by Linnea May
“Geez, Nicky,” my coworker hisses. Stephanie, another waitress, gets down on her knees next to me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I utter. “Damn this fuckin-”
“Nicky!”, she silences me. “Calm down for god’s sake. There’s customers here.”
I roll my eyes. “Sorry.”
“Now, let’s clean this up,” she suggests and starts picking up the pieces to carefully place them on the tray I dropped.
Stephanie helps me to get rid of the little mess I created, not without casting me concerned looks again and again.
“Are you okay?” she asks eventually, when we are alone behind the counter. “Did something happen? You’ve been out of it all day.”
“No, it’s nothing,” I try to assure her. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little tired.”
She smirks at me. “New guy, huh?”
I turn around and look at her, alarmed. “Why would you-”
She nods towards my bruised neck. I am wearing a light scarf and tried to cover up the marks with make-up as good as I could. Even when I left the house, I knew they were still visible, but I was hoping that it would go unnoticed, because one would have to take a really close look at me to recognize them for what they were.
Apparently, Stephanie has taken that close look.
I fix my scarf and clear my throat.
“Well, yeah,” I utter. “But it has nothing to do with that.”
“Sure,” Stephanie says, winking at me. “It never has.”
“It really hasn’t!” I insist. But who am I kidding, I sound anything but convincing, even to myself.
“Must be intense,” Stephanie adds. “It looks like he’s been trying to eat you alive.”
I blush and instinctively touch my neck, while she casts me a knowing grin, very similar to the one I received from Yuka when I got home that night.
“Whatever,” I try to dismiss the conversation.
A new order is ready and saves me from yet another situation I would like to escape.
“Yours,” Stephanie says, glancing at the two dishes that have been placed in the service hatch.
I grab the plates and make my way over to the table, where two women are waiting for their food. They are about ten to fifteen years my senior and don’t count to our regulars. At least I have never seen them here before.
One thing I notice while I am approaching their table is the tabloid magazine that is lying on the table next to one of them. I mentally roll my eyes, even though I am sure Evan - and Yuka - would scold me for being so judgmental again.
“One cheeseburger and er-” I say, checking the other plate. “One bacon special?”
“I’m the cheeseburger,” one of them says, raising her hand.
“Okay, here you go,” I say as I place the cheeseburger in front of her.
I put on my service smile and turn around to the other woman - just to see her giving me a weird stare. She has dark long locks and is wearing very thick glasses that make her stare even more intense than it already was.
What is up with her? She looks at me as if she’s seen a ghost.
I try to ignore it, while I place her order in front of her. “And… here’s your bacon special.”
Her eyes don’t leave me for a second, but her expression turns from that almost shocked stare into a skeptical frown.
I straighten up, ready to leave the table. “Okay, enjoy your meal ladies! Let me know if there’s anything I can-”
“Holy shit,” the spectacle wearing woman exclaims. “Aren’t you the girl who’s been with Evan Beckhart this weekend?”
My heart stops. I stare down at her, completely in shock to what she just said. My face must have lost all its color within a mere second.
How on earth did she…
“What?” the other woman now says. “A waitress?”
She casts me a look that displays nothing but disgust and disbelief. While I frown at her for the way she just called me a waitress. That derogatory tone. As if I was the most despicable person alive.
“Yeah,” the woman with the glasses says, now finally averting her eyes from me - to grab the magazine next to her. She hastily browses through the pages until she finds what she is looking for.
I try to see what she is pointing at as she turns the magazine around and shows it to her friend. They both look back and forth between the article and me.
“Damn, you’re right!” the other woman yells, now facing me again with that devaluing expression.
I ignore her and try to get a better glimpse of the article. My heart is racing as I see the headlines. Pink, giant letters, underpinned with a questionable amount of exclamation marks that read: Evan Beckhart skipping charity event for HER!?!
My jaw drops as I see the photos that the short article is plastered with. Very unflattering pictures of me running out that damn hotel’s entrance, with my hair flying all over the place, giving away the hickeys on my neck all too well.
I am sweating and shaking, overwhelmed with fear - and rage. Those damn women are still staring at me, exchanging words that I can barely hear, because my ears are ringing while my vision blurs with tears.
I turn around, feeling the women’s eyes stabbing at my back while I run off into hiding. Completely ignoring Stephanie’s concerned look, I run past her and off to the bathroom, where I lock myself in.
I take out my cell phone with shaking hands and dial his number.
It rings once, twice, five times before his mail box answers.
Of course.
What did I expect? The way he has been acting in regard to this damn paparazzi craziness, it was only to be expected that he wouldn’t answer my call.
I try it again. And again.
Tears are running down my face. I feel so ashamed, so manipulated and exposed.
A waitress. How do they dare calling me a waitress like that.
How does anyone dare to publish pictures of me? How does Evan dare not to warn me? Not to talk to me even?
