I furiously chew on mint gum before I walk out of the bathroom. I had forgotten--well, not forgotten so much as I had ignored the responsibility--to brush my teeth and the taste of string cheese still lingered in my mouth from my second mid afternoon snack.
The thought of food and lack if flavor from the gum makes my stomach grumble out of hunger. I was always eating at least every two or three hours, though you'd never be able to gather that just by looking at me. My small yet fit frame made me look like a twelve year old. The only thing preventing me from being fully mistaken as a preteen boy are my boobs. They're by no means ginormous, but against my tiny figure, my B cups look more like a hefty C.
The thing my palate craves now is fruit, and the only place to find such a thing in Marea is the kitchen, so that's where I head. The heat from inside attacks me before I even enter. Sweat starts to prick at my forehead and I'm suddenly thankful that my minimal makeup skills keep me from wearing anything more than mascara and concealer.
"My Lord," I exhale as I walk in.
As usual, there is a stainless steal bowl full of apples just beside the immense fridge. I stop and grab a red one. Michael, the owner, likes to keep little snacks about the restaurant for the employee to be able to snack on throughout their shift. Speaking of Michael, I hear his voice booming for the other side of the large kitchen. His voice rings out over the clattering of dishes and the panicked staff anxiously preparing for the Friday rush hour. The entire room is humming with energy.
Michael White is the reason for my employment. He and my aunt are suspiciously close for two divorced, single adults, (I've asked on several occasions if there is anything going on between them, to which he just changed the subject) and he gave me the job as a favor to my aunt. Michael treats me as if I were his own child, which makes coming to work slightly more bearable.
I should probably clear the air a little and just say that I don't hate my job. It's a rather easy one. I'm not a waitress or a cook, but a hostess of sorts. I go around the restaurant and make sure the guests have whatever they need and I occasionally walk people to their tables. I don't even have to wear a uniform. My only requirement for attire is to wear fancy evening/cocktail dresses appropriate for the restaurant. The problem is the people.
"We cater to some big names over there in show buisness," he told me on one of my first days here. "We've got to look presentable for the celebrities. But you're so cute I don't think they'd mine if you showed up in a potato sack."
Sounds exciting, doesn't it? Getting to serve A-list celebrities? It more or less is, I guess. The fun part is getting to meet then, because I always have the privilege of doing so. The only issue I have with it, that makes me so bitter about my job, is how all of the other staff acts. Anytime a major celeb walks in, they all freak out and ask me to get autographs or even go so far as to ask me to get them a date.
"Hi, Michael." I poke his shoulder to get his attention. His initial reaction when he turns to face me is annoyed but his soft, chubby features soon relaxe into a smile as he realizes it's me.
"Hey there, AJ! How's a going?" He greets me by one of my numerous nicknames.
"Pretty good, and yourself?" I question back, my mood having shifted from crabby to content within the last few minutes.
"Oh, I'm doing just grand," he answers as he works with some sort of green vegetable. "My, you look awful cute tonight, dolly."
I smile at his compliment. He was always commenting on how adorable I looked whenever I came in, even if I clearly was not adorable. But tonight he was right, I did look cute. I took a dress from Kara's closet without her knowledge, since she was always doing that to me. The deep orange color matched the current season so I thought it was only appropriate to wear.
"It's a good thing, too," he continues. "We've got an important party coming in tonight. They've rented out the private room and everything and I thought I'd let you take charge of it. How's that sound?"
Truthfully, it sounded like something I didn't want to do. Very rarely did I take on the task of running the private parties. After two years of employment, I still wasn't confident im my ability to not mess it up.
In spite of this, I still said "Yeah! Sounds great!"
Michael, still facing his food that now sizzles in a pan, rejoices. "Alright, that's a girl! I'm glad you agreed. They're a real special group and I thought you'd appreciate me asking you to take this one."
Oh yeah, I'm forever in your debt.
"What's so special about them?" I ask, my curiosity taking over. If they're as important as he's making them sound, then maybe it's not such a wise choice to let me be in charge of this one. I have a history of screwing up.
"I'm glad you asked, sweet pea. You're going to freak out once I tell you!" He builds up the tension. "It's the cast of that new Star Wars movie coming out in a few months. Isn't thst exciting?!" His energy multiplies as he reveals the secret. It's not obvious at all that he's a fan of the movies or anything. Not by the way his smile stretches across half of his face or that he continues to talk more about the subject even after I've stopped listening.
To be honest, I'm not a Star Wars fan. I don't have anything against them, but without a brother to force me to watch them, or a sister to drool over any of the boys in the films, I just never had a reason to get into them.
Even so, I try to mach his joy in my response. "Oh my gosh, no way!"
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Driven | An Adam Driver Fanfiction
Fanfiction"Oblivion is bliss. I missed not knowing about it, which sounds insane to admit, but before I realized what was going on when I wasn't around, our relationship was striking red. Not anymore. Now it was grey. It was dead and so was I. At least, that'...
