Saturday evening is winding down, and I let out a sigh of relief. The restaurant is still buzzing, but the crowd is thinning out. Guests are leaving their tables, waiters are clearing dishes, and the bartender is polishing glasses. Just a little longer, and I’ll finally be able to change out of my uniform and head home.
“Alice, stick around after your shift. We need to talk,” the manager, Mr. James, calls out, his voice making me tense up. He rarely speaks to the waitstaff, and when he does, it’s always with an air of superiority.
Tall and admittedly good-looking, he’s the type who turns heads. But not mine. I can’t stand self-absorbed jerks like him. And that’s exactly what he is.
I always keep my distance to avoid unnecessary run-ins with him, but tonight, there’s no escaping it.
“Alright,” I nod, though a sinking feeling is already settling in my gut.
Once the restaurant empties out, I make my way to his office. The door is open. He’s sitting behind his desk, lounging casually in his chair. The heavy scent of his cologne hits me like a wall, almost choking me.
“Come in,” he gestures to the chair across from him, but I stay by the door.
“You wanted something? Is there a problem?”
His lips curl into a smirk.
“You’re a good girl, Alice. Hardworking, polite… and very pretty. I can help you out. A pay raise, easier shifts…”
He stands slowly and steps closer.
“No, thanks. I’m fine as is,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, though my heart is pounding with unease.
“Don’t be foolish. You know it’s not smart to turn me down, right?”
His hand reaches for my shoulder. I step back, a chill running down my spine. There’s nowhere else to go—my back is against the wall.
“I don’t think you heard me,” I say firmly. “I’m not interested in your offer.”
James smirks again. I see his hand moving toward my hip, and I know this is my chance to stop him.
I react instantly. My knee jerks up, and I strike him hard right where it hurts.
James groans, doubling over and clutching his lower abdomen. His face contorts in pain.
I don’t wait for him to recover. I yank the door open and bolt out of the office. Down the hallway, through the service door, out into the back alley. The cold air slaps me in the face, but I don’t care. All that matters is running.
The street, the glow of the city lights, the rumble of traffic. It hits me that this was my last day at this job.
It’s a shame because I actually liked it here, but thanks to that creep, I’m out of work again.
I walk home, the cool evening air biting at my skin. I wrap my arms around myself, but the chill helps clear my head a little.
This isn’t my first job in London, and it definitely won’t be my last. I’d gotten used to this one, though. The pay was decent, too.
All because of that jerk James, who can’t keep his hands to himself!
I just don’t get the girls who are willing to sleep with him for a better position or a bigger paycheck. It’s disgusting!
I’d rather sweep the streets than stoop to that level!
I unlock the door to my flat with my key. The hallway light flickers on as I kick off my sneakers. My body aches after a twelve-hour shift, but that’s the least of my worries. What’s worse is that I’m back to job hunting… again.
“How was your day?” My flatmate, Ava, peeks into the hallway.
She’s in her pajamas, her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, holding a mug of tea. We met at my last job. She was looking for a place to live, just like me. I thought it was fate, and I wasn’t wrong—since then, we’ve been best friends.
I toss my bag by the coat rack.
“In a word? Awful,” I mutter, heading to the kitchen.
Ava follows, frowning.
“What happened?” she asks.
I grab a bottle of cold water from the fridge, take a few gulps, and lean against the counter.
“Remember how I said our manager was kind of off? Well, turns out he’s not just off—he’s a total creep who thought he could… persuade me into something more.”
Ava’s eyes widen in anger.
“What?! And what did you do?”
I give a wry smile.
“Kneed him where it counts and ran.”
For a moment, the room is silent, and then Ava bursts into laughter.
“Alice, you’re a badass!” She sets her mug down on the table and pulls me into a hug.
“A badass without a job now,” I grumble.
She steps back, looking at me with concern.
“Listen, we’ll figure something out,” she says reassuringly. “I’ll ask if they need anyone at my workplace. If not, it’s not the end of the world. You won’t be out of work for long in London.”
“Thanks,” I say sincerely.
“No problem!” Ava winks at me and leaves the kitchen.
I stand there for a few more minutes, replaying everything in my head, then head to the shower. I need some sleep. Tomorrow’s a new day, and I’ll come up with something.
The next morning, I wake up, have breakfast, and decide to call my mom. It’s been a while since we’ve talked—I’ve been swamped with work—but today I’ve got the time, so I take the chance.
Honestly, I’m nervous as I listen to the long rings. I’m hoping everything’s okay with her, but knowing how she spends her days, I’m not so sure things will turn out well.