I feel so desperately alone with all of this. And it shouldn’t be this way. No one should be allowed to make feel like this. No one.
“We need to talk!” I cry when his mail box answers for the fourth time.
“We really need to fucking talk!”
4 – United
“This is going to be all about you,” he promises
before he leans forward to bless me with
another one of his heavenly kisses.
CHAPTER I
“Nicky!” I hear him panting at the other end of the line.
He sounds exhausted, out of breath as if he had been running a marathon before calling me.
Which is odd, because it took him more than half a day to finally call me back.
I am sitting on a chair in the kitchen, with my legs curled up and in the company of my worried roommate Yuka, who has been spitting fire since I told her what happened. She loathes Evan so much right now that I felt driven to defend him at one point. If it were up to her, I would just “dump that egocentric weirdo” and get on with my life, assuming that tabloid readers have a short memory and will forget all about me and the terrible pictures they saw associated with Evan.
I am not completely convinced of her suggestion, but I know that - if anything - she is the voice of reason in all of this. The person who does not have her heart wretched and distorted by a man’s inexplicable appeal.
His charm, his smell, his loving voice and soft gestures in contrast to his brute and strong way to take me just the way I love it. I hate the control he has over me - and I love it at the same time.
Yuka would never understand.
“Evan,” I whisper, sounding nowhere as cold and distant as Yuka told me to just a minute before. She frowns at me.
“Nicky!” he gasps again. “Are you okay?”
What kind of stupid question is that? Of course, I am not okay. I left him about half a dozen unanswered calls and two very distraught messages that were a clear sign of how mu
ch I am not okay.
“Well, what do you think?” I ask. His idiotic question made it a lot easier to remember that I am mad at him. “Of course I am not okay.”
He lets out a desperate sigh. Even though I cannot see his face, I do have a pretty good idea of what he might look like right now. And I cannot help but wish that I was standing right next to him.
“I am so sorry,” he says. “For all of this.”
“Are you,” I respond.
The tone of my voice has changed. Yuka appears to be satisfied.
“Nicky, you have to trust me,” he adds. “I didn’t know they would be there. I was just as shocked as you were.”
“Okay,” I say.
“But,” he continues. “I should have known. I should have been prepared. I should have taken better care and not let this happen to you.”
He pauses, possibly to give me room for an answer. But I have nothing to say. He is right. He should have done all those things.
But he didn’t.
“Trust me,” he proceeds. “My publicist and I tried everything to prevent these pictures from being published. But it was too late. I spent hours on the phone with him to-”
“You should have talked to me,” I interrupt. “How come you found the time to spend ‘hours on the phone’ with your publicist, but I hardly hear anything from you? Even worse, you completely ignore me when I needed to talk to you the most!”
“Yes, I know, I was advised not to-”
“Advised? Why on earth were you advised not to talk to me?”
“We were trying to figure things out, I wanted to protect you,” he tries to explain. “I tried… so hard. You have to believe me.”
“How come you didn’t even warn me?” I add. “If you knew those pictures were going to be published, how come you never said anything to me? Instead, I have to run into these bitches at work and-”
“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding worried.
I tell him about what happened at the restaurant. About the two ladies, there shocked stares as they realized who I am.
A waitress. Just a waitress.
“Oh, Nicky,” he sighs. “I am so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. Please don’t listen to those hens. What do they know? We both know you are a lot more than a waitress.”
Am I, though? The women’s statement could only hurt me so much because it touched a sore spot. It fueled my insecurities.
“Yeah, sure,” I murmur.
“To me you are,” he adds. “A lot more. Can you trust me on that?”
“Trust you?” I repeat. “You know, Evan, that is a lot to ask, after all that’s happened…”
I can see Yuka out of the corner of my eyes, enthusiastically shaking her head. And of course, she is right. Trust him? What kind of idiot would I be?
“Can I see you?” he asks.
I let out a sigh, silently shaking my head. “I don’t know…”
He pauses for a moment. I can hear him breathing at the other end.
I have no idea whether he is waiting for me to say anything else or if he is just trying to think of something to say that might convince me to see him, forgive him even.
Regardless of what it might be, I decide that it is his turn to speak, so I remain silent.
“I want to see you,” he says. “I need to.”
It is the way he is saying it. That unyielding tone of his voice.
“I don’t know if that is such a good idea,” I whisper.
Yuka nods in approval.
“I know this must have been scary for you,” he says. “But I can promise you that it won’t happen again. I will protect you.”
“Protect me, huh.”
I exchange a quick look with Yuka. She was a big help when I got home from work and I really appreciate her support - but right now, I wish she weren’t around. I want to talk to Evan alone. I want to be the person I usually am when I am with him.
On the other hand, it might be just the right thing not to be that person right now.
“I talked to my publicist a lot, he advised me to keep it down for a few days and to not be seen with you or even contact you,” Evan continues.
