Carina's POV
"Carina!!!, Carina!!, bloody hell! Are you deaf or what??"The gruff, grating voice of my boss cuts through the diner, screaming my name as if he had given it to me. I turned to the table I was serving and gave them an apologetic smile, seeing how I had to leave them mid-order.
They were a lovely couple, the woman had a veil over her head going down to her chest covering her entirety, her dress was big and baggy, the man had been holding her hand lovingly, never once letting it go since the moment they walked in. The woman gave me a soft smile, waving her hand and telling me not to worry before shooing me off to go meet the ball of sunshine screaming my name from the kitchen, The man squeezed her hand gently while giving her a loving look.
Before I left, I caught him whispering an apology in her ear as if it were his fault that she wasn't being served, or maybe it was because he couldn't do anything to bring her food quicker. She rested her head on his shoulder whispering something under her breath that seemed to calm him down, bringing a smile to his face.
I force myself to look away from such displays of affection. Staring too long only reminded me that this was something I didn't have, one of the many things I didn't have. A feeling of jealousy sits in the pit of my stomach dulled only by the feeling of comfort welling up in my heart, There was still love this pure in the world.
I walk towards the large red double doors leading to the kitchen, putting my hands in front of me and forcing them apart creating a loud creak from the weak hinges rusted by age.
I've told Mario to change these doors multiple times. Ever since that drunk customer decided to ram his head through the little window on one of the doors, I've begged him to have them changed but he never did. Along with every other beaten down and busted piece of furniture and equipment all over the place, whatever little money the diner made magically disappears right around the time Mario gets a new watch or a new car or a weekend trip to Vegas with someone that isn't his wife. He manages to pull enough money to pay for all of that but can't find enough to hire another employee?
"What?!" I ask as soon as the doors close behind me. I didn't bother to hide the scowl on my face or the venom on my tongue, he disgusted me and I wanted to remind him every chance I got.
"Is that how you talk to your boss?" He puffs his chest, raising his voice even louder and taking two menacing steps towards me, the huge throbbing vein popping up on his forehead, beads of grease-mixed sweat pouring from the top of his head, his face turning bright pink. He stood right in front of me, clutching a steel ladle in his hand, his entire body vibrating with anger.
Looking at the angry man blowing his rancid breath in my face, a mix of beer, tobacco, and sadness, the only thought going through my head was wow. I didn't think his face could get any pinker. I've been in this exact position, in this exact spot, so many times, whenever he lost his favorite watch, when his daughter stopped talking to him, when his wife took a weekend trip to Bel Air with her 'Cousin', he has stared at me with those bloodshot eyes clutching a ladle, a wooden spatula, a steel rolling pin, and every single time he would stop right in front of me, every single time I would stare right back at him, meeting his gaze dead on daring him to do it, daring him to give in and become that ugly monster I knew him to be, right here in front of a fully packed diner I wanted him to cave and hit me, it would make my job that much easier.
But sadly, today, like every other day, he backed down, taking one step back and two deep breaths. His no longer white grease-stained vest was riding up, exposing his beer gut as his chest heaved. He ran a frustrated hand through his none-existent hairline, clutching at the little strands of brown hair he had left. He managed to calm himself, the red fading from his face and his pasty complexion slowly returning, not much of an improvement.
He dropped the ladle he was holding and took small steps to the side till his body hit the island beside him. Bringing his hand to his face he wipes off the layer of sweat with his palm, shaking his wrists he sends the sweat droplets flying through the air.
"Do you feel better?" I ask him with mock sincerity, hoping my patronizing tone would be enough to send him over the edge, but instead he turns to me and says through gritted teeth.
"I swear to God, you're lucky. I can't get rid of you."
"I'm the lucky one." I ask while furrowing my brows, After everything he has done to me, has he had the audacity to call me lucky?
"Yes, you're here on my good grace, and it's about time you start acting like it!" He demanded, slamming his palm down on the kitchen island with a bang and throwing his efforts to calm himself out the window. He was truly shameless; he was standing here, telling me to be grateful that he was allowing me to work in MY diner.
He went off on a rant about how the only reason he was keeping me around was out of goodwill, and because of the relationship he had with my parents, I resisted the urge to laugh because we both knew that wasn't true. The reason I was here, the real reason I was here was because of him; he took everything from me—my restaurant, my inheritance, my birthright—and yet he expects me to be grateful for the scraps he drops at my feet.
We both knew the game he was playing; he was trying to get me to quit, trying to make me leave. He knew the moment I quit, everything belongs to him—everything I had ever worked for, everything my parents ever worked for—all of it would belong to him, and there was no way in hell I was going to let that happen. I had worked for too long and sacrificed too much to turn back, especially now that I was so close. I just needed to wait a little longer and soon I would get what rightfully belonged to me.
