Nothing makes a room emptier than wanting someone in it.
For instance, I'm alone in a dark, messy house during a thunderstorm, and even though her presence alarms me, I want her here.
It's not a relief to know momma won't be home for a while.
Days. Weeks. Months, maybe.
The last time she left, she hadn't come back for 19 days. She didn't tell me where she was going, didn't even leave a note. But this time, she did leave a note.
Restock the alcohol before I come back.
When will you be coming back, momma?
Sometimes, I wonder if she only comes back because she knows she'll be able to drown out her thoughts by getting drunk out of her mind when she's here. Or maybe because I'm her only source of money.
Or...or maybe because I'm her daughter and she loves me, despite the countless times she's told me otherwise.
I would've gone out tonight to buy more alcoholic beverages with the eighty bucks I was given, but then a storm rolled in.
I love storms. They remind me that even Mother Nature has bad days. But, when I'm alone in the dark, it gets a bit frightening.
Glancing around at the unlit---since the power went out---messy house, I decide to clean up in order to distract myself from the disaster outside.
Beer bottles, beer cans, wine glasses, spills, worn clothes, sloppy furniture, dusty shelves, dirty countertops... this should keep me very distracted.
Thunder shakes the house, and I jump into action.
After picking up every item off the floor and setting them on the dining table, I begin to sweep while humming Fool's Gold by One Direction. Frannie, my coworker, was playing it at the diner as we were getting ready to close. Now it's stuck in my head.
You know what else is stuck in my head?
Well, who else?
Levi. I don't even know his last name, but I can't stop smiling at the fact that I have a friend now! He might not want to be my friend, which makes me sad because I've never had a true friend before, but why else would he come to the diner three days in a row? For me, may I add.
Maybe I should say hi to him when he's at work, too—wherever that is.
Wait, I have his number.
Oooo, I could text him!
No, I don't want to bother him. He's probably busy.
I will tonight.
Maybe.
Cleaning went by surprising quick, and I hope momma will love it when she comes home.
The storm still hasn't died down, so I'll go out to buy her drinks tomorrow on my day off. Big D begged me to have one day this week off since I haven't had a break other than weekends in over a month.
It's probably because I'm not super great at my job, but oh well! As long as he doesn't fire me, I'm all good.
After my shower and skincare, I curl up in my bed, tugging my blanket to my chin. My quokka stuffed animal is squished in my tight grasp as lighting strikes.
Just because i'm not afraid of storms, doesn't mean the big boomers don't alarm me once in a while.
Quokka's are the cutest animals in the whole wide world. Plus, they're literally the happiest! If I had the choice to become a quokka at midnight during a full moon instead of a werewolf and then have to fight off those werewolves...I wouldn't pass that up.
I'd win. Absolutely none, zero, no doubt.
It's not about the size of the quokka, it's about the size of the fight in the quokka.
I look at my cracked phone on the nightstand. I broke it a couple months ago when I thought it'd be a good idea to wear rollerskates at work since it's a diner, and had stupidly left my phone in my apron pocket. When I took a tumble, so did my phone.
I didn't dare ask momma if I could get a new one. And Lord knows I won't be able to pay for it. So I've been dealing with a phone screen that looks like a poorly put together puzzle for the last few months.
It's cracked and doesn't work well, but it still manages to light up with notifications—if I get any. In fact, I haven't gotten any notifications since Big D asked me to work over the weekend many, many days ago.
Tonight, it doesn't light up with a notification, which shouldn't come as a surprise to me. But, for some reason, the fact that Levi hasn't reached out makes me sad.
Pshh. Who are you kidding, Athalia? Why would you think he'd go out of his way to text you?
Maybe he'd appreciate it if I messaged him first.
I don't let myself reconsider. I snatch my phone off my nightstand, and click his contact.
Mr. Pretty:) - Hiiii! It's Leviiiii
Wait, he texted me when I was still at work and I missed it! That's why I didn't see the notification. Shoot, he's been on delivered for hours. What if he thinks I don't want to talk to him?
Me - Sorry just saw this :( , hiiiii!
Now we wait.
And wait.
And wait.
I check the time. It's been five minutes since I texted back. Ugh, why does he take so long to respond!
Wait...
He didn't text me first.
Right, I forgot I texted myself earlier so I'd have his number in case he'd forget to message me—which he did.
How stupid am I?
Oh gosh, now I've sent a reply back to the text that I texted him!
Okay, Athalia. You can't unsend it. Maybe he'll think it's funny.
A loud crash of thunder sounds. Holy shizzles, that was loud. I wish I would've seen the strike of lightning. It's so cool how the veins of electricity can light the entire sky.
