Beautifully Broken

“Of course.” Yeah, buddy, I can read between those lines just fine. That’s twice now in twelve hours that someone has assumed I can be bought. “Look, I’ve had a long night and I’d really like to reacquaint myself with my own bed. I’ll let you two get back to what you were doing.”

Cybil lights a cigarette and takes a drag. “Okay, Baby Girl; you get some rest. It’s good to have you home.”

Yeah, it’s great. Just great.

MY ALARM SOUNDS so I hit the snooze button. When it goes off again, I crack one eye open and reluctantly check the time.

I bolt upright in bed. “Shit!”

I’d hit the snooze button five times! How did that happen? I have exactly twenty-one minutes to get to work. Not a great way to start your week. I really like my job but these occasional early morning shifts kill me. I slept half the day away yesterday after my happy homecoming which totally fucked with my internal clock. I couldn’t fall asleep until after two so now I’m running on less than three hours and I don’t even have time to take a proper shower. I’m actually looking forward to starting school next week so I can have some routine in my life. How fucked up is that?

As I get dressed, I mentally calculate how long it will take me to drive. As I’m brushing my teeth, I decide to forgo any makeup. My tips are much better when I put on the pretty, but I simply don’t have time today. They’ll just have to settle for the fresh-faced teenager look. I pull my long locks into a ponytail and run out the door.

I pull into the lot where the coffee cart sits with one minute to spare before we’re officially open. Damn it! I need at least fifteen minutes of prep time. There are already two cars waiting in the drive-thru. I unlock the trailer and move around as fast as possible brewing the drip coffees, unwrapping the pastries, powering up the register, and organizing the flavored syrups the way I like them. It’s 6:13 when I officially open for business. With fake enthusiasm, I lift the shade and slide open the window to take my first order of the day.

Unfortunately for me, today is the day when our owner is the first car waiting. My smile immediately falls when I see how pissed she is. Marilyn runs a tight ship and this isn’t the first time I’ve been caught opening late.

“Uh, hi, Marilyn. What can I get for you?”

She looks into her rear view, most likely at the lineup of cars behind her. “Time is money, Kat. How many times do I have to tell you that? Six cars have driven away already because you can’t seem to abide by the posted business hours.”

“I know, Marilyn. I’m really sorry; I accidentally turned off my alarm.”

She rolls her eyes. “We’ll talk about this after your shift. I’ll be back then.” With that, she squeals her tires out of the gravel lot.

I square my shoulders and paint on a smile as the next car arrives. I somehow manage to get through the first rush with my sanity intact. Once I have a lull, I take the time to think about the possible consequences facing me at the end of my shift. I’ve seen Marilyn pissed before, but never that pissed. I’m so screwed if she fires me. I need this damn job. I’m already dealing with a cereal and Ramen noodles food budget. I qualify for assistance from the district so I’ll get free breakfast and lunch once school starts but that doesn’t pay for gas and insurance. Or rent, I remind myself. Fuck! I slam my fist on the counter when I consider the real possibility that I’m walking away from this place without a steady paycheck.

“Ow!” I scream as the pain slices through my knuckles. Great, now I have to make it through the rest of my shift with anxiety and a swollen hand.

“Hey, Kitty Kat,” Dylan calls as he walks into the trailer.

“Ugh, you know I hate it when you call me that,” I complain, shaking my aching hand.

Dylan and I have been friends with occasional benefits since I started working here a year ago. He’s the only guy that I’ve banged more than once since the inception of my rules. Until the other night, that is. I shake my head to chase away the memory of my night with Sparkles. It’s never going to happen again so why dwell on it? Dylan and I have an understanding which is why I keep him around. His fresh out of the surf style makes him easy on the eyes and his boyish charm is rather…well, charming. I usually don’t mess around with guys from school since I’ve been burned so badly in the past, but he’s cool and he doesn’t kiss and tell. Not with me anyway, since doing so would ruin his chances of hooking up with someone else.

I grab some ice, place it in a towel, and wrap it around my knuckles. This does not go unnoticed.

“What’d you do to your hand, babe?”

I wince from the sting of the ice. “I punched the counter.”

He laughs. “What’d the counter do to you?”

Looking at the digital clock on the register I ask, “What are you doing here so early? Your shift doesn’t start for another hour.”

“Why are you avoiding my question with a question?”

“Dylan,” I sigh with annoyance. He knows my deflection technique by now. Normally he goes with the flow and moves forward.

“Kitty,” he mimics my tone.

I’m given temporary reprieve when a customer pulls up. One skinny half-caff mocha later, I turn toward him. “Quit calling me that. You know it pisses me off.”

He walks up to me, runs his hand down my arm and says, “Ah, but you’re so hot when you’re pissed. I get hard just thinking about it.”

I roll my eyes. “I screwed up. I woke up late so I opened for business late. Again. Your mom was here and she was pissed.” Yep, Dylan is Marilyn’s son. “I got the impression that she’s going to can me after my shift.”

“Seriously? You want me to talk to her?”