AN: Hello! I'm here to bring you a little chapter I've had written for a LONG time, but just haven't posted. I thought about some in-between stuff for this, but then I totally backed out and replanned my timeline. Sorry. :/ But I have this now, so here! This story is just getting started! :D

The ding from over the door gave a finality in the day. Or the shift. Caroline's mother was the last person with a ticket, taking a cup of coffee with her for her patrol. Elena sat the bucket full of dishes from her last tables on the edge of the sink and began to clean them. She robotically chucked the scraps of steaks, burgers, fries, and hotdogs into the oversized garbage barrel, then settled the dishes in the rack of the auto-chlor. Usually she was patient, but tonight she rushed, excited to get out of this hellhole. Leaving early meant a second of freedom. Of air. /A fucking nap./ She forgot what one of those were like. Stefan was planning to meet her at her house to pick her up a few hours from now, and she was thrilled even more with the idea that she had social time on her schedule. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought about it all shift. Or since Stefan had made her promise it to him.

Picking up the last dish, she swiped the chewed t-bone into the trash. However her hand, soaked in suds, let the plate fall and land on the cement floor. It shattered into a hundred pieces at her feet, shards flying in every direction. Behind the counter the cook cleared his throat. She knew that Tyler was watching her. Eying her, like a hawk. She shrugged it off.

"I'm getting it," she grumbled, finding the dustpan and brush hidden in the corner and kneeling to attend to her mess.

"No need to be in a hurry, Gilbert," he said nonchalant, scraping at the steel-top grill. It ground on her nerves, that noise. Just like his breathing. Ceramic pieces landed in the bottom of the trash with a clatter. Tyler flicked the heat lamp over the fry tray off and toweled his hands. He was quiet. Too quiet. Usually he was checking off things on a list with her. Ketchup bottles cleaned, floors swept and mopped, tables cleared. But he wasn't saying a word. Maybe it would stay that way. Elena hung her apron just as he started to speak.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" There it was. The phrase she knew that was coming. She ground her teeth a little as she took her phone from her apron and found her keys on the shelf.

"Busy," she snipped, knowing that was in no way going to shut him up. Much to his dismay, she could see him coming a little closer. She groaned internally.

"Too busy for drinks, maybe a movie? They just opened the old drive-in down on the overlook. I hear they're showing a Freddy Krueger." Was his voice sing-song? Oh how she longed to give him a look, but she didn't have the energy. Her bed was calling her. There was no time for this fool. She shook her head and pocketed her phone. Why in hell's bells would she give him a chance anyway? Working under his thumb like a suffocated work horse was enough. More than enough. The only thing he wanted from her anyways was a quickie. No way in heaven, hell, nor the place in between would she ever. The thought made her vomit a little. When she turned to face him, he was a littler closer than she'd anticipated. Half an arm's length. Closer than she ever hoped to be. She retreated a step, almost touching the wall as she scooted around him.

"No thanks, Tyler. I've got things at home to tend to."

"You should give yourself a little relaxing." He leaned over her, flicking a single curl from her shoulder as if that was going to help. Intense brown eyes watched his every move. She tried to stay calm. He was so close she could smell the stench of wet tobacco on his breath. Tyler narrowed his eyes at the girl before him, irritated that she wouldn't answer. Just glare.

"Come on. Just one date."

"No, Tyler. I'm not interested." She slipped under his arm barricade. Her keys were in her fist, knuckles white from clinging to them so hard. He was silent. Eyes bore into her- she felt them. This wasn't the first time he'd asked her out. Wouldn't be the last. But he got a little more testy every time she turned him down.

"What? Do I have to /pay/ to spend the night with you?" /Excuse me?/ she thought, trying to rehear what had just been said. Had he? /Did he really?/ Usually Elena came to a slow boil with her temper, but tonight, she was a short as hell fuse. She worked her ass off for him, being his only waitress, and the only thing he still wanted from her was- oh hell, no. Before she could stop herself, she grabbed Tyler by the neck of his grease-stained shirt and swapped places with him, slamming him against the waiter's shelf so hard the clock on the wall shook. Tyler didn't flinch, and that angered her even more.

"You look good as a blonde. /Marie./" He was taunting her. A cocky, victorious grin quirked his thin mouth when he saw the heat behind her eyes. Her mind burned with the image of him sitting front row. His eyes practically lit up. And he'd watched her that same way all shift long. And that was exactly why she didn't want him to know about her second life. "Damn nice tats." She let him loose, deciding it was past time for her to go.

"Stay away from me," she snarled, slinging her purse onto her shoulder.

"What? My money not good enough?" Elena's hands wrung into fists. She stopped, turned back around. Her body was full with hot ire. He was just like he was in high school. He loved to find people's weaknesses and use it against them. Make them feel like shit. Or just make them a laughing stock. Not this time. He wasn't going to win.

"You know what, Tyler? I spin on poles at two in the morning for your drunk ass because you won't give me hours. And it's not because you can't afford it. You're the wealthiest damn name in town. You're stingy as hell and won't give me /one/ more shift because it's 'too much,' so I have to compensate." She snatched her ragged ticket book from her apron beside him and scribbled out a note before slamming it into his chest. She wished it had knocked the wind out of him.

"My official resignation, so it doesn't fuck up your records, Mister Prim and Proper." In a storm she left the restaurant, vowing to never return. For three years, she'd endured ass slaps and grabs and his flirting that was about as charming as cow's cud. And finally, /finally/, she didn't have to put up with it anymore. She was short a few dollars a week, but maybe it was worth it. She leaned against the backside of the building and let out a long, sob-racked sigh of relief.