[Half-revised] 

"Order up!" The cook yelled from the kitchen. Two steaming plates appeared on the sill of the kitchen's pass-through window, and an order slip was plucked from the overhanging metal rack. Zara rushed over, wiping her hands against her jeans and swiped the plates. She immediately made her way around the long counter and towards one of the tables, occupied by a middle-aged couple. They chatted away until Zara placed their orders on their small rotund table with a grin stamped on her face.

"A chicken burger with fries for the lady and a club sandwich for the gentleman," the muscles in her cheeks were hurting but she had to keep smiling until she moved to the next table, "Is there anything else I can get you?" The male shook his head and grinned back, muttering a 'thank-you' before digging in. Taking it as her cue to leave, Zara made her way towards one of the booths, where two adults and two small children were waiting with their plastic menus in front of them. They all looked severely overweight, and she wondered how their chairs didn't cave in underneath them. She pulled out her notepad and pen from a back-pocket.

"May I take your order?" Zara asked politely, flipping her ponytail back over her shoulder. She stood there awkwardly for about a minute before the female finally decided to order for the whole table.

"Yes, I'd like four large sodas, sausages with baked beans, two chicken schnitzels with extra fries for the kids, and one bacon and hamburger with fries," Zara nodded and scribbled down everything. The children were starting to bicker amongst one another and the mother yelled at them, her chins bobbing up and down menacingly.

After repeating the order out loud for confirmation Zara added, "Would you like a dessert as well? We have apple pie, cheesecake—" She didn't have enough time to finish because the woman had already shoved the menus towards her with a shake of her head. Meanwhile, the children were slapping each other, making a ruckus loud enough to be heard on the other side of the diner.

Zara managed to walk away before the urge to strangle them with their own fat rolls overtook her. She made her way back to the kitchen, but not before stopping by another table and grabbing the empty plates, placing them on a tray. Two hours into her shift and she was already exhausted. She was still relatively new and had a long way to go before she could get into the grind of working the late shifts at the diner. It was especially dreadful on a Friday night; because the place had a plasma TV, a lot of the male patrons sat around it and watched the latest football games. Another typical weekend at Sammy's. 

She dumped a stack of dirty plates into a dishwasher and picked up two sodas as she hurried by the kitchen's pass-through window. Her head spun as she wove between tables, careful not to bump into anyone and spill the drinks. She placed them on one table and went to another where a customer was forking out bills and placing them into a check folder. As she approached him, she briefly turned her head to look at a clock hanging on the wall. 

Only five more minutes.

Then she would have ten minutes all to herself.

"Have you enjoyed your meal Mr. Browner?" She asked, trying to keep her eyes on his face rather than on the folder. Mr. Browner, having made her acquaintance only two shifts ago, had quickly taken a liking to her because her quick-witted and polite nature was a 'refreshing change to the sloppy floozies'—his words not hers. Despite his somewhat grouchy persona, he was a great tipper, so she couldn't complain.

He pulled out a ten dollar note and placed it on the closed folder. "Don't spend it all at once," he winked.

Zara slipped the bill into her bra and collected his dirty dish and cutlery, a grin on her face. She thanked him as he left and returned to the kitchen, giddy in anticipation of her much awaited break.

A loud commotion followed her as she made her way to the backroom, but she ignored it—for ten minutes, she wouldn't have to worry about it. She untied her apron and hung it on a peg on the wall.

She didn't have enough time to settle on a stool, sandwich in hand, before her employer barged in, a frown on his face.

"What do you think you're doing?" He barked, his disgusting moustache undulating above his upper lip. It was almost like he had a rat stuck to his face, when Zara had first met him she feared that it would jump off his face and onto her own. His eyebrows were just as thick and bushy, and he wore a greasy singlet that barely covered his overinflated gut. The man was a despicable human being, needless to say.

"It's my break," Zara replied apathetically, her sandwich halfway up to her mouth. She wasn't scared of him—all he needed was one punch in that stomach of his to send him reeling, but Zara controlled herself.

Think of the money, she reminded herself. It was always about the money. 

"Break? What break?" He seemed truly dumbfounded, and he scratched the top of his shiny balding head.

The same break I've been having for the past couple of shifts, Zara wanted to reply, but because there was no contract involved she couldn't shove it in his face. She decided to remain silent instead.

"Well, get out there! A bunch of hooligans just came in and Tracy won't deal with them. So you will," he thrust the apron into her arms, almost making her sandwich fly out her hands. Zara pursed her lips together to stop herself from giving him a piece of her mind. When she didn't say anything he added, "And get to it, if you want to keep this job, rookie."

