"I'm so sorry, it won’t happen again," I say, my voice barely above a whisper as I stare at my feet, shame prickling at my skin.
"Don't tell me that. That’s what you always say," Paula snaps, it is quite obvious she is in a sour mood today. I can feel her eyes burning holes into me, and though it's not entirely my fault, I can't bring myself to argue. I overslept.
"Get to work," she orders with a dismissive wave of her hand, and I move quickly, the weight of my exhaustion pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. All day, I feel sluggish, and waves of nausea ripple through me. I force it down, clutching at my stomach when no one is looking.
****Later******
The evening rush has hit, and the café is swarming with customers. The hustle and bustle makes my head spin, but I keep pushing for
