A matter of wife or death

Past tense I'm twenty navigating the winding streets of London, all alone in my old, beaten-up Beetle that coughs to life every morning with a little prayer. The city's a strange blend of ancient history and sleek modernity, and I’m somewhere in between, neither quite fitting in nor standing out. As the chilly morning air seeps through the worn-out windows, I make my way to my job, a so-called 'upscale' bar where everything shines, but none of it feels like mine. The pay is barely enough to get by, but it’s something, a place to land. The contrast between my ragged car and the glitzy facade of the bar feels like a joke, but it's my life now, for better or worse. I pull into the back lot, parking my Beetle among the flashy cars of the regulars and staff, the kind of people who seem like they have it all together—or at least want everyone to think so. I grab my apron from the passenger seat, the fabric worn and faded from too many shifts, slinging it over my shoulder as I head inside. The lights are already on, too bright for this early in the day, reflecting off the polished surfaces of the bar like a taunt. I tie the apron around my waist, feeling the familiar tug of another long shift ahead. Reaching into my bag, I fish out my weed lolly, unwrapping it with a flick of my wrist before popping it into my mouth. The sweet, earthy taste settles on my tongue as I suck on it, feeling that first hint of calm spreading through my chest. "Wake and bake," I mumble to myself, smirking as I shove it in deeper. It’s a small rebellion, a way to make this mundane routine a little more bearable. I know I shouldn't, but hell, it helps get me through the day, and who’s gonna notice anyway? “Yo, Ida, table six just ordered four bottles of Kavalan Malt!” Blue shouts over, snapping me out of my daze. My eyes widen in disbelief. “That stuff’s like sixty pounds a bottle! That’s more than my wages!” I say, shaking my head as I walk behind the bar, making my way to the staff room. I punch in the code for the safe and pull out the four pristine bottles, feeling their weight in my hands. “Bunch of rich totty t***s if you ask me,” Blue adds, curling his lip in disgust. I can’t help but smirk. “Now, now, Blue, don’t judge. They might have very difficult lives,” I say with mock sympathy. Cherry overhears and grins, leaning on the bar. “Pro tip: pull your shirt down a bit, and you might actually get a tip.” I laugh. “If that’s the tip, I don’t want it!” I say, nodding toward the table where one of the already-drunk men is obnoxiously thrusting the air. “Not much to be desired, is it? I only got a fiver from that lot,” Cherry says, tucking the note into her bra. “Remember, the customer is always right, and…” My boss, Rob, appears out of nowhere, reminding me of the mantra we’re all forced to recite daily. “And the staff are always wrong,” I finish for him with an exaggerated eye roll. “Exactly. Now go serve them before they get impatient,” he says, waving me away like an annoyance. As I turn, I mumble a string of curses under my breath before putting on my best fake smile and approaching the table. “Here you go, gentlemen. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything else,” I say, setting the bottles down carefully. One of the men, clearly well past his limit, smirks at me. “Well, darling, you look a bit young to be working in a place like this, don’t you?” It’s always the same. “You look young,” “I can take care of you,” “You remind me of my ex-wife”—the creepiest ones being the guys who add that their ex-wife is dead. I plaster on a polite smile, hoping this interaction will end soon. “Hey, I was talking to you, doll,” the guy snaps, clicking his fingers at me like I’m some kind of servant. I grit my teeth. I am not your f*****g doll. His friend elbows him. “Shut up, Jack.” I can’t resist. “Seems like you’ve had a bit too much to be making assumptions, don’t you think… doll?” I retort, flashing a smirk as I hear Rob’s disapproving hiss from behind me. I don’t look his way, knowing full well I’ll get the death glare for my attitude. The guy with the greasy blonde mullet grins, ignoring his friend’s attempts to rein him in. “So you’re legal?” he slurs. “Stop it, man, you’re making her uncomfortable,” his friend chimes in. “You should listen to your friend,” I say, turning to leave. “Have a good night, guys.” I make my way back to the bar, trying to shake off the interaction. “Dude’s got a mullet and still has the nerve to hit on you!” Cherry mutters, clearly disgusted. I laugh. “I know, right?” Cherry says whatever comes to mind, and I admire her for that. She’s younger than me, but I wouldn’t mind having her level of confidence. “Hey, Blue, think you could distract Rob for a bit while I take a break? Tell him it’s a smoke break or something,” I ask. Blue gives me a mock salute. “On it.” I head out the back door, the cold air hitting me as I descend the black metal stairs. Sitting on the bottom step, I pull out my phone, my fingers shaking slightly from the chill. I dial a familiar number and wait as it rings. “Hello, Ida, is that you?” My mother’s voice comes through the line. “Yeah, Mum, it’s me,” I say, shivering as the wind picks up. “It’s good to hear from you.” I pause, trying to keep my voice steady. “My birthday’s in a couple of days. I’ll be twenty-one.” “You say that like I wasn’t there when you were born,” she laughs softly. “I was wondering… would it be okay if I came to visit you and Dad for the weekend?” There’s a silence on the other