Chapter 4: Survival Mode
1125 Words
I came into the city with three hundred dollars in my shoe and a heart that had turned to stone. I was lucky to have accommodation in a women’s shelter. I spent most of my nights clutching my stomach and whispering apologies to the life growing inside me. I was determined to put my heartbreak and disgrace aside and focus on surviving at all costs.
I scrubbed my face, pulled my hair into a tight, professional bun, and walked into “The Heroine” restaurant—the fanciest restaurant in the city. I lied about my age, lied about my experience, and by a stroke of luck, the manager saw the desperation in my eyes and handed me an apron to start working as a waitress.
“You are welcome to the Heroine restaurant. Note that our customers’ satisfaction is our top priority and no sluggishness or unruly behavior is allowed here,” the manager warned.
It is understood sir, I appreciate your kindness and trust. I will do my best, and you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I assured him with a smile.
I worked like someone possessed, hiding my small bump under a loose-fitting vest. I was doing fine, and was somehow making it; until a Tuesday night in November, when I was returning from a grueling late shift job where I witnessed a high-end sports car veer off the road into a gutter. I forgot about my tiredness and frantically pulled the barely conscious driver, Richard Jones, from the wreckage just seconds before the car ignited. I disappeared before the corps arrived, not wanting to be robed into a public spectacle.
When Richard woke up in the hospital, he was haunted by the dim image of a familiar "chocolate-skinned angel" who saved him. He decided to use his resources and connections to track Oma down. He found her working at a high-end fancy restaurant, the Heroine restaurant, and decided to show up in disguise.
The revolving doors pushed open, and a man walked in who made the entire room go silent. He didn't just walk; he owned the air he breathed, and he was headed straight for her table.
"I'll have the 1945 Cabernet and your undivided attention," the man said, not even looking up from his phone as he sat down. I stood there, pen in hand and trembling over my notepad, because for the first time in months, I felt like a deer caught in a high-powered spotlight.
I couldn’t recognize him, but I soon learned from the frantic whispers of the kitchen staff, that he was Richard Jones, the city’s most feared corporate lawyer. A billionaire who dismantled companies for breakfast and never lost a case. He was devastatingly handsome in a way that felt dangerous, with a sharp jawline, eyes like flint, and a suit that probably cost a fortune.
The Cabernet is an exceptional choice, sir," I said with a professional smile of a waitress, my voice strangely steady despite the fluttering in her stomach. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t place my finger on it.
He finally looked up, and his gaze didn't just skim over me; it lingered, sizing me up. It was a heavy, searching look that made me feel like he was reading the secrets written deep in my bone marrow. Then he finally stated, "You’re new here."
"No, I’ve been here two months, sir," I responded.
"And yet, you’re the first person in this building who hasn't stuttered while taking my orders. That’s very impressive and I like it."
Thank you for the compliment, I said, looking down. Can I get your orders now sir? I asked, trying to look him in the eyes.
“Yeah, please do,” he replied absentmindedly. He looked me over and watched me as I walked away while planning what to do next. At least he was glad to find the Angel who saved his life.
Over the next few weeks, Richard Jones became a fixture at table four. He always asked for me, and would ask me about the specials, but his eyes were constantly on my face. He tried to engage me in conversation. "Where are you from? What are your dreams?” he would ask. I gave him my name but tried to keep the wall high, not wanting to have anything to do with him.
I am a simple waitress while he was a titan, and most importantly, I am a secret carrying a secret. I thought to myself. What could possibly happen between me and a billionaire corporate lawyer? We are worlds apart. I said, dismissing any funny ideas that might be creeping into my head.
Richard started chasing me in the most sophisticated of ways. He would leave tips that were five times the bill. He once left a bouquet of lilies at the host stand with a note: 'For the girl who refuses to smile, for the unseen angel''
I knew what he was trying to do, but I didn’t understand what he meant by “the unseen angel” and I was not interested in taking anything from him, not because I didn’t need them but because I felt that there was no future between me and Richard. I would always give the money to the kitchen staff, and leave the flowers in the trash bin.
"You're being stubborn, Oma," he said one evening as I refilled his water. He caught my wrist just for a second. His skin was warm, and a jolt of electricity shot through me and I felt terrified. "A woman like you," he continued, “shouldn't be carrying heavy trays until midnight. Let me take you to dinner somewhere where someone else will serve you."
Thank you, Mr. Jones, but I'm here to work, not to be a conquest, I replied, pulling my arm away sharply. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t harass me further, I murmured.
"I don't want a conquest," he said, his voice dropping to a low, sincere tone. "I want to know why you look like you're carrying the weight of the whole universe on those narrow shoulders of yours, and I want to know you better, Oma. How does that amount to harassment?"
I looked at him and turned briskly to walk away, but all of a sudden, I felt a sharp cramp in my abdomen. The world blurred, and the clinking of silverware and the low hum of jazz music began to fade into a dull roar. I gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles white, I was on the brink of passing out.
"Oma?" Richard screamed, his voice sounding desperate. “You saved my life, I owe you.”
- Writer
