Nathaly
My mother always told me that her lifelong dream has been to study, that as a child she saw all those young adults pass by with folders in their hands, walking to the nearest university in her town, and that she imagined being like them, with the power to decide which career to study, fighting for their future. His eyes always lit up when he told me, I guess it hurt him not to have been able to study. Mom became pregnant with me at sixteen, and since then, she has dedicated herself to taking care of us. My grandparents forced her to marry my father (luckily, mom and dad loved each other very much) and both dedicated themselves to taking care of us and working on whatever brought money to the house, they had to leave school, because the time they had was very scarce.
Maybe that's why I was so excited to receive me, maybe that's why I always wanted so independent, because of their stories (because even though my father didn't like to study, he always repeated to us the importance that this has, to be able to live better), and because I knew that they loved the idea of seeing me studying at the university. Sure, it wasn't to his liking not to have me around, but, for now, we were doing well. It was difficult to distance and ignore the habit of always having my family close, but over time everything was going to be easier.
My goal was clear: to receive me as soon as possible, study hard and pass the exams. But, the truth, in the last days, I could hardly sleep from stress, it was a constant thought of the huge notes, the books, summaries, colored markers and the desire to cry. I was a little behind and that made my hair stand on end. The week had been a bit hard and what discouraged me the most was having to work in that place.
I prepared quickly, I was going to be late but. From so much stress and tiredness I had fallen asleep on the table, on top of those demonic notes. I rushed along the way, but arrived at the bar a couple of minutes late.
I got off the bus somewhat nervously. My boss could be disgusted when he wanted to and he would surely reprimand me for my tardiness and I didn't want him to make a fool of me, as he did before, the first time I was late.
I turned a corner and saw Daniel, the guy in the interview, smoking a cigarette, with that serious expression that caught my attention so much.
"You're late. That's not appropriate," he said as soon as I approached the door.
"What are you doing here?"
"They gave me the job. Because you talked well about me with the boss," he replied with a smile.
Yes, I spoke well of Daniel with the boss after the interview. Daniel said he needed the job and I felt identified with him because I needed it too once I got to Seattle, I was also place in place, trying to get something that would give me money to eat every day. Daniel had a somewhat strange air, his posture and his eyes were intimidating, but he was a joker, a bit annoying, but friendly, inside everything.
"I'm great, I know. You should be inside the bar, working," I said, wanting to pass inside.
Daniel blocked my way.
"I'm on a break, I've been working for a while. And, you, you should get to work early, don't you think?
"I only delayed for a few minutes," I defended myself, feeling somewhat irritated.
"But the boss is a little upset about it."
I rolled my eyes, imagining that old man's annoying reaction. I pushed Daniel away and walked into the bar, where quickly, the drunks began to see me shamelessly. Fed up with this harassment.
"The boss is waiting for you in his office," Beca said.
I rolled my eyes, left my backpack in the rest room, and went upstairs to see the boss. The door was open, and when he saw me, he beckoned me to get in.
"I am very sorry for the delay, there was traffic," I made up.
"It's the second time you're late, Nat," his tone was serious. If anything bothered me a lot, it was this shitty attitude I had. He claimed I was late, he was strict with it, but he didn't worry about getting those drunks out when they went over the line with me, or with any of his employees. Let's not even talk about the inappropriate schedule in which he summoned people for job interviews. Now he came to be strict? Please, how disgusting I was that guy.
"Nathaly," I corrected.
"Nathaly?"
"It's just Nathaly, boss. And I'm sorry, it won't happen again," I said, wanting to tell him something unkind. Worst of all, I had to keep quiet, keep my opinions, or I would end up fired.
How did I not try harder in high school to get the university to give me a full scholarship.
"At the third, you can end up fired," he warned, folding his arms.
I smiled feignedly.
"Sure, sir."
Idiot.
When I went downstairs, I noticed Daniel's gaze on me, who was already on the side of the entrance, watching that everything was fine at the bar. He took his eyes away from me a moment later, and how good, because his eyes were somewhat intimidating.
