

The chiseled facial structure

The devilish smirk

It's the man from the club last night. I plaster on a smile.

"What are we drinkin' today?" I chirp, pen and paper in hand. 

The sinfully handsome man looks up from his menu, his gaze immediately goes to my eyes questioningly. 

"Coffee." His words toneless, uninterested.