12. June #2
His resolve softens, my blow not hitting him as hard as he had prepared for. “I’m sorry, on behalf of them and the entire male population.”
“That’s a heavy burden to carry.” I pause my stride, waiting for the signal to turn green and give us permission to cross the street. Without turning, I can sense Magnus looking at me.
I hate to admit it, but his presence made the walk to my second job much less stressful. After what happened the other night, I’m on edge. Which is something I’ve always been, but now, it’s at an extreme level. A highly paranoid one that makes me aware of the smallest things.
Like the man standing on the other side of the street in anticipation for the light to change.
The other older one approaching Magnus and us from the south.
A couple exiting a shop a few doors down.
And the teenager sitting at a table in front of the Mexican place.
The two cups in his grasp dripping with condensation, telling me that the kid has someone with him, too.
I don’t notice everything, but I hope to see enough. Enough to keep me safe. Enough to prevent the same thing from happening again.
We walk a few more minutes, only now it’s in silence.
“This is me.” I motion ahead to where I’m going.
“You work here? I love this pizza place.”
“Yep.” I dawdle, unsure how this goodbye is going to go when everything else is so uncertain, too. “Thanks…for walking me.”
Magnus grins and pulls me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight. He kisses the top of my head and his body relaxes into me.
“I’ve got to get in there,” I say after an appropriate hug time has passed. “You’re going to have to let me go.”
“Right. Sorry.” He releases me and holds me at an arm’s length, his happiness fading a bit when his gaze trails the wounds on my face.
Pity.
Magnus strolls forward and latches onto the handle, holding the door open for me.
I step in and stop when he follows me inside. “What are you doing?”
He rubs his stomach. “Can’t a guy eat?”
I deadpan. “Seriously? Here? There’s that Mexican joint we walked by.”
“But I’m already here.”
I sigh and glance around. “Sit wherever you want. I’ll take your order once I clock in.”
The restaurant is empty aside from us and a couple at a table smack dab in the middle of the room.
Understaffed, too, but with hardly any customers, I’m not at all surprised.
I’ll be taking the place of whatever other waitress is working before me, and mentally hoping for a busy but manageable shift.
I could use the money, but it’s stressful when I get overly slammed.
The kitchen help can hardly cover their own work, let alone stop to come assist me if I need it.
I walk across the open area, offering a fake smile to the patrons already sitting down. They cringe a little at my appearance, reminding me for the millionth time that I look like shit.
“Whoa, what the hell happened to you?” Saul, the manager, calls out the second I step into the back.
“Not a big deal, I got mugged.” I slide my timecard out of the slot and reach to put it into the machine.
“Hold on there.” He puts his hand out to block me from finishing my task.
“What?” The urge to punch him in the throat grows with each passing second he’s taking from me. Can’t he wait to be a dick until I’m at least being paid for it?
“You, uh, don’t look so good, June.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.” I scrape my card against his hand to try to move him. “Can I clock in? I need to take someone’s order.”
“Go home, June.”
If he says my name one more time…
“What? Why?”
He pulls his hand away but not before circling my face with his finger, going so far as to press it above my brow. “This. Not good for business.”
I swat him away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Did you just smack me?” Genuine shock riddles his features.
Did he forget completely about touching my face first? Like my reaction wasn't a normal one to a creepy pimple-faced weirdo getting too comfortable with my personal space.
“Yeah, want me to do it again?” I shouldn’t have said that.
He stands up straighter, putting himself fully between me and the time machine. “You’re fired.”
“Are you kidding me?” Because I called him out on getting a little too handsy?
His gut presses against my torso, pushing me back.
“You disgusting prick.” I throw the cardstock in my grasp at him.
“I fucking hated working here anyway.” That’s the God’s honest truth.
This place sucked. Either it was deadass empty or too busy to manage.
Meaning no tips from no people, or hardly any from my inability to juggle ten tables at a time.
This has got to be a record though. Being fired twice within a short period. What’s next, Bram and Jack kicking me to the curb, too?
I’d be royally screwed.
I turn on my heel, going back the way I came, shoving the swinging door open and not caring that it slams against the wall.
Magnus is on his feet in an instant, rushing over to me. “What’s wrong?”
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” I reach the front door and throw my middle finger in the air. “Fuck this place,” I call out, hoping it’s loud enough for Saul to hear.
“What the hell is going on?” Magnus follows me despite having any clue why I’m rushing out.
I burst onto the sidewalk and angrily walk a few blocks before the rage inside me simmers in the slightest. “Fuck.” So much for the money I’m trying to make to get out of the apartment situation I’m stuck in. I can’t fucking win. I run my hands through my hair, wincing at the ache it causes.
"June." Magnus reaches out to me. "Hey." He steadies my shoulders and forces me to look at him. "Breathe." He takes a deep breath in and exhales like he's trying to teach me how to.
I peer up at him. “Why are you still here?”
“Where else would I be?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Work or something.”
“This is more important.”
“Following me around?”
He shakes his head gently. “Making sure you’re okay.”
“Good luck with that one.”
“Here, sit.” Magnus guides me to a bench.