I left for abroad two years ago, right after finishing culinary school. Mom and I lived in poverty. I started working at fifteen, picking up odd jobs here and there. When I turned seventeen, Leonid showed up in our lives.
Some might think having a man around would make things better, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. Leonid taught my mom that work wasn’t for them. Better to live life with a bottle of vodka for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
They started drinking together, and I started staying out overnight more often.
While I was in school, I lived in the dorms. And when the opportunity to move to England came up, I didn’t hesitate to take it.
The phone keeps ringing, and my chest tightens. The device feels heavier in my hand than usual. I’m praying Mom picks up and that she’s okay. But knowing how she spends her days, I’m not so confident.
Finally, there’s a click on the other end, and I hear her voice:
“Hello?”
It’s hoarse, sleepy, clearly roughened by alcohol. I sigh and close my eyes, as if that could help me accept a reality I’ve known for too long.
“Mom, hey, it’s me.”
There’s a pause, then she recognizes me:
“Oh, Alice! Sweetie… how are you? It’s been so long since I’ve heard from you…” She sighs, and I can almost hear her slowly lighting a cigarette.
“I’m okay,” I reply automatically. “Just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.”
“Me?” She laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “Same as always.”
I know what that means. The same rundown house, a bottle within arm’s reach, Leonid lurking somewhere nearby.
“How’s he doing?” I ask quietly, though I already know the answer.
“He’s fine,” she mumbles, as if she doesn’t want to talk about him. “A bit on edge… it’s hard to find work these days… and you haven’t sent anything lately.”
I grip the phone tighter. Every month, I send Mom part of my paycheck, but I haven’t the last two months.
“Has he been bothering you again?” I shift the subject.
“What are you talking about?” Her voice sharpens. “He’s good… when he’s not angry.”
When he’s not angry… I clench my jaw. I’ve heard this before, too many times. But we both know the truth, don’t we, Mom?
“Why don’t you come visit?” she suddenly asks, and there’s something almost childlike in her tone, a trace of the mom who used to sing me lullabies.
I close my eyes.
“I can’t, Mom.”
“Yeah, I know,” she exhales. “You’ve got your own life, your work. I’m not mad, really.”
I hear the exhaustion and hurt in her voice. And it stings.
“If you need anything, just let me know, okay?”
“Okay, sweetheart,” she whispers. “I need money. There’s nothing to live on. But don’t worry about me. I’ll manage.”
We talk a bit longer, but her voice grows more distant. She’s not really here, not in this conversation. Eventually, she says she’s tired and needs to rest.
I end the call and stare at the screen for a long time, as if it might give me answers I can’t seem to find.
If I’m honest, Leonid scared me back then, and he still does. There was a moment with him that’s etched into my memory forever.
I’ve been running from him for two years, but the past isn’t so easy to shake off.
After talking to Mom, my bad mood sinks even lower. Inside me, a tight knot of anger, helplessness, and pain tightens, and I try to push it down. But right now, I need to focus on what I can change.
I need to find a job. But first, it’s only right to go back to the restaurant, pick up my things, and get my last week’s pay.
I get dressed quickly: jeans, a comfy sweater, sneakers. I pull my light hair into a ponytail. The mirror reflects the exhaustion in my eyes, but I turn away—I don’t want to look at myself right now.
The walk to the restaurant feels longer than usual. It’s as if the place is now part of some other life I’ve escaped from, but one that hasn’t fully let me go.
As I approach the familiar building, I notice the security guard by the entrance. The same one who always checked the guests. He looks at me with curiosity but doesn’t say a word.
I take a deep breath and step inside. The shift has already started: waiters bustle between tables, the clatter of dishes fills the air, and the hum of customers surrounds me. Everything looks like nothing happened.
But as I get closer to the staff entrance, someone touches my shoulder.
“Alice.”
I turn sharply. It’s David, the bartender I sometimes joked around with during shifts. There’s worry in his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. “It’s not your shift today.”
“Came to grab my stuff,” I reply curtly.
David hesitates, then leans in closer.
“You’d better hurry. The manager, let’s just say, isn’t in the best mood.”
I clench my fists. Of course he isn’t.
“Where is he now?”
“In his office,” David says quietly. “But I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. If you want, I can get your things for you…”
“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” I force a smile.
I quickly head to the break room where the staff lockers are. I open mine, grab my backpack, and sling it over my shoulder. Now for the hard part—getting my pay.
And that means I’ll have to face him. I straighten my back, take a deep breath, and head to the manager’s office.