Chapter 9
Lana
Do you want to know what it feels like to be in a constant state of worry? Well, I do. And it’s not for the reasons I thought they would be. I feel like trouble is going to come in at any moment, and I’m anticipating its arrival.
I’m cleaning the coffee machine when my boss calls out to me.
“Lana, come over here.” He seems to be in an okay mood?
The lies we tell ourselves.
I go over to my boss, who is in the kitchen finishing up and barking orders at our chef.
“How can I help?” I ask him as he turns around and crosses his arms. The worried look on his face matches exactly how I’m feeling.
“Don’t you find it weird that the creep isn’t here yet?” Maybe he has some social decency left in him. Just as I am about to start changing my opinion of him, he strikes. “Normally, he should be here by now harassing you.” I want to take the plate closest to me and throw it at his head.
Humanity will silence its voice when money is at stake. That’s why you have to make it sing.
“I don’t know where he is.” I feign innocence because I don’t give two shits where he is. Just as I am about rejoice in the fact that the asshole isn’t here, my boss’s face lights up and he points behind me.
“There he is. Come on, Lana, get to it.” He shoos me away like I’m a petulant child, and I purse my lips in controlled anger. But I do as I’m told, and I go to serve the said creep. As I’m walking up to him, I notice his demeanor is different.
Did the monster finally get to him?
“Hi, how are you? Will it be the usual?” I ask the creep, but he doesn’t look up. He keeps staring at one spot on the table. As if avoiding me will make any trouble in his life go away.
Don’t get me wrong, I welcome the distance, but it leaves me wondering.
“Yes, Lana. I appreciate your kindness.” He speaks flatly, but I can sense something else. Fear. The cadence in his voice can’t mask the detachment from his usual way of talking, which is pretty annoying. Most of the time when he opens his mouth, it’s almost in a singsong type of way.
Don’t overanalyze when you are working, Lana.
“My pleasure, and coming right up.” As I turn around, my mouth is slightly open. I’m trying to decipher the sudden change in his way of just being here. I wait on this asshole’s order, and when I bring it out to him, his hands are under the table like he is holding on to a secret.
One I need to unravel, because what if it worked? What if he finally realized that he should stop harassing me?
While I wait on other patrons, the creep is finishing his dinner in complete silence. I’ve glanced at him a couple of times in the past hour, and he sits there like he wants to be somewhere else. When I go over to him to ask if he needs something else, he shakes his head and asks for the check.
“I’ll be right back. Do you need something else?” I’m asking him in a gentler tone now because I need to know what’s making his face contort with dread.
“Nothing. Just the check.” I want to walk away, but he stops me dead in my tracks.
“Please. I meant, just the check, please,” he asks me while looking around the restaurant.
What the fuck is he looking at? I follow his gaze, which has landed on the ugly three-euro painting my boss hung on one of the walls.
Wait, is that—
“Lana, can I get the check, please?” He interrupts my thoughts with his weird-ass questions. “I really want to go home.” The emphasis on the word want is making my mind race with possibilities about why. I want to ask him if everything is okay, but the diner bell dings, and I see Marco walking in.
Even though I still can’t comprehend what his deal is, his arrival is a nice intermission for my current train of thought. I motion to him that I will be with him in one minute, and he nods his head. My attention is back on the creep again, and I go and get his check.
“Here is the check. I hope everything was okay for you, and that you have a wonderful day.” I linger for a moment because I’m used to him tipping me, but my eyes fly open when I see how much he has tipped me.
He drops what he needs to pay, as well as one hundred Bosnian marks, on the table. This is like winning the lottery.
“I can’t accept that much money, please take it back. I’m just happy to serve you.” The moment those words leave my mouth, his eyes start filling up with tears.
“Please take it. I also have something I need to show you,” he says as he is taking a sharp intake of breath. He puts his right arm on the table and starts rolling up his sleeve. Is that gauze on his arm?
“What happened? Are you hurt?” My concern is genuine. I hope.
“You need to see this, and then I will be out of your hair.” I nod at him, and when he starts removing the gauze, words appear on the inside of his arm.
Words carved into his arm.
My mouth is agape, and no words are forming when I read what’s on his arm.
I will never be rude to servers again.