Of course Tracy wouldn't deal with them, she was too shy.

Of course lard-face wouldn't deal with them. As long as they bought grub and didn't smash anything, he was a happy camper.

Everyone else seemed to be too busy. That only left Zara, tired and pissed like hell, to deal with a bunch of teenagers who had decided to come in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After she nodded, he made his way back to the kitchen, ready to give another poor soul congestive heart failure with his cooking saturated with fats and cholesterol.

She pulled the apron on again and stormed back to the counter. Tracy, another waitress who studied law in university, was handing someone's takeaway order along with their change, when Zara tugged at her shirt, a grim expression on her face. "Where are they?"

A loud guffaw erupted from one of the booths. Both girls turned to look at the source.

Zara's mouth dried.

Around a rectangular table sat Jeremy, Sebastian, Samantha and...Max?

He had his back to her, but she could recognise him anywhere—those broad shoulders, that long brown hair through which he raked his hand...

"I can't go out there." She tried to keep her voice low, but she felt like screaming.

Tracy looked over at the group and shook her head, "Me neither... do you know them?" She raised a blond eyebrow.

"Yes—I mean no—I mean yes," Her brain short-circuited.

"Okay...it shouldn't be too bad then right?" She smiled awkwardly and patted Zara on the shoulder.

If I quit right now, then I'll still have my dignity.

Zara began to walk towards their table, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her notepad and pen.

Think happy thoughts. Only happy thoughts. Not dark, satanic thoughts, just happy thoughts.

Sebastian stopped laughing as she approached them, and poked Jeremy to get his attention. Zara swallowed the build up of anxiety in her throat and tried to keep her eyes off them, instead focusing on a spot on the wall.

How did they find where I work? Did he stalk me again? That bastard! He's doing it on purpose. He's messing with my mind.

"May I—take—your order?" She coughed out, the inside of her head resembling TV static. They reeked like alcohol and perfume, the sickly-sweet scent making her gag.

"No way," Max looked up at her with widened eyes, his words slurring slightly, "I didn't—"

"Ew!" Samantha's face contorted into a grimace at the sight of her, her thick eye-makeup accentuating the ugly expression. Her long blonde hair was straighter than usual, and her silver strapless top—which was probably the top-half of a cocktail dress—was so tight that her breasts seemed on the verge of spilling out. Why was she so dressed up? Come to think of it, they all were—the three boys had their hair gelled back and wore collared shirts with jeans. "I just lost my appetite, can we go somewhere else?"

Zara's hand shook as she tightened the grip on her pen. "The door is wide open, ma'am," she said through gritted teeth and a forced smile. Samantha stared at her with that stupid incredulous look of hers.

"How dare you? I'm going to get you fired, bitch," She tried to stand up, but because she was sandwiched between Max and the wall, she had a hard time getting through him. Zara could feel eyes burning holes in the back of her head—her boss was watching her every move.

"No you aren't," Max grabbed her hand and pulled her back down, "We're going to eat something then have some fun, alright? Let's not fuck shit up right away, doll," He stroked her cheek with a finger, and she seemed to settle down.

She playfully slapped his bicep and giggled.

Note to self: Write this up in the journal so I don't end up messing with this fuckboy later.

"Damn, I didn't know you were the waitress type, Z," Sebastian said salaciously, his eyes roaming over the length of her body. His gaze made her shiver, and not in a good way. "She wants me. Look, she got goosebumps."

He moved to take her arm but Zara reflexively stepped back just before he made contact, almost bumping into a customer walking behind her. She apologised with a raise of her hand.

"Look Buster," her eyes narrowed into slits as she leaned towards him, "you're lucky that I'm working right now, but if you try and fuck with me again, I'll bash you like I did with Robert, is that—"

"Is something wrong?" In hobbled lard-face, a dish cloth swung over a hairy shoulder. Great timing, really.

A couple of people from the other tables were looking over at them now.

"Actually," Sebastian was about to rat her out but he suddenly yelped in pain.

"No, sir," Max said, a charming smile on his face, "Zara here was just telling us about how exquisite your apple pie is."

The man looked at Zara, who nodded frantically in response. He kept his gaze on her, debating whether what the hooligan was saying was true or not, but then he backed away. "I don't want any trouble, you hear me? Or I'm kicking all of your asses onto the street." He pointed a meaty finger at the group.

After he had returned to the kitchen, Zara said, "It's clear that you aren't ready to order yet, and I have other customers waiting. I'll come back later."

"No girl, I'm ready!" Jeremy waved the menu around to get her attention, "Don't listen to Seb, he's just a horny loser. Get me a burger."

