Jett dawned his hairnet and washed his hands thoroughly. He tied the apron around himself and rolled up his sleeves. He got to work instantly, preparing breakfast for the residents at the nursing home. It wasn't long before he had a menu up for the nurses, CNAs, and residents to see, and not long after that did the place fill with mouth watering aromas.
Soft crepes, strawberry, blueberry, banana, and mixed, were steaming and ready to be served. Cinnamon rolls, freshly glazed with his own glaze recipe that the residents and workers loved, rested joyfully on a platter. Oat meal waited patiently on the stove, carefully seasoned with cinnamon, brown sugar, butter, and tiny bits of apple. He prepared fruit smoothies for those few who couldn't chew and for those others who wanted them. And it didn't take much time for the small cafeteria to fill with the elderly. The other chef walked around to each and asked for their orders. Most had a very difficult time picking out what they wanted. Jett only shows up three days a week and he never made the same thing twice. But all of his food was marvelous in every way! They took their time choosing carefully and after they had been served the other employees made their way to claim some of his work. He cleaned up what ever wasn't being used quickly and began on both lunch and dinner. He didn't work the night shift, but the chef who did apparently didn't know how to cook very well and he'd often get asked to make them dinner as well. Stew would be great! The weather asked for something warm and stew was just right. Stew and hot chocolate! He scribbled down the recipe for the night chef and pinned it to the ready pot, knowing that after lunch he'd have to run over to the steak house for his second job.
But for now, he'd competed his work and for once, got to sit down. He sat with the residents and listens to the crazy ones babble and the sane ones complain about the CNAs and the night chef.
He set up bingo and taught a group of young spirited girls how to play bullshit. They loved the game so much that they dragged him into a few rounds and were quite sad when he had to get back to work.
And it felt like every one in the facility hated it when he and his ride left. His coworker dropped him off at Steve and Blake's Steaks, a small and poorly known new steak house in the area. He had shed the hairnet and pulled down his sleeves. He threw on the silk black vest he was ordered to wear and once again washed his hands. It wasn't long before he had a pen and note pad in his hands and was welcoming families and hungry individuals into the steak house, belong them find seats and taking their order.
He'd rather be the one preparing the steaks, but he didn't mind running here and there and being away from the stove for once.
His boss was in a particularly sour mood. He always was, that's just how he is, but today he was grumpier than the usual. He grumbled to himself, complaining about absolutely everything. And every employee knew to stay out of his way when he got in a mood like this. It wasn't often that he'd hunt out some one to yell at or make their days worse, but when he did, it was the first person he saw. And as Jett walked inside he knew instantly that he had been chosen to be the "bitch" of the staff for the day. His boss rushed over, his chubby face red with pure hate. No one knew why he was always so angry, or why his comb over always looked liked he was housing a ferret on top of his old wrinkling head.
The man latched his grimy fingers tightly around Jett's scrawny arm. He dragged the boy through the facility and shoved him into the broom closet,"change the light, clean the bathrooms, wash the windows, pick up the trash in the parking lot, clean the grease splatters off of every surface in the kitchen, and have that all done before the next time I see you." He barked. Jett stared after his boss. He'd sell his soul just to punch that man in the face, just once. He grumpily turned to the light and gave a sigh. He climbed onto the rack of tools, cleaners, and extra light bulbs and reached for the light, really wishing that his boss didn't get rid of his stepping stool.
He ran from here to there, taking orders and tending to the extra work his boss assigned. He skipped his break just to get it done. He was almost finished, all he had to do was the outside work, but he could get that done around closing time when every one is going home. He began to focus a bit more on the customers, memorizing faces and their orders and racing from the kitchen to the table with their meals. Then he'd race back to the doors and welcome others and lead them to their nice and clean tables. And as others left he darted over to clear away their mess. He was constantly on his feet. There were days that he wished he didn't have lazy snot nosed teens as his coworkers. Today was one of those days.
It wasn't long before he looked like he was undergoing a large amount of stress. He looked dead tired and ready to go home. But he did his best to chase away any and all annoyed or stressed facial expressions.