"I give you a job, a roof over your head, and all I ask for is a little respect!" At this point, he was projecting all his misfortunes onto me: his failed marriage, his strained relationship with his daughter, his failure as a human being. He was trying to dump all of that on me, and it was a pathetic sight to see.
"Do you hear me?" he finishes, staring me dead in the eyes and snapping me back into the conversation. I had trained myself years ago to ignore him, to tune out the sounds of misery and self-loathing, sadly I trained myself a little too well because I end up missing everything he says.
"Of course....." I answer with a smile, knowing damn well that if I gave him a snarky reply, it would only prolong my lecture. Right now, it was best to do as he says since my shift was ending soon and I didn't want to stay longer than I needed to.
"Good, I knew you would come around," he reaches towards me, placing his grimey sweat-covered hands on my shoulder and patting it twice, letting his hands linger on my body for seconds longer than I could stomach before taking them back. All the while, I stared at my shoulder from the moment he patted me to the moment he retracted his hand, my gaze burning with so much disgust it could have burnt a hole through his palm. I made a mental note to boil this entire outfit before throwing it in the trash.
"So what did you need me for?" I repeated it because he still hadn't told me why he called for me in the first place.
He takes another deep breath, scratching the back of his head, rolling his neck back, and staring up at the ceiling. I knew that look; that is the look he always has right before he tells me bad news. Bad news for me is, "Well, you know that chef I hired two months ago? "Of course I remember Donny, he was the only other staff member in this entire establishment, he cooked while I served the tables.
"What about him?" I asked, not liking where this was going.
"He quit"
"What?" His words hit me like a ton of bricks.
"Yeah, something about unfavorable work conditions or some rubbish like that..." he begins another rant about how youngsters these days had no gumption, telling more of his lies when we both knew that wasn't true.
We both knew the real reason why Donny left and why all of the other employees left; they left because of him. Mario was nothing but a cheap, low-down, dirty piece of living waste. It would be one thing if he just had terrible management skills, but he also had a habit of harassing the employees, touching them, grabbing them, calling them, sending unsolicited texts and pictures, so at some point they all quit. The only reason they didn't press charges was because of me, and I hated that I was standing in their way. "Well, they come and go; there's nothing we can do about it." I stared at him in disbelief at the words coming out of his mouth. I couldn't help but feel there was more to the story: "Anyway, I need to go."
"What?!" I sound like a broken record today.
"Yes, there is this thing that I need to get to; it's really big and really important. I can't afford to miss it, so I just wanted to tell you that I'll be leaving. I'm sure you can handle everything by yourself, right partner?" He finishes with a sleazy smile. He was challenging me, and I wasn't going to back down.
"Of course I can..." I plastered a fake smile across my face, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.
"Perfect, lock up when you're done" He pulled a string of keys out of his pocket and tossed them at me without warning. Out of reflex, I put my hands up, catching them before they managed to hit me in the face. I turned to glare at him only to find the spot where he was standing empty. I hear his voice coming from the door leading to the manager's office. "And one more thing, the cleaning lady canceled as well. I hope that won't be a problem," he says before slamming the door shut. There was a separate door in the manager's office that led to the back alley, meaning he would be out before I even knew it.
I clutched the keys in my hand, feeling the jagged rims poke into my palms. My body was shaking with anger. This wasn't the first time he pulled a stunt like this.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and massaging my temples as I count to ten before opening them again. I could do this! I look at the clock reading 7:30pm, closing time was by 9, I peek through the shattered kitchen window at the small crowd of people. There weren't that many people today, but thankfully, seeing how this was a Saturday evening, I could handle this many people. Clipping the keys to my side, I take a hand full of my thick black hair and tie it back with a silk scarf I pulled out of my back pocket to keep it out of my face. Having hair like mine was hard to maintain and maddening when it was time to work.
I can do this!
I say to myself in a last attempt at motivation before pushing through the doors, pen and paper in hand, forcing a smile on my face. I walk to the table of the kind Muslim couple taking their order first before moving down the checkered rows of chipped and stained white and black tiles to the old wooden tables and chairs taking the orders of all the customers. Everything on the roaster looked easy enough.
At times, I swear, it is like the customers can see me suffering, so they keep coming back purely out of pity. For example, that Muslim couple is here every weekend, they know the state of this restaurant better than anyone and yet they keep coming back. I wasn't sure if it was out of pity for me or if they actually liked this diner, but whatever their reason was, I was thankful for it. Seeing them was the highlight of my week.