Forget being a waitress, I should be a storm catcher!
Because its difficult for me to fall asleep in an empty house, I send another impatient text to Levi.
Me - Where are we going on Sunday??⊙﹏⊙
I set my phone face down, blowing out a long breath. I should be careful not to annoy him, I don't want to lose a friend I just gained. Well, a potential friend.
Bing.
For some reason, although when he decides he doesn't want to be my friend, I won't necessarily be losing anything, I know I'd feel even more alone than before. And—
Wait.
Was that my phone that buzzed?
Excitedly, I flip my phone over to see a—drumroll, please...
Notification!
Mr. Pretty:) - Your diner.
I frown. I'm there nearly every day of the week. But, I suppose it is my favorite place on earth because I get to see Big D, make Heavy Duty's, and see my potential friend whenever he comes in.
How would a friend text him back? I try to put myself in the shoes of one of his buddies, 'cause I assume he's a popular dude, even if he seems to never not be cranky.
Me - I'll see u there bro
When I get an immediate response, I nearly cry with happiness. This is the longest online conversation I've ever had with someone!
Is that sad? Oh, well!
Mr. Pretty:) - Don't call me that.
Me - Okay, Levi╰( ^o^)╮
Mr. Pretty:) - Go to bed.
I frown. Does he not want to talk to me? I respond with an 'Okay, sorry!", and turn on my side, leaving my phone on the nightstand.
Through my window, I watch lightning strike. I don't know how long it takes for me to fall asleep, but I know that my last thought is a foolish hope that maybe he will still want to be my friend after Sunday.
If not, well, then it'll just be me again. No momma, no dada, just me.
☆☆☆
Warning: Violence & mention of Sexual Assault
The earpiece in my ear shouts the activity of our target.
Descending the stairs of the second floor.
Reaching the exit door in 4 seconds.
Target has entered the parking lot.
"Target located," I say into the earpiece, carefully aiming my gun at the shirtless man running through cars. Evan Peter. He's a dickhead of a man, raping the girls he takes from the streets. It's fucking disgusting.
A few of my men creep up behind me, guns pointed at the Evan. But I hold up a fist, signaling to not shoot. He's swerving between the cars in the parking lot, kicking up rain puddles as he goes. Not only is he a rapist, he's also a fucking drug addict.
I'm not proud that my job is to eliminate targets, but to eliminate the fucker running across the street is something I can happily live with.
"Boss, he's getting away," River informs me, standing at my shoulder.
I wouldn't consider him a friend of mine, but he is one of very few people I can manage to tolerate.
"I know," I say, keeping my gun pointed on my target.
If the head of the organization, Randolf Gray, didn't allow me to do what I wanted with this case, the rapist would be dead by now. But, since Randolf made me the head of my own divison, I'm going to give our target the false hope that he'd gotten away.
The fucker shouts in triumph once he's across the street, thinking he's in the clear. My finger pushes down on the rain-slick trigger, and I make my shot.
Evan Peter goes down in an instant.
Into the earpiece, I announce, "Target eliminated." I turn to the men behind me. River, Maxen, Fisher, and Nicolas nod, knowing what to do. Still, I demand, "Search for the victims."
They break away the second I give the order, and I stand from my crouch. Lightning strikes, rain dripping from the ends of my hair and pouring down on my black clothes. I fucking hate storms. Why so fucking loud?
I follow my men inside the apartment. Smells like weed and other substances, and I cringe. I've had my fair share of cigarettes, but the stiff, gas-like scent almost makes me gag. I don't doubt Evan had fucking forced drugs down those girls throats, too.
"Boss, we found em'," River walks over to me, running a hand through his damp blonde hair. "Room 204. It's real fucking disturbing. Worse than any other case we've dealt with."
I push past him, looking inside Room 204.
Fuck.
Near a closet, Maxen picks up a naked girl, coving her with one of the many towels we were supplied with. There's too many young girls inside the closet, shivering and nearly unconscious. Bruises cover their bodies in spots no fucking bruise should be.
The carpet is covered with stains of all sorts, and I watch my step. I'm glad that piece of shit is dead. He doesn't deserve a life after he's taken the lives of so many girls. Fucking children.
I kneel down next to a shaking girl. She can't be older than fifteen. "You're safe, now," I tell her, softly grabbing onto her arm to pull her out of the closet. Her neck has the bruise mark of a hand, her cheeks stained with dry tears. "Everything will be okay."
There's nothing I can say to make these girls forget about what they've been through. The guilt is one of the shitty parts of this job. All we can do is return them to their families, and to offer them a safe hand. But after that, we can't do fucking anything.
