ISABELLA The Forgotten One

I

1

I enter the noisy kitchen. Breathing in the fresh cool air; able to breathe comfortably again.

People move around fast. Some bent over a sink scrubbing dishes.

They all work together in unison taking orders in and out.

Getting bumped every once in a while, or nudged as people walk in and out.

I'm invisible. Nobody ever sees me...I guess it's a good thing.

My manager Bryan, yells over all the clinking dishes. Snapping me out of it.

"Hey! Isabella. Table 6 needs waiting." I nod.

Immediately being suffocated, by the nicotine air.

The dark creature sits in front of me. His dark hood blends with the rest of his air.

"Sir can I- I get you anything tonight?"

He hasn't even looked or said anything to you; get a grip.

He answers, "Water."

I ask tentatively. "Is that all?"

"Yes." He answers firmly.

He never looks up.

Asking over the loudness of the kitchen, "Can I get a water?"

Everyone keeps working.

Leaving the kitchen again. The chatter of people and clinking of glasses as they're placed on the table, is all mute.

I hear none of it.
Yet, I see the dark clothed creation.

I place the glass down gently. He pulls it closer. His knuckles are raw.

A tattoo decorates his hand. More peek through his hoodie sleeve.

I do the unthinkable.

"What happened?" No stuttering over words.

He looks up at me.

His dark eyes glisten in the dull light. His sharp features mesmerize me.

Receiving a sour look before he brings his attention back to the water.

Why am I still standing here?

"You should mind your business." His voice is low. I watch him bring the glass to his pink lips.

He freezes, looking up suddenly. "Focus more on your happiness." His gaze makes me feel heavy.

His eyes leave mine and I'm dropped back to earth. A chill runs down my spine snapping me out of a trance.

His hand wraps around the glass, never looking up again. His hand tenses up.

I wander away, my mind still feeling foggy.

A strong grip on my arm makes my heart drop. It yanks me out of wherever I was.

I pull my arm away. It draws me back.

I finally look a table of men sit and stare at me like I'm a playboy magazine. One of the men at this table has a hold of me.

He takes a drag from his cigarette blowing it in my face. I hold my breath trying not to gag.

In a deep husky voice he asks, "What are you doing tonight?"

He's drunk. He looks like he's in his late 20s; the beard makes him look older.

Waving my hand in front of my face, "Not you." I say firmly.

Looking over my shoulder, for help. I catch his dark eyes bore into me.

Quickly I look away feeling uncomfortable.

He pulls me in closer and let's go of my arm, grabbing my hair.

I scream trying to pry his hands off me.

He examines my face and smiles. I feel like I'm freezing. My heart pounding as I try to hold back tears.

The air suddenly ten times thicker as I struggle to breathe.

No one is going to help me.

I spit.
I spit in his face.

My body flies back, my head throbs as I lift myself up.

He yells profanities at me. I hear the gasps of people as they look down at me.

I guess I'm not invisible.

I lift my head slowly as the throbbing becomes more intense by the second.

I watch the back of the dark figure leave.

I catch my breath.

My body relaxing.