end, and I brace myself. “Honey, didn’t your father tell you? We sent you a care package because… well, your brother just got out of prison. He’s staying with us.” I freeze, the cold suddenly feeling like it’s seeping into my bones. “He’s… living with you? After what he did to me?” “He’s my child too,” she says softly, as if that makes everything okay. “He’s twenty-eight, Mum. I’m fine, I don’t need—” My voice cracks, and I trail off, biting back the rising anger. “We love you, Ida. You know that, right?” I nod, even though she can’t see me. There’s a pause, and then she adds the words I’ve been dreading. “And Kain… he loves you too.” My breath catches, and I have to force myself to speak. “Mum, please, don’t do this. It’s not fair. It wasn’t just some silly fight with my brother.” “He didn’t make you try to hurt yourself, Ida. No one did.” I look down at the faint scars on my arm, a silent reminder of the past. “I was fifteen, Mum. Do you remember what he said to me? ‘You better cut long ways, or it’s just for attention,’” I spit out, quoting Kain’s cruel words, my voice shaking with the memory. “Please don’t make me choose between my children,” she pleads. “You already did,” I whisper. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” Before she can respond, I hang up. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps pulls me back to reality. “Hey, pretty doll!” The guy from earlier stumbles out of the club, his friends trailing behind him. I roll my eyes. “I’m not your f*****g doll,” I snap, standing up. “Oh, don’t get feisty, darling. Feistiness always turns me on,” he slurs, stumbling closer. I shove him back, surprised at my own strength. But he lurches toward me again, grabbing my hand. My phone slips from my grip, crashing to the ground. Before I can react, his friend rushes over, pushing him away. “Sorry about him,” he says, his tone sincere as the others drag their wasted friend toward the street. I look down at the shattered pieces of my phone scattered across the pavement. It’s beyond saving. I stare at the fragments of my phone, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion hit me. It's not just the broken phone, or the drunk guy, or even the conversation with my mother. It’s everything—the constant grind, the fake smiles, the never-ending cycle of disappointment. I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and glance up at the night sky, where the stars are faint, almost swallowed by the glow of the city lights. I should go back inside, but the idea of returning to the noise and the faces of entitled customers feels unbearable right now. Instead, I sit back down on the cold metal step, hugging my knees to my chest. For a few moments, I allow myself to feel it all—the frustration, the loneliness, the weight of it all. I wonder, fleetingly, if it will always be like this. If this will be my life, shifting from one meaningless job to the next, just barely scraping by, while everyone else moves forward, gets married, buys houses, and builds lives. I hear the door creak open behind me. Blue’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “You okay?” he asks, concern in his tone as he steps outside, his lanky frame casting a shadow in the dim light. I nod, wiping my hands on my apron. “Yeah, just… needed a minute.” He looks down at the shattered phone. “Damn, that’s rough. Those assholes again?” I shrug, trying to play it off. “Same old story. You know how it is.” Blue sits down next to me, offering a cigarette. I shake my head, declining. He lights it for himself, taking a slow drag. “You’re too good for this place, you know.” I snort, rolling my eyes. “Please. Where else would I go?” “Anywhere but here,” he says, exhaling smoke into the cold night air. “You’ve got a brain, Ida. You don’t have to stick around this dump forever.” I lean my head back against the railing, staring at the street beyond the club’s back door, feeling the sharp bite of reality. "It's not that easy." Blue doesn't respond right away, just sits there smoking in silence beside me, which I appreciate more than words. The chill in the air is starting to settle into my bones, but I don’t move. "I saw Rob eyeing you earlier," Blue finally says, breaking the quiet. "If you want, I’ll tell him you’re sick. Get you out of the rest of the shift." I shake my head. "Thanks, but I need the money. Plus, Rob would love to dock my pay for something like that." Blue laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. “That guy's a prick." I can’t argue with that, so I just give him a weak smile in return. "Well, the show must go on." With a groan, I push myself up to my feet, stretching out my stiff limbs. Blue flicks his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot. "Come on," he says, standing up with me. "I’ll walk you in. At least if they see me with you, those jerks will back off." "Appreciate it," I say, grateful for his company. It makes the whole situation feel a little less overwhelming. We step back inside, the warmth of the bar wrapping around us like a heavy blanket. The noise and lights hit me like a punch, but I straighten my back, taking a deep breath as I slip back into work mode. The customers, the noise, the hustle—it’s all waiting for me, like clockwork. As we pass the bar, Cherry glances at me. "You good?" she mouths, raising an eyebrow. I give her a thumbs-up, forcing a smile, and head toward my next table. The night stretches ahead like it always does, but for a brief moment, I feel like I can handle it. Just one shift at a time.