Chapter 2
Celeste
My periods have always been painful, but ever since my recent stint in the women’s correctional facility, it’s been so much worse.
I’m in pain even when I’m not on my period sometimes.
I told the nurse at the infirmary there, and she was convinced I have endometriosis.
Stress can cause it to flare up, and I’d say being in prison is stressful.
The over-the-counter pain meds she gave me helped, but not completely.
I can’t keep popping them forever. It’s one more thing to put on the list of shit I need to take care of but probably can’t afford, since I currently don’t have health insurance.
Which is why I’ll put up with shitty tips, sore feet, and constantly smelling like grease until I can fully get back on my feet.
The diner is not a bad place to work, I really enjoy it most of the time.
The place itself is clean and adorably vintage looking.
The red tables are surrounded by black stools and chairs on a black and white checkered floor.
There’s a long red counter with black stools to just sit and maybe have coffee with our famous pie.
My coworkers and boss are all nice, and there has been zero judgement about the legal trouble I was in recently.
About a month ago, I was released from the women’s correctional facility after a retrial found my charge and sentence should be lowered to only doing community service and anger management classes.
I obviously had to disclose all of that to my boss to explain my lack of work history for the four months I was incarcerated, and that I needed to work my shifts around the classes and community service.
I got really lucky. It would have been much harder to get a job if my charge hadn’t been reduced from the original bullshit felony conviction I received of aggravated assault.
The clatter of a fork dropping to the floor near me startles me out of my thoughts, and not a moment too soon.
I need to focus on my tables, the food for one of them is ready.
The BLT on wheat and pastrami on rye for the two older guys at a high top in my section smell so good as I bring them over.
Some women crave chocolate when they’re on their periods, I crave greasy goodness.
I’m counting the minutes until my break since I didn’t have much breakfast and I’m starving.
When I place their food on the table, the guy with the BLT looks at me and smiles.
“Thank you so much, gorgeous,” he says as I feel his hand come up to pat my butt. My vision tunnels, and the din around me becomes a static white noise. I jerk away from him, trying to keep my breathing and heart rate from going out of control.
“Don’t touch me,” I bite out.
He rolls his eyes.
“It was just a thank you pat, don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
Then he notices how my breathing has become a little erratic.
“Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
That’s what breaks me. It’s as if I’m outside my own body, encased in a haze of rage. His yelling, the unwanted touch, it brings back a torrent of horrible memories. Before I know what I’m even doing, I’m picking up his water glass and dumping it into his lap. He jumps off of his stool in shock.
“You stupid bitch,” he seethes.
My manager Doreen is already hustling over, sending reassuring smiles to the people around us now watching avidly.
“What seems to be the problem here?”
“This idiot dumped water on me on purpose,” he grits out to her.
“Now let’s not name call and remain calm, okay? The way I saw it, she accidentally dropped it and these things happen. I’m so sorry. We’ll comp your meal, okay?”
His eyes flit between us with a scowl. Meanwhile, his pastrami loving companion is sitting there wide eyed like he has no clue what the hell just happened.
“This crazy bitch should be fired, she did it on purpose because I touched her to thank her.”
Doreen’s gaze completely hardens.
“Sir, we have kids in here, so I’ll ask you to not use that language about my employees. Like I said, it was an accident, and I apologize. I’ll make it right by comping your meal.”
“So you’re not going to fire her?” he asks with pure venom in his voice. He’s practically spitting.
All because I didn’t like him patting my ass and told him so.
If he had apologized and backed off I could easily brush it aside, but he had to demean me.
It’s such a close replay of what got me into the correctional facility and in this position in the first place that I’m frozen.
At least this guy just got a little wet instead of getting a broken nose like last time.
“Hey, Harry, ease up. There’s no need for anyone to get fired.” Oh, his companion finally decides to speak.
“Sir, you just admitted to touching my employee without her permission, so comping your meal is generous. If you don’t calm down, I’m going to ask you to never come back,” Doreen adds. Harry looks mutinous but finally seems to calm a little.
“We’ll take these to go and get out of here,” he grits out. “So I can put dry pants on,” he adds with a death glare at me.
“Fine choice,” Doreen says smoothly before turning to me.
“You’re on break now, head on back while I get them boxes and take care of the bill.
” I’m grateful she never addresses me by my name, because who knows if Harry will have a vendetta and try to find me.
It’s sad that’s where my mind goes to first, I muse as I quietly head to the back room without another glance at the asshole.
Everyone seems to go back to their meals as I walk by, but who knows if this lovely interaction will end up on social media. I’ll be known as the water girl, I can see it now.
Was dumping water on him my finest moment?
Of course not. It’s also not even close to my worst, so I’ll call it a small win that I didn’t do something more drastic.
About ten minutes later, Doreen comes barging into the break room and looks at me with a sigh.
She slams the door shut with a little more force than necessary.
“Whatever fucking happened better have been worth me comping their meals. Give me your side,” she demands, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation.
Doreen Barbieri is probably about twenty years older than me and reminds me of the mob wives I’ve seen in TV and movies.
She’s kind, loyal, and not judgmental, but you do not fuck with her.
Her curly salt and pepper hair is in a severe bun, and her heavily made up hazel eyes are laser focused on me.
“He decided to thank me for bringing his sandwich by patting me on the ass. I told him to not touch me, and he rolled his eyes. Then he took it a step further and asked what was wrong with me. So I showed him just what was wrong with me by soaking his crotch with his water,” I tell her with an unapologetic shrug.
Another shooting pain lances through my lower stomach, and I can’t help but wince as my hand rubs the area.
“What’s that all about?” Doreen asks shrewdly, head jerking toward my stomach that I’m clutching.
“Just lovely female trouble, my cramps are awful this month,” I admit. She clucks in sympathy. Then we get back to the subject at hand.
“I get why you did it, Celeste, but you can’t go around dumping water on customers who are shitty. Next time, you come to me and I’ll take care of it. This can’t happen again. I don’t want to keep comping meals for asshats, got it? You’re fired next time, this is your only warning.” I swallow hard.
“Thank you for not firing me. I really appreciate you, Doreen. I’m not sorry about dumping that water on him, but I am sorry for the trouble it caused you. I won’t do it again.” She waves a dismissive hand.
“If some guy touched my ass, my Luca would have done much worse than you did. Like I said, I get it. It just can’t happen again because we can’t keep comping those meals.
The only reason I did that was to deescalate the situation, I hated giving that fucker food for free.
” I snort and fall a little in love with her.
“Alright, grab your lunch and cool off for a bit, you have 45 minutes. I’m getting back out there,” Doreen says with a nod.
“Thank you again, Doreen.” She gives the door a wrap of her knuckles in response before flipping me the bird on her way out.
I take it as a sign of her affection. In Jersey, it’s practically a love declaration.
The indulgent mushroom bacon burger, fries, and our famous chocolate shake I have for my lunch help soothe both my agitation about what happened and my physical pain.
Getting so affected by unwanted touch is a weakness I need to break.
My history can’t keep haunting me and causing me problems in the present, especially when I’m trying to build a good life here after prison.
All I can hope is that the anger management classes I start next week work.
I was so stubborn when my last foster parents tried to get me help through therapists or anger management, too caught up in my own haze to be able to see through it.
At thirty years old, it’s finally time to get my shit together.
I get through the rest of my shift feeling better after my break, and make some good tips.
Stopping by the counter, my coworker Reggie hands me the bag of food I ordered to bring home to Tania and Carlo, so they won’t have to worry about cooking tonight after work.
It’s the absolute least I can do. My junky but serviceable old red car that I got with some of the last of my savings a few weeks ago awaits me.