For the next hour, my men and I put the girls in our cars with blankets, food and water, clothes, and devices to communicate with their families.
The last girl I grab onto makes me sick to my stomach. She looks familiar. Her brown-blonde hair is matted with blood from the infinite scratches on her face, her green-blue eyes droopy but alive with hope. Who does she remind me off...
Athalia Quinn—from Dan's Diner. The waitress that I told to go to bed minutes before I shot the bullet that killed Evan Peter.
I better never fucking see her in a situation like this.
Focusing on the girl in front of me, I cautiously bring her out of the closet. But she thrashes out of my grip, backing away.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I say. "It's over, he's gone."
"Don't—don't touch me," she whispers, tugging her knees to her chest, covering herself.
I stand slowly. "Okay. I won't touch you."
River is about to walk inside the apartment when I stop him with a raise of my hand. Maxen and Fisher come up behind him, Nicolas too. They all remain outside the doorway.
"Would you like to come out?" I ask the girl.
Shit, she has to be only 13 years old. How sick is that motherfucker Evan Peters?
She only scoots herself deeper into the closet. I want her to just fucking get out, but I know she's scared. I have to be paitent with her. Even though all of my men and nearly everyone else that knows me has an idea of how fucking thin my patience is.
Residents of the apartment start crowding the doorway, River and the others making sure they stay clear of the room.
The girl hears the shouts and questions of people around her, and she starts to shake.
"Get rid of the fucking crowd," I order.
"We're trying, bossman," Fisher says, his auburn hair nearly black with the wetness of the rain. "Reporters have arrived, and those fuckers don't leave for shit."
"I'm scared," the girl whispers, and my attention immediately snaps to her.
"I know," I say, taking a step closer. "You're going to be okay. We are here to help you."
She looks up at me, and fuck she reminds me so damn much of Athalia, it's nauseating. Then she looks back down at herself, cringing at her naked body. "I-I don't want anyone to see me. I don't want to b-be touched."
"Nobody will touch you." I turn to demand my men, "Get the others to help clear a path. Don't let any damn one of 'em close enough to see her."
She slowly comes out of the closet, and I don't grab onto her until she grips onto the hem of my jacket. I wrap a towel around her, and she lets go of my jacket for a moment to tuck it around her.
Together, we walk out of the apartment. She's barefoot, and every time she steps on a stain of something, I cringe for her. Thankfully, there are shoes for them in the cars.
River, Fisher, Nicolas, and Maxen stand on our sides, along with the other men that joined us on this case to make a wall. It's near-impossible for anyone to see the scarred little girl clinging to my jacket.
Once we get to out, she climbs into the car and finds another girl—one of the older ones—that she immediately curls up next to. "Thank you," her friend says, sobbing. "Thank you so much."
I nod, shutting the doors and getting into my own car.
River sits next to me, shaking his wet hair like a dog to dry himself off. It flings on to me, and I tell him to fuck off before taking my earpiece out and removing the gun from the waistband of my pants.
Although the mission was successful, a heavy silence fills the car as we leave the scene. Each time my eyes close, I see Athalia Quinn scared and bruised. I don't give a shit about that waitress, and frankly I find her a tad annoying, but it makes me sick to my stomach to think of her in a situation like this.
Thunder booms, and fuck me, I flinch. Thankfully, it was unnoticeable, because River would've made a whole deal about it otherwise.
I'm not a pussy that's scared of storms, I just hate them and that's all, now fuck off.
"Y'all in the mood for a few drinks?" Maxen asks, breaking the silence.
"Why not?" Nicolas says.
"I could use a couple," Fisher chimes in.
River says, "I think we all could, Fish."
They all face me. "Levi?"
"No."
Maxen rolls his eyes. "C'mon, I know you need one after tonight."
I don't respond, instead leaning back to show them that I'd rather not talk to their dumbass selves right now. We just had a hell of a night, and the last thing I want is to spend another damn second with them.
River seems to catch on to that. "He'll join another night, I'm sure he's got a shit ton of paper work to fill out for killing Evan Peter."
I shoot him as much of a thankful look I cared to give—which turned out to just be a glare. He's right, I do have a shit ton of paperwork to do.
Internally, I groan.
With the storm and all, it's going to be a long ass night.
☆Authors note☆
Sorry I haven't updated in a while :( school work is piling up. I'll try to update as frequently as I can, but know that I don't post consistently on certain days.
How are we liking Levi now that we know what he does for a living?
Also! I love Pinterest quotes, so I've decided to add one at the end of each chapter:)
I'd pick your thunder, I'd pick your rain; over anyone else's sunshine.
If you enjoy, please vote and follow.
Thank you for reading<3
Word count: 2919