Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

EVEREST

Going to work with a busted lip and a bruised face sucks, but I have to bring in money to pay the bills and stash some away for myself.

When Mitch sees me, he smirks. “Running your mouth again, huh?” I don’t answer, just walk to the break room to clock in. The words he shouts to my back are like barbs, piercing my soul. “I’m sure you deserved it. Can’t listen for shit. Get your fucking apron on and start taking orders. The place is packed and you’re fucking late.”

I’m not late at all. In fact, I’m ten minutes early. But I can’t clock in until noon, which is when my shift starts. If I clock in early, Mitch will yell in my face for the ten minutes, saying I’m stealing time. If I clock in late, he’ll be only too happy not to pay me for the hour.

I know I shouldn’t take this shit. I know I should stand up for myself and get the fuck away from all the people that abuse me, but where would I go? What would I do? I’m not only lacking support from family or friends, but I barely have a high school diploma and I don’t think I’m strong enough to enlist in the military as a way out.

I tried to find other family, hoping there was someone out there that could give me a hand, if only for a little while. My mother told me when I was a child that her parents died in a boating accident and she had no siblings. I know nothing about my father’s family, other than he was cut off and kicked out of his family home when he was eighteen.

I have no one to look to for help on any front. I’m stuck.

With that thought on my mind, I go to my first table, pull out my notepad and start taking orders, sure to hurry back to the wall mounted machine in the back to clock in at exactly noon.

The workday passes in a blur. It’s the weekend, so it’s packed the entire shift with families, friends getting together, and people wanting a greasy meal. Mitch has so much cooking to do, he doesn’t have time to give me shit and yell at me for breathing. I get a few looks from patrons because of the state of my face, but no one asks about it or even if I’m okay. In this town, everyone knows my dad and his history. They won’t ask any questions they already know the answer to.

My last table before my break is taking an order for the sheriff. He and a few of the other officers come in here while they’re on duty, order a drink and hang around until they get a call or until they feel like leaving. I hate when they come in, especially Sheriff Drake. He always mutters snarky comments about me being good for nothing and saying I need to be a man and stand on my own two feet, not making my dad take care of me. My dad is the town drunk who hasn’t worked in years, and everyone else obviously knows it. Why does he think my dad is taking care of me?

Exhaling a long breath, I walk over to his table and hold my pen over the pad. “What can I get y’all today?”

Sheriff Drake looks me up and down, lip curled in disgust. “Have a fight with your dad? I can see why. Men of your … perversion need to have some sense knocked into you. Might make you turn straight.”

I bristle, but don’t say anything. It’s no secret in this town that I’m gay. I’ve never tried to hit on anyone or even kissed anyone for that matter, but I’ve never hidden who I am. In a town like this, being gay is worse than committing murder. Probably another reason the sheriff turns the other way when he knows I’m getting my ass beat at home. He thinks it’ll make me straight. If I didn’t fear repercussion, I’d roll my eyes at him.

“There is nothing wrong with you, baby. You are perfect. Perfect for me. We can find a way to kill him for his bigoted words. A fork to his throat would do the trick.”

Shaking the voice away, I look at the sheriff who’s eyeing me warily. “Want to hear the specials for today?”

“I know the damn specials,” he grumbles, picking up the laminated menu. “Get me a double cheeseburger. Large fry and a diet Pepsi. And a slice of chocolate cake.” It would be too much to ask for him to have a heart attack with a meal like that. A meal he orders almost every day he comes in here, which is a few times a week. That can’t be good for his cholesterol.

“A heart attack is too good for him, baby. We can make him suffer.”

I take his order quickly, then get the orders of the other cops sitting with him. None of them bat an eye at my fucked up face, either, an indication they agree with Sheriff Drake.

“I would love to show you how good it can be with someone. How I would take care of your body. All you have to do is ask.”

Gripping the order pad, I rip the slip off roughly and slam it on the counter for Mitch. He gives me a narrow eyed look, promising that I’ll pay for that.

I have no idea why Mitch has it out for me. I’m a model employee, I come in on time, I do what he tells me to do with no questions asked and I take shifts when no one else can or will. It must be because I’m an easy target for his frustrations. There can’t be any other reason.

“Let me take care of him for you. I will make him your punching bag. We can have fun with him before I crush his fucking skull.”

Unable to help myself, I put my hands to my ears, murmuring, “Stop it, stop it, stop it.” I know I look crazy—as crazy as everyone thinks I am—but it’s too much right now. It’s too much muttering about death and killing that I don’t want to hear right now, even if it’s what I deeply want. I can’t handle shit happening in my regular life and not being safe in my head too.

“Hey,” a soft voice behind me says, tapping me on the shoulder.

I jump, spinning around with my hand on my chest as I eye the woman in front of me. “I’m sorry,” I say reflexively.

The woman’s face scrunches in confusion. “You didn’t do anything. No need to apologize. I’m sorry for scaring you.” She eyes me curiously but pastes a smile on her face. “I’m Danae. I’m the new hire.” She holds her hand out to me.