I roll my eyes.
“But,” he adds. “Much to his disappointment, I don’t always listen to him. I want to see you. And I will make sure that you will be safe with me from now on.”
“From now on,” I repeat. “How come that never occurred to you before, Evan?”
He sighs.
“You’re right to be angry, and you’re right to be suspicious,” he says. “But is this really how you would want to end things?”
I gulp. His words hurt. Hearing him say that I might end things hurts enough for me to understand that this is not what I want.
I don’t want to end things.
It has only been a short time. Just a handful of meetings - but they were so unlike any other. He is unlike any other man I ever dated.
If anything, I want more of him. It is rare for me to feel this way for someone. And Evan is the first man who makes me feel this way within such a short time. He is right, there is something between us, something special. And I want to explore that.
But I know Yuka would object. She is observing me intently, staring at me like a strict mother whose child is about to disobey an order.
“No,” I finally reply. “I don’t want that.”
Yuka smiles and nods again. Of course, she has no idea to what I just said no.
“When are you free?” he asks.
“Tomorrow,” I say. “In the evening.”
Yuka’s eyes widen with alarm.
“To talk,” I add, thinking that it might calm her down.
She rolls her eyes.
“Is six okay?” he wants to know. “I can pick you up.”
“Yes, but that won’t be necessary-”
“Yes, it will be,” he insists.
Okay, whatever. Another ride in his limousine. Things could be worse.
“No hotel this time,” I say. “Especially not that one!”
He chuckles. “Of course not, my sweet girl. I will never take you there again if that is what you want.”
“Good,” I say.
“I adore you, Nicky,” he whispers. “I really do. I never intended to hurt you - and I will make this right again. If you let me, that is.”
I chose to ignore Yuka for a moment and allow myself to smile.
“Do you understand?” he asks.
And of course, there is only one correct answer to that. “Yes, Sir.”
“What the-?!” Yuka hisses - but I stop her with a wave of my hand.
She would never understand. And she doesn’t have to.
“Good girl,” he says, causing my heart to jump. “Do you remember your homework?”
“What?” I ask.
He cannot be serious.
“The assignment I gave you,” he explains. “Did you work on it.”
This must be a joke.
“No, I didn’t,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I had other things on my mind.”
“I know you have,” he says. “But I still want you to do it.”
I frown. Is he seriously trying to lecture me again? Now?
“I think we have other things to talk about first,” I reply. “But no, I didn’t forget.”
“You still have time until tomorrow,” he says. “I really wish that you think about it and do what I asked you to.”
I sigh with indignation, casting Yuka a quick look before I lower my voice and ask: “Do you really think I am the one who deserves a punishment right now?”
As I expected, Yuka cocks her eyebrows. I will have a lot of explaining to do to her after this phone call.
And I regret asking her to sit with me while I talk to him. I thought she would give me the strength and courage I need to confront him. Instead, her presence causes me to feel bad about myself - and about who I am when I am with Evan.
“It’s not a punishment,” he says. “On t
he contrary. I want to take care of you. And I want you to realize something about yourself. This might help with that. If anything, it will prove to you that you are more than a waitress. Don’t you think?”
I narrow my eyes and remain silent. It still feels like a punishment. Like a lesson that has been given to a defiant school girl.
“Do you remember the assignment?” he asks.
“Yes, I do.”
“Say it,” he commands. “What did I tell you to do?”
I hesitate for a moment. Yuka is still listening, but she has grabbed her own cell phone and appears to be at least somewhat distracted.
“To think about what makes me write and what I want to achieve with it,” I say.
Yuka looks up from her phone, cocking her eyebrows again and tilting her head to the side.
“And?” he presses.
“And to come up with a story,” I add. “Or an idea. A short scene.”
“Good girl,” he praises. “These should be easy for you.”
“If you say so,” I mumble.
“Yes, I am confident, my sweet girl,” he says. Pushing my buttons like a pro. “I will see you tomorrow.”
“Okay, bye.”
I hang up, ready to face Yuka, who is still holding her own phone in her hand, but could not be less interested in whatever it might have to tell her.
“Girl,” she says. “What the hell was that?”
CHAPTER II
As hard as it may be for Yuka to understand, I actually feel a lot better after talking to Evan.
In all honesty, the conversation I had with Yuka afterward was a lot more stressful than talking to him. I hate having to explain myself.
Evan works a side in me that is strange and foreign to everything else I am. The strong, alternative free spirit who does not let anyone tell her what to do and who to be.
With him, I feel like I am shattering into pieces, melting beneath his eyes and touch - just to have him put me back together. I feel as if I am growing stronger every time I see him. It is liberating and frightening at the same time.
I cancel my shift for the next day and call in sick. Despite feeling a little better, I am still not ready to face the real world outside, to go back to that restaurant and possibly run into another bunch of insolent women.