I kicked the red double doors open and rushed to the stove, turning on every single burner. The knobs creaked as I turned them; some even came off in my hands, but I paid them no mind, sticking them back in and rushing over to prep the ingredients. Moving at the speed of sound, I looked insane, cutting up vegetables, stewing the broth, stirring the pot, and trying my best to follow the recipe to the letter while simultaneously not causing a fire hazard.
What I was doing was reckless, dangerous, and even a little crazy, but that has been the story of my life ever since I turned 13.
I will never forget the day my life changed completely. I can still remember the smell of burning rubber, smoke, and diesel fumes on the day of the accident, when our entire family was involved in a car crash. My parents were in front of the car while I sat alone in the back seat when the truck came barreling down at us, crushing the entire front half of the car. I was lucky to have made it out alive.
I was in that car for hours before the firefighters came to pry the door; my parents died on impact. The only good thing to come out of it
I never would have guessed that that incident was only the start of my misfortune. My parents' deaths triggered a chain of events. I was the only child; being a minor at the time, I couldn't inherit anything. Mario was my father's best friend and my godfather. Both my parents were only children, and both my grandparents had passed. Mario was all I had. I never would have guessed back then that he would betray us like this.
In their will, my father put Mario in charge of all my assets and finances and even put him down as a legal partner in the restaurants, giving him 51% of the shares, which he was supposed to transfer 2% to me the moment I turned 18, but Mario never did.
Not only did he hold onto all of my assets, he also assumed full control of all business dealings and transactions, successfully running this place into the ground. There are times when I swear that he is actively trying to ruin this diner. We already had health inspectors at our doors twice in the last 4 months; one more time and we get shut down. There have also been multiple cases of assault and battery where Mario would run his mouth and get his rear kicked. There was a time when Mario borrowed money from some sketchy individuals, and when they came to collect, they loudly knocked on the glass door of the restaurant with a steel bat.
Yet I still managed to pull through. I got through everything he threw at me. I sidestepped all his offenses. Everything I did to keep this place running I sacrificed my social life and my education just for this. Should this place be shut down, or should I quit? Everything gets permanently transferred to Mario.
I had been saving every tip, every pay, and every dime since I turned 14, so I would be able to legally buy that 2% from him, and I was finally so close I could taste it, so it would take more than this to shake me. I thought as I balanced two trays of food on both hands, staggering out the door and serving each table with a smile.
I could do this!
I chanted till the final customer walked out the door, the hands of the clock striking 9. I close the doors, leaning my back against the glass sliding to the ground.
I did it!
My body ached; every muscle screamed in agony, but I did it, placing my hands over my face and pushing the loose locs of hair that stuck out of my wrap. I breathed a sigh of relief. I desperately wanted to lay down on the dirty floor and just close my eyes for a little bit, but I couldn't risk it. The last thing I needed was another health inspector at my door for reports of a rat infestation.
I pushed myself off the floor dragging my body to the kitchen so I could get started on the mountain of dishes, I place my hands on the chipped red doors running my fingers over the scratches fondly, though I hated how Mario neglected the restaurant, I was happy he wasn't quick to throw out the old furniture, the memories of my childhood were carved into every inch of this Diner, from the scratches on the floors from the time my parents and I camped out at the restaurant and roasted s'mores in the center of the Diner, to the notches on the kitchen doors from when my parents used to mark my height, all of these were precious memories, I was going to protect this place I thought while walking towards my foe for the evening, the mountain of greased plates
Throwing the rag back in the bucket, I was finally done. Having scrubbed every inch of this diner to a shine, I looked at the clock, which read 11:30, it was damn near midnight. The urge to curl up into a ball and sleep on the floor was even stronger, but I dragged myself to the employee's room on all fours, too tired to stand. I placed my hand against the locker, pulling myself to my feet, changing out of my uniform into baggy sweats and a hoodie, pulling off my scarf letting my hair bounce free.
With one final inspection, I lock the front door of the diner and head back into the kitchen, choosing to use the door in the manager's office, which leads to the back alley. It was a faster route to my apartment, which was in a small neighborhood in the Bronx. My apartment was nothing special—a single bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom. It looked like it was on the verge of collapse, but it was all I could afford for now.
Fully motivated despite my aching body, I swore as I opened the manager's office that the name plaque on that desk would be mine real soon. Gripping the handle to the exit, I pulled it open, feeling a gust of night hair hit my face and the chill sink into my bones.
I place one foot out the threshold when a sharp pain stabs me in the stomach, a dark figure standing in front of me holding what looked to be a blade from how it glinted, warm liquid pooling through my clothes trickling to my feet, I look down to see a blade sticking out of my stomach, a stream of blood pouring out of the open wound, my blood, I feel all the strength leave my body, my head feels dizzy, my eyes grow heavy, everything begins to fade, the last thing I see before collapsing on the cold office floor was the glint of a necklace shaped like a ten point star.