Danae is a short woman with an open face and gentle curves. Her hair is cut in a bob that frames her almost angelic face. Friendly, piercing blue eyes clash with mine as she smiles widely at me, her even teeth with a small gap between her two front teeth flashing.

Nodding, I drop my hand from my chest and shake her outstretched one. “Oh, okay. I’m Everest.”

“I know.” Her smile is friendly but has something behind it. I’m not sure what. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Finally?” I ask, wondering why she wanted to meet me at all.

She pauses a beat, glancing around almost nervously. “Yeah. I’ve worked with everyone else and know their names, but I didn’t meet you.” Her eyes roam over my face, her open expression turning hard. “What happened to you?” She lifts her hand towards my face but drops it almost immediately.

I shake my head. “Nothing. I fell.”

She pulls her lips in and nods, though I know she doesn’t believe me. Who would? I’m skittish as fuck, and my face is beaten to shit. I’m sure even the most clueless person would know that’s a response from someone who is being knocked around. She just doesn’t know it’s my father. “Are you on break? Let’s talk.”

“I’m on break, but … why do you want to talk to me?”

She shrugs, grinning sweetly, her expression of apprehension gone. “I don’t have any friends here.” She eyes me up and down, still smiling, but with a softer look on her face. “I think that applies to you too. We can be friends.”

“She seems nice, baby. She will not hurt you like everyone else does. Talk to her. Befriend her.”

I shouldn’t listen to the voice. I should do the opposite of what it tells me, just because, well, a voice in my head is talking to me .

But it’s been so long since I’ve had a friend. Years, actually. Maybe I should listen to the voice. Besides telling me to kill people, it hasn’t steered me wrong. It got me out of that hospital, being pumped full of meds that made me feel like a zombie. Maybe it’s right about Danae too.

Swallowing my fear, I nod. “Okay, yeah. I usually just sit in the alley and read.”

“Perfect. I can come out with you. We can chat for a bit. If I’m bothering you, you can tell me to fuck off.” She chuckles lightly, her hand over her mouth.

I gasp. “I’d never tell you that.” Because I know how it feels to be told that in anger, I would never say it to someone else, no matter the reason.

Danae smiles brightly again. “I’m sure you won’t. You’re a sweet kid.”

She loops her arm through mine, and we head out into the alley through the back exit of the diner.

Surprisingly, Danae and I really hit it off. She’s extremely funny, her humor kind of dry, but she pulls more than a few chuckles out of me. Talking to her is the most I’ve spoken to another person in years.

She’s new to town, living with her boyfriend. She says she doesn’t need a job—her boyfriend is a doctor that just got hired at the hospital in the next town over—but she likes getting out of the house to talk to adults every now and then. “The help wanted sign was in the window, so I figured what the hell?” she tells me when I asked why she applied here of all places. “Got hired on the spot. But I chalk that up more to my tits than my ability to wait tables.”

I laugh at her candidness. She’s a shapely woman and Mitch is a fucking pervert, so I agree with her there.

“Here,” Danae says, holding out her hand. “Give me your phone so I can put my number in there. We can text, meet up for coffee, that sort of thing.”

Face burning with embarrassment, I hand her my old iPhone, knowing that I should have upgraded years ago. My phone still has the home button for fuck’s sake. Every morning I turn it on, I’m surprised it still works. I doubt they still make parts for it, so if it dies, I’ll have no method of communication.

Danae doesn’t seem to mind. She taps the keyboard quickly, then her phone rings. “Got you. I’m actually not supposed to start my shift for another hour, so I’m gonna go shopping before I have to clock in. I just wanted to talk to you first.”

That’s weird, but I don’t mind. I’m glad I made a friend after being alone for so long. “I’m off in two hours. But I have the next two days off. We can do something then? If you want?” Hopefully she says yes. I’m already enjoying her company immensely. It would be nice to talk to her somewhere other than a back alley.

“I definitely want,” she says with a happy grin.

I’m not sure if she’s flirting or not, but I feel compelled to tell her, “I know you have a boyfriend and you’re not hitting on me, but I’m gay. So there’s no?—”

She interrupts me with a wild laugh. But she quickly cuts it off when she sees my face fall. “No, I’m sorry for laughing. I only laugh because I know it sounds like I’m flirting when I say certain things, but I’m not. I just have this natural sultriness.” She winds her hips and I chuckle, relieved that she’s not laughing at me. “Seriously, I figured you were gay.”

Raising an eyebrow, I ask, “How?”

“Hello? You haven’t checked out my tits once, even when I said I was hired for my big tits.” She pushes them up and I chuckle again but still don’t ogle them.

“Maybe I’m polite,” I say uselessly. I just told her I was gay.

“Yeah, and I’m the queen of fucking England.” She blows me a kiss and sashays away. “I’ll text you later, Ev.”

Ev. I have a new friend and a new nickname.