Table three had a pair of twelve year old twins. And since it was their birthday, he was obligated to run over and sing them a quick song, ask them if they'd like the birthday special, and offer some balloon animals.
Not too far from him, at table six, a large group of loud and rude men had just been seated. They were shouting derogatory remarks at other customers and flirting, rather inappropriately, with their assigned waitress. She looked back at Jett with a begging look to tag team out. Jett turned back to the family with a small smile,"my partner, Tina, is going to take over. Happy birthday you two." He said softly with a small bow before turning to save the waitress. She whispered a small thanks as he passed, trading orders. The waitress quickly got to work with the family with the twins while Jett went to deal with the rude group. They welcomed him with glares.
"Aw, what's wrong, toots?" One called back to the waitress,"can't handle a real man?" His buddies laughed, through Jett saw nothing funny about the comment. You aren't a real man, you're a douche. He fought back the urge to shout this and fought even harder not to get snippy with them. However it didn't help when they continued to then slut shame the waitress.
"Pardon me, sir, but if you continue to make such a ruckus, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He said calmly, keeping his voice low so that they were forced to listen. He then turned to carry out their orders, knowing full well that he was being mocked and hated.
He met up with the waitress on his way back. She stopped him and took her time to thoroughly thank him and apologize. At the same time he made sure she was ok and didn't leave until he knew she was fine.
He made his way back to the table with their requested meals. He set each platter down upon the table and removed their empty glasses to go and refill them. He did his best to ignore the shower of short jokes that they threw at him. He's heard all of them about a million times, and half of that terrible number was from Deacon alone. After living with Deacon and hearing all of these same jokes over and over, he didn't even notice them. As he turned to walk away, a cold liquid splashed on his back and legs followed very quickly by the sound of breaking glass. He looked at his feet wondering if he knocked it off the table. But he was standing several feet from the table and held nothing that could have knocked it over. The Dr.Pepper settled into his clothes and the carpet. Jett looked from the mess to the man who had ordered the drink. The group laughed and smiled acting as if they didn't see the man break the glass. The man locked eyes with Jett with a toothy grin.
He glanced back at his buddies before getting to his feet and towering over Jett,"what the hell? You got that shit all over me!" He shouted, attacking attention from every one in the room. Jett took a moment to process that he was being falsely accused and he took a second to figure out what exactly was the right decision here. He'd like to just apologize, take the blame and clean it up, but he didn't want to bow to an asshole like this. He didn't get to defend himself or falsely admit. The man went on shouting, as if he wasn't being heard.
"I'm fuckin' sick and tired of your attitude towards me!" He screamed, spitting on Jett. The boy opened his mouth to protest. He'd been nothing but calm with them,"and now you're breaking shit and ruining my expensive attire?!"
"Sir, could you please calm down-"
"I want to speak with your manager." The man hissed. Jett's eyes widened for a second but he forced himself to remain calm. He turned to go and get the boss, knowing full well that this was either the end of his job here or the end of his life. The man stopped him,"not you, some one else go fetch the manager. I don't need you spitting out lies when you go get him." He sneered. The waitress shot him a nervous look but hesitantly left to obey the request of the man.
Every employee stepped out of the way as the more than angry man stormed over. He shot daggers at Jett with the way he was glaring. Besides the two tv's currently on the sports channel and the low music playing in the back, the restaurant was as silent as the grave. The manager latched onto Jett's arm and shoved him aside. He stared the trouble making man dead in the face with an awful snarl,"what's the problem?"
"I've got a problem with your waiter. He's been giving me and my buddies and attitude all evening, he was late brining us our orders, and he's ruined my clothes!" He said confidently. The manager looked back at Jett for a second. He took note of how the drink spilt and how Jett wasn't too soaked with it. He turned to the waitress and asked her to confirm this man's accusations. And with out hesitation she not only backed Jett up, but also said a few other things that the customers had been doing through out their stay. The manager turned to Jett apologetically,"you are dismissed. Go wash the kitchen," Jett turned instantly to tend to the new task, wondering if he was going to get yelled at for this event later. His manager continued,"now, as for you five, I want you out of here. You're causing too much trouble for not only me, but for my workers and people around you."
