No breaks. No rest.
Survival is the only thing going through Morgan's mind in the sense of going forward. Talking to Rebecca only gets her nowhere, and Morgan is so very tired of going nowhere in her life. Attempting an emotionally mature conversation with Rebecca never yields a reasonable outcome. Who wants to be subjected to verbal gymnastics, vitriol-ridden gaslighting, and blatant ignorance of fault, not the kind of social interaction that Morgan has the energy to ponder on.
The cadence of the kitchen is her metronome of peace. Clanging pots and pans, the scraping of blades across cutting boards. Mandolins sliding, garlics mincing, and mallets mashing, all for the sake of creating edible art on those warm and perfect porcelain plates. THe chimes of utensils against empty dishes as they are caried back through the dish retun with little to no remnants of the subject made her heart smile. Morgan was proud to be a chef in the very place her father began his journey.
The hustling and fussing of execs, sous, and expeditors decrecendos to a soft murmur as the night draws to a close. She shifts from the main line, to the dish pit, and digs deep into the waters. Something about the performance of washing rinsing and sanitizing made her feel a sense of spiritual wholeness. Clearing the canvases for the next days made her feel like an accomplished artiste besides, an artists tools are important too, theres no painting without the vehicle to move the medium.
The final saucers are placed back into position in the warming rack. She sets the timers for tomorrow and sets the warmer to begin an hour and a half prior to service begining, just as she had been trained to do. With a fulfilling and satisfied shift now behind her, she clocks out and locks up the employee lounge room then takes the back staircase to the basement level.
The music echoes as she makes her way down the concrete steps, her fingers brush the railing while she gallops down the stairs. Shes taken this route so many times she could decend them with her eyes closed. Morgan places her hand on the door and through the window she can see the security booth.
Mr. Garmeddon is deep in focus, his pen tapps his cheek while he ponders on the space for his crossword puzzle. The Monitors in his booth are all live, recording the business centre lott, employee hallways, and the public spaces of the common areas for the tenants that live on the higher floors above. It Must be nice having a penthouse above all these botiques and resturaunts Morgan thought. Her stps hasten as she approached him, wanting not to frighten him with her visit.
"Mr. Garmeddon?" She calls, waiving her hand as she crosses the crosswalk.
"Aww hey! Its the Star Chef!" He responded with his deep and hearty chuckle. "You've finished early tonight?"
"Yes, I did, whats my time?"
"Well now, lets see." He lifts his arm and pulls back his ridged knit sleeve revealing the time on his watch. "Looks like its half an hour to Three, ma'am! Youve beat your time!"
Morgan takes a bow and fires off a firm high-five to Mr.Garmeddons waiting hand.
"Im just doing my best." She smiles "Speaking of which, Someones favorite Item is back on the menu!"
He smirks as he leans backward away from his booth door
"Nah, dont tease me like that Miss Morgan, I know it's not going to come back until next season."
He gruffed as he sat on his booth stool. Hig big blue secutity jacket puffed up with air as he sat down.
"If It's not the Toffe Coffee Creme Cocoa Mousse Cake, I dont want it."
He hagged his finger at a fiesty Morgan who was rolling her eyes at his exadgerratedly fancy droaning,
"Are yew~'Done? Sheesh!"
She groaned as she slowly raised the neatly tied Fleur D'Jour Cake from Sisa & Lisa's.
"I should take it back just for having to hear that pitiful accent."
"I dont deserve you, woman!" he retorted. Jittering nervoulsly that she might revoke his access to such a morsel. It only comes around seasonally, he tired his best to mind his manners. Morgan of course marvels in his staggaringly odd and bafflingly amusing surrender.
Surely this is the animalistic warrior to rule the earth. The human equivilent of a klutzy, eager to please, golden retriever, or in his case maybe a cane korso? No matter the breed of nature in whatever way they be drawn vicious, unless they are neglected of hope, love and care, at its core design they are harmless. Morgan knows that first hand.
She watches as Mr. Garmeddon smiles nervously, a shaky grin replaces his laid back smirk. She lets his nerves linger just a tad longer s=while reveling in the uncertainty on his amateurishly handsome face. SHe slowly reaches through the boots pay window and mutters.