"Which one," Zara tapped the pen against the notepad, getting increasingly impatient at their behaviour. From the corner of her eye, she could see Max watching her—he was probably expecting a thank-you from her. Well he wasn't going to get one any time soon, considering that it was his fault that she had gotten into crap in the first place.

"Beef."

"I want chicken, and a Sprite," Sebastian muttered, rubbing his knee.

Zara looked at Samantha, expecting her to order something stupid or inexistent.

"I'll have nothing, thanks."

"Sam, you know that drinking on an empty stomach is bad for you," Max said, reaching over to tug at a strand of her hair. He made sure that Zara saw the action well, and well she did. She glared at him so intensely, she almost gained three wrinkles in her forehead.

"But I'm not hungry," Samantha pouted.

Oh Lord, they are NOT doing this in front of me, Zara thought, now completely fed up.

"A Sprite and two burgers, one chicken and one beef. If that's all I best be going—"

"Wait, I haven't ordered yet!" Max's eyes darted from Samantha to the menu, slowly scanning its contents. He certainly took his time to decide, and it began to dawn on Zara that he enjoyed wasting her time. "I'll have the hot dog, and water for the table."

"Great," Zara turned around and sped off to the kitchen at the speed of light.

She had Tracy later serve them their meals; she had dealt with them long enough for one night.

-:-

Zara was wiping down a table when she felt his presence behind her.

"What do you want?" She kept her eyes in front of her, her hand making circles with the rag.

"Wow, not even a thank-you?"

Aha. I knew that was coming.

"Thank-you for what?" Zara finished and moved on to the next table, with Max trailing after her like a lost puppy.

"For—never mind. I know you're doing it on purpose," She could feel his frustration escalating, even though she couldn't see the scowl on his face. She wasn't giving him the response he wanted, and that was hurting his little ego. He had messed her up enough back on the building, what else did he want? Had it already been two weeks?

"Okay, what do you want from me, Max?" She swivelled around, but her breath hitched when she realised just how close he was to her. She had to get away from him before she passed out. "I still have work to do, and besides, I thought we'd agreed that you wouldn't talk to me? As if we had never met? I don't have neither the pills nor the money for you right now. I told you I'd get something by the end of the two weeks—"

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her outside before she could cause a scene. "Will you shut up and listen to me for a second?"

Zara snatched her arm away from him and slapped his face.

"Don't you dare do that again!"

His lips curled into a smile, and he broke out into brief laughter. "Whatever. I wanted to apologise for them, but that's not why I took you outside."

"I accept your apology. Now get to it before I lose my job damn it," Her teeth were chattering, and she jogged in place to keep warm. She had to tilt her head back considerably to look up at this giant of a man, and it was starting to hurt her neck.

"Come over next week. I know you're busy on Thursdays, so maybe come over next Friday? Or maybe not even Friday since you're obviously working. How about Saturday?" He seemed desperate, with his breaths came out in white puffs, which dissipated as soon as they were formed. She noticed his green eyes taking her in—despite her dark complexion, her nose was probably turning red, as were her cheeks. Zara was freezing to death, so she wanted to get this over with and go inside to warm up.

"Why?" Busy on Thursday? What did she have on Thursdays? He must've asked her before, and she must've rejected him and put up an excuse. Another note to take down.

"Because—I need to talk to you about something very important...concerning you-know-what." His eyes widened for emphasis, and he even leaned slightly to whisper the last part of his sentence. Unlike her, he was more cautious about where he chose to spoke about these matters, something that she would have to do as well. Hopefully nobody heard her back there. "Plus, we have an English assignment which we still haven't looked at, so that's something we should discuss as well."

Zara could feel her throat starting to burn with every swallow. He wouldn't take no for an answer a second time, so if she just agreed to what he said and called it off afterwards, then she'd momentarily be off the hook. She would make sure to talk to Mr. Lawrence next class and ask if she could work individually, and then everything would work itself out. Any longer under the frigid weather, and she'd probably get really sick— the asshole didn't even offer her his coat. What a gentleman he was.

"Okay. Can we do not next Wednesday, but the one after?" She didn't remember the deadlines, but she had to come up with something.

"Alright. But that means that we'll have to do everything in one day. Think you can handle it?" Max gave her another one of those smiles of his, and he stuck his hands in his pockets, that smug look never disappearing from his face.

"Yeah, right. There's nothing I can't handle, pretty boy," she didn't return the smile, "so if that's all you have to say to me, I'm going back inside. Have a good night," Zara gave him a small wave and hurried back inside the diner. 

-:-