Characters belong to S. Meyer. I just like to make them do dirty, kinky things.
At exactly 7:13 in the morning, I push open the glass door to Harry's Hideout, listening to the familiar dull chime of the bell overhead. Usually the bell didn't bother me, but today, it just seemed to taunt me. Along with everything else.
Life just wasn't going like it was supposed to. Instead of getting a full nights sleep, I was up all night worrying, pacing, agonizing over bills and an eviction notice that had been slapped on my apartment door.
One week. I had seven days to come up with a $1000.
"Mornin', Iz," I hear a deep, scratchy voice greet me from the back of the restuarant, interrupting my inner monologue. "Cup o' joes sitting on the counter for ya, darlin'. Two creams, three sugars!"
I feel a smile creep across my face at his usual greeting, and temporarily forget about my financial problems. "Good morning to you, Charlie."
Charlie was like a father figure, that no one asked for, but ended up acquiring. He was a gruff older man, with a beard that was too bushy for his chubby face, and sweet brown eyes that held a youthfullness that was odd for his age. His belly overlapped his leather belt, and was constantly peeking out from under his many greasy, cutoff, plaid shirts.
But behind all the rough exterior, was a kind heart and a good man. When I had come to Chicago, I had $10 to my name, no job opportunities, no family, and no one who gave a damn about me. When I had walked into Harry's Hideout, I had given up. I had no other options. Nobody wanted to hire someone like me they said. I didn't have roots. I wasn't from here. I wasn't qualified. I was over qualified. I wasn't good enough.
So I walked into Harry's Hideout, ordered a water with a cup of soup with my last $5, and felt the tears start to cascade down my face. Charlie took one look at my rain soaked clothes, my tear streaked eyes, and told me to be back here tomorrow at 7:30 to train.
That was that.
Four years later, I'm still here.
I pull the pink, homemade scarf from around my neck, and start unbuttoning the oversized, yellow winter coat that had seen one too many Chicago winters. I walk towards the cheap white, golden flecked counter, my shoes squeaking on the worn linoleum of the floor, and pick up the plastic cup of steaming coffee that seems to be calling my name. Being as it's Saturday morning, and I didn't get much sleep the night before, I would say it's more screaming my name. With a careful sip, I let the sugary, yet bitter, liquid slide down my throat, and fall into my stomach, creating a warmth that spreads outward, and runs all the way down to my frozen, wet toes.
Perfectly mediocre coffee, for a perfectly mundane day in the office. This was familiar to me. Almost comforting.
I shift my gaze towards the barred windows of the restuarant. Leaning on the counter, I take in the grey clouds that hang low over the city; threatening to once again, drop feet of perfectly horrible, wet, cold snow on the innocent people below. People dot the grey streets, walking to work, home, the park, hailing down cabs, buying papers from the news stand, cigarettes, gum. It all seems like a typical Saturday morning in Chicago.
Familiar.
Yep, perfectly familiar.
With one final swig from the paper cup, I swallow the last drop of the coffee before taking my belongings back to the breakroom.
At 7:30, I place my time card underneath the clock, and listen to the clicking sound it makes when it stamps the card. Another day, another dollar earned. Lets hope there are $999 more dollars to add to that.
At 7:32, I start the coffee pot, and pour a cup for Charlie. He's been in back, prepping for the morning rush and muttering to himself about the overpriced "froofroo" fruit/vegetable tomato that everyone seems to love too damn much. It's the same every morning.
Familiar.
I find him shoved head first into an oven, when I round the corner with his coffee; his ass sticking straight in the air.
Leaning against the door frame to the kitchen, I cross my arms over my chest, juggling the coffe in one hand, and clear my throat to get his attention. He lifts his head up swiftly, hitting it with a thud, and lets out a string of curses that make my ears turn red, but causes me to chuckle so loud, that I snort.
Charlie comes up from the floor, rubbing his head, and eyeing me with narrowed brown eyes. His beard is covered in black soot, and hits shirt had ridden up more than usual around his round belly.
"I could have busted my noggin' open wide, and you would still be laughin." He tries to sound stern and mean, but the wink he gives me tells me different.
I smile back in response, and grab a towel from the sink, trying to rub some of the soot from his miscolored beard.
I tap his head gently, and murmer kindly, "I don't think anything could break that head of yours."
He squints at me, considering me for a moment. "You'd be right, Iz."
He doesn't stop looking at my face, and I want nothing more than to squirm underneath his scrutiny, but I apply what I think is a neutral look, and scrub the last bit of greasy soot from his hairy chin.
Hopefully he didn't see the worry on my face. He didn't need to know.
"There you go. Handsome as always."
He puffs his chest up proudly, and slides a soot covered hand through his slightly greying hair, a blush started to spread across his face, and disappears underneath his beard.
Glancing at the oven he just came out of, I notice a wrench sitting on the floor, and a few odds and ends that look like they came from the ancient oven.
"I'm guessing you weren't trying to go all, Sylvia Plath on me. But what were you trying to do exactly, Charlie?"
His face took on a pensive look, his hands went straight to his hips, and he starts muttering underneath his breath again. This was classic ticked off Charlie.
"Big Bertha may have finally kicked the bucket this mornin', kiddo."
As much as I wanted to smile, I knew better. Big B and Charlie had a relationship that was filled with turmoil and loving moments just like any normal, human relationship. It was kind of weird really. But if I so much as hinted towards a smile, Charlie would take offense, and sulk all week. Sulking Charlie was never fun.
"Maybe you can call someone to come fix her," I suggest.
He rubs a hand over his face in frustration and thought, and shakes his head. "I already know the answer. It would probably be cheaper to just buy another one."
He sighs deeply and rubbed a hand on the back of his neck.
"Who knows kiddo," he reaches into his breast pocket, and pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper, "maybe this ticket will be the winner."
A familiar ringing cues me to a customer.
"Well before that happens, we still have people that just can't start their day without us." I hand over his cup of coffee, and pat his shoulder before heading back to the front to start taking orders for the day.
At 1:24, I have come to the conclusion that today wasn't the day for winning the lottery or making enough tips to pay even a portion of what I owe. The lunch rush has come and gone, and with it, my hopes of ever being able to pay my landlord.
Frustration starts to gnaw at me from the inside out. I would never have what I need by next Saturday. I would never have enough.
To make the time go by faster and an attempt to delay the inevitable, I grab a discarded paper that a customer has left, and start browsing the Wanted Ads for another part time job. My full time job at the diner wouldn't be enough anymore. Maybe the landlord would take payments?
Egg donor? Too painful.
Sales associate? Too much perkiness.
Call Center? Just...no.
A submissive? Wait...a what?
Maybe I had read that wrong. I close my eyes tightly, and peer back at the small printed ad with interest and shock. I hadn't misread anything.
Wanting a chance to explore a different side of yourself? An experienced Dom is looking for an intelligent, single, submissive woman, who isn't afraid to experience something new and erotic. With financial benefits. Serious inquiries only. Contact Master Edward at 555-1867.
"Master Edward." I whispered to myself.
I didn't want to admit it, but I felt heat start in the oddest of places when I said it.
It definitely wasn't familiar.