Eat The Rich (bxb) | ✔

Chapter One

MICAH BLEU

To say that I hate the world would be extreme. I hate society and the way it treats those who need help the most.

These thoughts spur out of my mind every time I'm at work. I glance around at the women with Gucci bags and Louis Vuitton shoes, the guys dressed in three piece suits from Versace to Tom Ford and everything else in between. It's all materialistic and not realistic.

I have no problem with people rightfully deserving their wealth and success but a lot of people don't work hard for what they have, it's handed down to them.

I've studied up on it during my free time because the topic interests me. Pierre Bordieu is a sociologist and calls this 'habitus'. In which those who have wealthy parents often inhabit their fortune and carry on their business or profession.

But my problem with this is, where is the space for those who have worked their way up from the bottom? For all the people who have parents who never had any money or are working class or yet alone, those who just have normal, everyday jobs.

"Micah?" Abel's voice brings me back into the room.

I lean up from the counter by the kitchen and glance at him. "Sorry, I'm not with it today," I sigh, reaching up for the receipts hanging above the kitchen heater.

"You look tired, is everything alright?" He asks, straightening out his cufflinks.

My shoulders shrug as I look over the receipt in my hand, making sure I take over the right plates. "Just uni stuff, it's fine," I say to him with a forced smile.

"Marco really wouldn't care if you took an early shift," Abel says. "It's fairly quiet tonight."

I instantly shake my head. "I need the money and the tips, I can't cut the shifts short."

The chefs draw up plates of food on the heater and I instantly take them into my hands. My skin burns from the heat but I am used to it. My hands feel like sandpaper from the years of practice.

My eyes scan over the room and locate the table to serve. I hurry over to the two people sitting opposite each other. "I've got the prawn linguine," I say politely as I stop in front of them.

They stop their conversation and flick their eyes up to me like I have farted extremely loud. What a tragedy that would be. "Yes, that's me," the woman replies as she shuffles back in her seat.

I force a fake smile because I know my emotions won't let me do it automatically. "Here you are madam," I place the plate down onto the white tablecloth gently.

"And the sirloin steak," I say.

"Well that will obviously be me, won't it?" The guy says, clearly irritated. He shoots me a glare and I feel about three feet tall. Ignoring the heat that is invading my face.

My teeth bite down on my tongue so hard that I almost draw blood. My shaky hands place down the plate in front of him and I continue to force my smile. "Enjoy your meal."

I pull away before I attempt to yank my hair out. "You're fucking welcome," I mumble under my breath as I shoot back over to the kitchen.

My face feels like it is on fire. I quickly take off my glasses and rub my eyes harshly. Only four more hours to suffer and I can get the hell out of here. Best believe when I graduate from university, I am out of here like the speed of light. But right now I need the money, I need it more than ever and knowing I have to support my mum will get me through anything. Even if it is ridiculously painful.