"Fine but I sure as hell ain't leaving a tip." They mumbled, rising from their seats and gathering their jackets. They spat nasty comments as they left, finally leaving the steak house in peace. The manager waited a moment after they had left before returning to the kitchen.
"What the he'll was that, Jett?" He demanded. Jett jumped back from the sink in startled alarm,"Sir?"
"You're lucky as hell that I can't fire you for this! Go clean up that glass!" He barked, pushing past him.
Jett looked back at the waitress and mouthed a quick "thank you" before running to remove the glass and clean up the spill. Luckily, they had no other trouble makers and the rest of his shift passed nicely. It wasn't long before every one started going home. Jett was able to go wash windows and pick up trash as he had been ordered. He gathered up what all he needed before heading outside. He froze when he spotted the group camping just outside their cars across the parking lot. Jett decided to use the back door. He snuck around the side and quickly began wiping down the windows and gathering trash as he went. He tried his best to avoid the waiting group, using the shadows to help hide himself. He remained in the sights of at least two other employees just to feel a little safer.
He finished up his last few jobs and proceeded to wait for Deacon inside. He had sent a few texts, but seeing as they hadn't been answered he figured that Deacon was already on his way to come pick him up. But time passed and Deacon should have been here almost an hour ago. He watched as every one left one by one and he was soon left alone with only the manager who was hiding away in his office. The group was still waiting patiently. They eyed him through the nice and clean windows. Nervous and threatened he gave a worried call to Deacon. He was sent straight to voicemail. He waited for ten more minutes before his phone died. He reached into his pockets and found a few wadded up bills and some change. A little over enough to get him home using the busses, but they didn't exactly run at this hour. He'd have to walk home. He made his way to the back of the building, bidding his boss a good night before shutting off the lights and slipping again through the back door.
He was more than surprised to find two of the five waiting for him. Head lights blinded him instantly. He raised an arm to keep the light from his eyes and give himself a fighting chance in getting away. He was never one to fight with others. Mainly because he was always so little and easy to push around that he would with out a doubt get pinned and beaten either to death or unconscious. And, more importantly to him, it brought back terrible memories he had fought so hard to run away from.
He ignored the insults and threats that they shouted while they waited for the other three to join them. He marched right on past, hoping to feet to a more lit up and public area. But the other three cut him off. They swerved into view, using the ice to help them. Jett junked back out of the cars way, running into an awaiting group member who then shoved him towards the angry car. He slipped, his foot sliding out from under him. His head collided with the trailer hitch of the truck. He lay still on the floor as the world spun around him. For a moment, he couldn't feel a thing. Neither physical injuries nor emotions. Everything was still, gone almost. But every thing crept back to him. It was slow at first, moving is small throbbing waves. But as soon as the whirling world began to slow, everything rushed at him so violently that he could t hold back a scream. He was alarmed to find himself unable to scream, or make any sound at all. His head was warm and stuck to the dirty snow beneath him. His back aches as feet were thruster into it. Boots tore into his flesh and bruised him. He could barely hear them shouting at him. Their voices were muffled, as if they were yelling at him through a thick layer of heavy blankets. His head pounded in a paralyzingly agony. His arm screamed in this horrifying pain that he'd felt once before. His eyes struggled to follow the blurry sight that was his arm. He focused as well as he could on why it hurt. He stared for a while, puzzled as to what he was staring at. When he realized that it was a tire he instantly tried to rip his arm free. Blood rushed free from an unseen wound beneath the tire. He couldn't move his arm, or any limb for that matter. He could barely move his eyes. He again tried to scream as the tire twisted violently. Who ever was in the car was backing up. The iced over rubber tore away chunks of his skin and flesh, staining the snow and ice a bone chilling red. Something drilled itself into his ribs and he found himself suddenly unable to breath.