I don’t blink, I don’t talk, I don’t move.
When my eyes find his again, we both stare at each other.
We both know who did this.
M.
“Who did that to you? And why?” My question prompts him to shake his head violently.
“It doesn’t matter who did this, the most important thing is that I will never be rude to people who work in the food service industry. Actually—” he stands up and gathers his things. “This will be the last time I come here. I’m moving to Tuzla. Much strength, Lana.”
And he’s gone.
I don’t have time to process what the fuck just happened because Marco calls my name. I shake my head to compose myself and plaster on a smile.
A fake smile.
Before I leave, I gather the money and tuck the tip away safely in my apron.
“How are you today, Marco? I hope your daughter feels better, and again, I’m so incredibly sorry for what happened the other night.” He waves his hand dismissively and gives me a huge smile.
“All is good. Can I have a quick sandwich with salama1?”
“Certainly. It’ll be out in a minute. I bet you had a long night, so does a double-shot espresso sound good?” I raise my eyebrow and cock my head a bit in a playful manner.
It’s important to know who is sitting at your table.
“I had a rough night at the playground, so coffee sounds amazing.” I clock what he says immediately and repeat what he said in a louder voice because it’s so absurd.
“The playground? What were you doing at a playground?” I laugh a bit, but to Marco this isn’t a laughing matter.
I think he’s wearing a mask, and it slipped.
For. A. Split. Second.
He quickly recovers by smiling and connecting his right palm with his forehead.
“I’m so sorry, I meant that the accounting firm I work at is a playground.”
“No problem, Marco, we all get lost in the clouds sometimes. Your food and coffees are on the way.”
“Thank you, Lana.”
I bring his out to him, then the rest of my shift goes smoothly without any hiccups.
Something I always cherish.
I go to the shitty office with my purse and winter coat on to say goodbye to my dick-ass boss.
“I’m out. My next shift is in two days, right?” Please let it be in two days.
“It’s in three days, Lana. See you on Friday.” Before I leave, he stands up and smacks me on the ass. The moment his hand touches me, I stand frozen. Did that just actually fucking happen? I turn around after a minute and look at him with pure hatred.
This is the one thing I can’t control.
Once again, I intertwine my fingers behind my back to try to stay calm.
“What is it? It’s a part of life, sweetheart,” he says with a smile stretched way too far across his face. He sits back down in his chair, and I can’t detect any basic decency on his face. I swallow the saliva in my mouth and breathe through my nose.
Rage courses through my veins.
Stay calm, Lana.
I close my eyes for a second. This asshole should be grateful that I need this job. The moment I walk out of his office, I close the door and lean against it.
“Does this bitch really think he can smack my ass?” I shake my head and bolt out of the restaurant. I’m running to my car, and I almost slip because the sidewalk is so icy. The whole city feels cold, not only because of the frigid temperatures but also due to its inhabitants.
My car is in an alleyway as it’s the only place near the diner where parking is free. When I reach my rusty vehicle, I search for the keys in my bag, and it’s damn near impossible because it’s so fucking dark.
I reach for my phone to turn on the flashlight, but something stops me dead in my tracks.
A text message.
Did you enjoy my gift?
Is he following me? I know he is, but I’m avoiding one question.
Is he watching me?
“Where the fuck are you?” I say out loud. I don’t even want to type a response out. The beast will show himself eventually. He’ll crawl out of hibernation.
I open the door, and a hand slams it shut.
My eyes widen in shock when I look in the side-view mirror of my car. A tall figure is standing in close proximity to me. His front is pressed against my back, and the warmth I feel emanating from his body is instant.
I shouldn’t feel like this at all.
What does that say about me?
Without having the time to process what the fuck is happening, I slowly turn around, which is hard to do. His strong body is cocooning me, and I hate the intrusion of some sickening thoughts.
Even with darkness around us, I can still see his beautiful black eyes.
Fuck. This is truly him. This is M.
He is finally here.
“I’m here, little hummingbird.” He reaches for something from the inside of his jacket, and my eyes can’t help but follow his movements.
It’s so precise.
So professional.
With a quickness I don’t see coming, he grabs the thing he has been hiding in his palm, then I feel a sting in my arm.
And the world goes black.
1. Bosnian luncheon meat.