Bittersweet Sugar - An ACOTAR fanfiction

Chapter 7 - Fairytale

Feyre supposed it had been a job interview.
Not of the conventional sort, but an interview nonetheless. It wasn't sitting awkwardly around a table with other people while answering questions that you didn't really know the 'right' answer to-
Wait.
Damn, it really had been a job interview.
Well, anyway, she'd got the job. She sort of knew that already, but it was nice to have it confirmed, seeing as her and her sisters' fates depended on it. Growing up poor had left Feyre with a lot of paranoia, Nesta and Elain too.
There were many scars poverty left- some more physical than others. Her father knew all about that.

"Feyre?" Rhys interrupted her thoughts.
This was her first day working at Night Owl and she wasn't accustomed to the new menu, the customers, and..well, everything.
God, my first day here and I'm already screwing things up. I'm only two hours in and I've got four to go.
"It's only your first day here, Feyre. I don't expect you to get everything immediately. I know you'll do great, but this is basically just learning our ways, alright?" Rhys told her.
God, I'm so grateful for him.
"Alright," Feyre replied quietly, smiling.
It wasn't bad- a giant step up from the pressure and long, snaking lines at Spring.
In fact, it was a gift, all of it. The job, the overly generous wage, the shifts, the time, the people.
A gift that Feyre could never repay, no matter how hard she worked.
But this was not the time for sad thoughts, so she locked them up to think about another time.

It was like a fairytale, Feyre thought fondly.
She was on her break after another hour and a half and Rhys had all but forced her to take it.
It was a Wednesday, so Mor wasn't working, and Feyre was alone at the back of Night.
The clock she could see from inside Night Owl read 12:30pm. A fifteen minute break, officially starting now, although she'd been out here for longer.
It was like a fairytale, she thought again.
A damsel waiting to be rescued from the beast. Saved by a handsome prince and given a life of luxury.
Well, screw that. I think I'll save myself.
Feyre was done with fairytales, of lies, of pretty, poisoned smiles, of drinking and dancing and dying. Feyre was done with playing pretend and acting like everything was alright when her life had gone to shit and she couldn't cope. So in this damned fairytale, Feyre didn't care if she was the villain.
Feyre didn't care if the beast would have turned to a prince eventually because she'd seen that in reverse and was sick of hiding her sadness.

Feyre Archeron walked back in to Night Owl five minutes too early with her head held high.
The gods themselves couldn't have taken away that unfaltering confidence, that infallible awareness. And they didn't dare try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day after day, order after order, her genuine smile did not fade. If anything, it strengthened. She had now been working at Night for six days and had grown to love it, to be excited. But what she loved more were the people. Mor was a given, but she'd found unlikely friends in Cassian and Azriel. She'd gained an unflinchingly loyal friend, too- Amren could roll her eyes all she wanted, but when it came down to it, she had Feyre's back. Every time. But the best part of it was Rhys.
Feyre couldn't have wished for more in a partner. Was that the right term? More than friends, definitely. The electric spark had not fizzled out, it had grown into a bolt of lightening, outweighing the darkness of Feyre's trauma. Life was good, life was great.
If her life had to be a fairytale, this was her happy ending.

"What can I get you, sir?" Feyre smiled brightly, looking down at the register.
A deep voice answered.
"One Spring Sugar," said Tamlin.
Feyre thought she'd burn. Die. Cry. Anything but do what she did, anything but open her mouth and speak up hoarsely.
"Get out," she ordered, warning bells sounding in her head. Not here, not here, not here. He can't take away my happy place. I'm not letting him do this here. 
"Oh, but Feyre, this is a public place, is it not? I'd really like some coffee."
She could nearly hear the smile in his voice.
"We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone so get out," Feyre snarled.
"I just want to talk," Tamlin sighed. "No tricks. We need to talk about this, Feyre."

Anger and fear battled in her mind. Anger won.
"I am not a child so don't speak to me like one. I have made my intentions crystal clear now leave before I have to make you," Feyre snapped. There was no tremor in her voice. No hesitation. Feyre had allowed him to break her once. Twice. More. Never again would she be helpless, never again would she be weak.

"Is there a problem here?" Mor asked, emerging from the back. She immediately moved to stand beside Feyre.
Someone give that woman a medal.
"As my coworker said, we don't have to serve you. So please listen," Mor went on, her tone sickly sweet.
"Well, I want to speak to the manager," Tamlin
demanded.
Mor wasn't fazed. "Rhys isn't here right now. I am temporarily in charge and if you do not leave I'm not opposed to making you."
The subtle threat didn't go unnoticed by Tamlin, stupid as he was. Feyre thought her heart might burst out of her chest- but not out of fear. Out of affection. Out of love. Love for the woman standing her ground beside her.
Mor. Gentle, kind, loving Mor, was standing up for her. Speaking up for her, when in Tamlin's shop that was practically outlawed.

Tamlin left, shoulders slumped but fists clenched.
Mor quietly walked over to the door and flipped the sign, the 'We're Open!' side now facing Feyre.
"There was only an hour left anyway," Mor smiled. She strolled back over to Feyre and hugged her tightly. The warm embrace was so infused with love and strength that it nearly knocked Feyre to the floor, but she was so heartbreakingly grateful for it anyway.
The blonde murmured to her quietly,"I know how it feels. We all love you, Feyre. This is your home and we're not going to let him take it away from you. You're not trapped anymore, Feyre. You're free."

The fear that Feyre had felt just moments ago had been replaced with love.
Love for the sunshine blonde who had taught Feyre that family wasn't just your blood.
Love for the scarred, quiet artist that coped with his pain by letting it roam free on a sketch pad.
Love for the always-grinning, wild man that was willing to go the extra mile to make Feyre feel welcome.
Love for the cold, snappy woman who's sharp tongue had not held back when Feyre was insulted.

And that ever-growing love for the smirking businessman who loved Feyre back in return.

A/N : Sorry for going so long without updating, a mixture of insomnia and writer'a block caused it 😂 Fun Fact : Tamlin was the 666th word.
Here's a meme to serve as an apology.