He hoped that some passing car would just drive by and he'd be rescued, unable to save himself. As his eye lids began to feel heavy they forced themselves shut, as much as he didn't want them to. He tried his best to listen to every thing around him, but the pulsing in his skull and the ringing in his ears made that completely impossible.
He couldn't remember waking up. He couldn't remember them leaving or stopping. He couldn't remember walking half way home. He couldn't remember most of what happened. It was as if he had just suddenly woken in from a terrible dream all thanks to a late night driver honking long and loud at him. He had wandered into the middle of the street and now stood there in a confused daze. He hurried, to the best of his half awake abilities, out of the street and back into the side walk. He found walking a whole new challenge that he wasn't used to or prepared for. He stumbled around like a mad man. He felt a terrible chill surround him and was more than alarmed to find himself covered in iced blood from pretty much head to toe.
He wandered in a a out of consciousness. He was surprised that even in such a state as this that he was able to find his way home. Then he was mad that he didn't go to the hospital.
But it was too late for that. He was standing outside his apartment door, forgetting how keys work. He swung the door open and was disgustedly swarmed with the terrible smell of alcohol. Deacon half lay on the counter in a puddle of rum. He had fallen asleep with the bottle in his hands and had spilled it all over himself, the counter and the floor.
"Draken!" Jett shouted, though his voice was more than gone and all that escaped his bruised and bloodied lips was a small hoarse whisper. He fell victim to an awful coughing fit that took from him the ability to breath. He struggled to stop and again remember how to breath, a process he swore he had to have repeated for about the twentieth time.
Deacon continued to sleep. Jett wanted to wake him up, but honestly the shower sounded much more appealing. He staggered over before remembering that he left the door open. He waddled back to close it, not wanting to get robbed. He made his way to the shower. He found simply undressing alone was a painful process that made him really with that Deacon was awake and able to drive. He turned on the water and let himself soak, watching the water around his feet stain a gruesome red and brown. Everything hurt. Open wounds burned like hell fire. His head especially.
He found his right lower arm mangled out of shape. Bone stabbed freely through his skin, saying a happy hello to the world and everything in it. He couldn't move his hand or fingers and that honestly explained a lot but still nothing at all. He felt extremely dizzy and fought back the urge to both hurl and pass out. He freed himself from the shower and threw on a loose T-Shirt and a pair of Deacon's baggy pants. He made his way through the house, tracking blood as he went. He exited his apartment, finding that he left the keys in the door. He removed them and knocked on his neighbor's door. It's late as all hell and they probably wouldn't wake up, but he needed a ride.
A very grumpy and tired woman opened the door and looked down at him angrily for a second. Her face shifted as soon as she saw him.
"Good heavens! What happened to you?"
"I can't remember, but I need a ride to the hospital. I'd ask Drake, but he's not only out cold but also drunk." He mumbled, again only in an awful hoarse whisper. The woman nodded, taking a coat from her near by closet and throwing it around herself. She didn't care or mind that she was wearing pajamas and slippers. She lead Jett to her car and helped him in. She struggled to keep him awake the entire way there. He drifted in and out of a conciliatory state of mind and made a bloody mess all over her car's seat. She dropped him off at the hospital and then went home.
She pounded on their apartment door before letting herself in. She threw her slipper at the sleeping Deacon, waking him up as soon as the fluffy show came in contact with his face. He looked up alarmed. He expected a very angry and freezing Jett to be standing before him, shouting at him. He was very confused to see the nice neighbor lady standing rather angrily in the door way.
"Wassup?" He asked, his words falling out his mouth in a barely understandable slur.
"Jett's in the hospital. I just thought I'd let you know." She barked. Deacon stared at her for a second unsure if he should tell her that he couldn't hear a thing she had said. She saw this plainly in his drunken face and made her way to the fridge. She took Jett's small recipe booklet and scribbled down Jett's in the hospital, room 342. She pinned it up on the fridge before seeing herself out the apartment, closing the door behind her, and seeing herself back to bed. What a night, she thought to herself as she fell back asleep.