"What did he tell you?", Inquired Beca, serving a drink to the customer.
"That the third one dismisses me."
I set out to serve the customers who were missing. Today the bar was very full, every time a new customer came in, both men and women, and it was something new, since it was always pure man. Barely an hour had passed since I arrived and I was already feeling exhausted, but I also had to see that I had not managed to sleep well in the last few days.
"What good are I?" "I asked the forty-year-old who had just arrived.
"I want whiskey."
I took a glass and grabbed the bottle of whiskey to serve to my client and left the bottle on the bar. The man looked at me throughout the process, and not with desire, but with annoyance.
"No, a glass of whiskey, no. I want you to give me the bottle."
"We don't sell by the bottle," I replied.
"What?"
"It's by glass, sir," I explained, but the man didn't seem to understand.
He took the bottle of alcohol he had left on the bar and watched me defiantly.
"Sir, we don't sell by the bottle," she explained again, tired, trying to get the bottle out of his hand, but he was pushing for me not to achieve my goal.
I exerted strength and so did he. Everything happened quickly: the bottle ended up breaking in my hands and in those of that stubborn. I grimaced, because I had cut my hand a little and the collapsed whiskey touched my wound, making it burn a lot. I took a step back, just as he was taking the glass I had given him and spilling the disgusting whiskey on my T-shirt.
Everyone was watching me. I felt very embarrassed. I hadn't realized that Daniel had approached us, until I saw how he took the guy tightly and forced him to stand up.
"Outside!", he ordered seriously, something tense.
I tensed.
"Be thankful that I can't hit you because I'm at work, but don't come here again or I will," I came to hear him say.
"By God, are you okay, Nathaly?"
"Yes, Scholarship," I lied.
I gave Beca a look, telling him that I was going to change. Fortunately, he always wore a spare shirt in case of an accident.
I went into the bathroom with my backpack and took off my t-shirt to clean my abdomen and breasts with a damp towel and put on the other garment. Fortunately my pants were not stained. I also perfumed myself, because I hated the smell of whiskey and it was clearly stuck to me by that idiot. Finally, with a grimace, I washed my wound, which was deep, but its length measured no more than 2 centimeters.
"Stupid...", today had been a bad time.
I left the bathroom, with the intention of going to the rest room, because there was a small first aid kit there. Daniel was waiting for me outside the women's dressing table, his arms folded and his back resting on the wall. Seeing me, he uncrossed his arms.
"How are you?" I saw blood on your hand.
"I'm fine," I replied, embarrassedly. I knew I shouldn't feel it, I wasn't to blame, but I was still sorry.
I quickly walked away from him and entered the room. Daniel messed with me and closed the door behind him.
"You don't have to be here, nothing has happened."
He came up to me.
"Nothing has happened?", You have a cut on your hand. That tells me otherwise. You have to disinfect the wound. Let me help you.
"I can do it alone, Daniel," I pushed my hand away when he took it. Daniel was being kind to me, but my spirits tonight were not with me.
"Nathaly, let me help you," his tone was serious.
I wanted to refuse once again, but the intensity of his eyes convinced me.
Daniel took the medicine cabinet, looked for gauze, alcohol and tape.
"It's a bit deep."
"I know, it hurts a lot," I said.
"This is going to burn you," he warned, taking the alcohol and pouring it into my wound. I closed my eyes for a moment, complaining low. Daniel quickly cleaned the wound and bandaged my hand with gauze, adjusting it with some tape.
Sighed.
"Better?"
"Yes, thank you, you were very kind," I smiled slightly. My hand hurt, damn it.
"I thought you thought I was arrogant," he said, with an iota of smile, his beautiful eyes nailed to mine.
Please, seriously, what beautiful and captivating eyes.
"I keep thinking about it," I nodded, smiling at him and walking to the exit of the room.
"Nathaly," he called me, before he opened the door.
I turned around to see it.
"I love your perfume."
For some reason, his comment made me blush.