"Take it, before I change my mind."
As the peasant pittles over his pouff, Morgan pulls her braids beneath her Hood and steps to the edge of the cross walk. She waits for the walk signal to change before stepping across the road.
"Thank you." he whines as she begins to walk away.
Her lip pulls upward into her nostrils and she gnarls in playful disgust.
She whispers to herself, "Gross."
Her phone rings as she steps into the crosswalk, her paces hasten as she splits her focus between the active task of getting to the rail station, the urgent task of crossing safley, the daunting task of balancing all the tasks, and the level of F's she could not have any less of in that momemnt.She barrel focuses on making her way across the lot to the city tram ticket station.
Her steps cary her safely across and into the ticket dock. She catches a breath as she reaches for her phone.
Its a message from Mr. Garmeddon
"Your attitude needs work babe, and your cakes a little sweet today. Leave me some of your milk next time would ya? ;P"
Morgan feels her blood drain from her body. She nearly feels her legs buckle from under her. Like strained rubberbands being snapped back to reality, she furiously responds.
"Im not in that line of work anymore, I told you."
Her hair tingles on the back of her neck, as she struggles to to catch her breath. Those three dots appear and disappear pretty quickly from her screen.
"Okay okay, Fine.
"Thank you anyways for the cake. . . I still miss you :("
"You sure you dont need anything extra?"
Morgan bites her lip in a combination of helplessness, anger, and regret. She has to stand firm on her boundary no matter how desperate she may be for money. Its not about the money, Its about keeping her promise to herself that she wouldn;t allw her body to be the currency of her life anymore. She quickly responds, then swiftly mutes the conversation.
"Enjoy your cake. Good Night Mr. Garmeddon."
Morgan feels the sharp pang of a night without a meal as the last coin she has is consumed by the coin exchange. The machine punches and zips and zaps, and the digits in morgans mind flicker like neuron jellyfish and pickle electricity, and whatever oddly ridiculous energy stars are made of. Morgan takes all her strength, she laughs with the force and gust only a diaphragm punctured by the death of a black hole could compare, she even cried a little as the laugh came from within her. A backwards blessing of rain water too hot, bath water too cold.
She leans over the ticket booth and finally stops herself from laughing as she receives a message from Owen.
"Heey! Im here to get you love bug!"
"Don't worry about your ticket, We got dinner for you!"
Tongue pressed in her lip, she scoffed the sky. Of course. Just her luck she would miss such an important message just a few minutes shy. Curse her distracted mind-
No.
... wait.
She adapts. Just like she had taught herself.
... we cant do that.
Turn it off... You cant be sad. It's not allowed.
We promised ourselves we wouldn't curse ourselves when we do something wrong.
You cant draw attention to yourself. You are not the focus. Your problems are yours to resolve.
If we didnt intend to do wrong, and it still happens, its okay.
Your emotions cannot override what you know...
As long as we learn to grow from it and make a conscious effort, to never do the wrong thing again.
Make an effort to do it on your own, no one is obligated to help you.
We are allowed to be wrong sometimes, but we have to grow on from being wrong.
Dont let them see you cry. They'll ask questions youre not prepared or innocent enough to answer.
Autopilot finally kicks in, and Morgan finds herself dissolving to the bak of her own mind. Her body and mannerisms continue to operate as she is consumed by her own sunken place. The greetings, thanks, and leisure conversation are all automatic answers. Safe ones at that. SHe was fighting to keep her emotions at bay. He chest tightened, or rather her bra felt as if it was tightening even more under her work blouse. She holds a steady face the entire ride to Owens place. Never once letting it be known she was in distress.
How long could she keep this up?
The black metal door swings open and the two make their way into the apartment. The clean Modern Imperial Interior is a cozy, yet warm and familial atmosphere. THe dark woods and accent rugs partner in unison with the ornate wood inlay in the ceiling. THe kitchen space adorns that warm wood along the floor, wrapping down the hallway and into the bedroom. The Gentle green and slate gray accents create a home like no other. Morgan almost couldnt hear Owens speaking as she took in all the amazing decor around her.
"It's been months and you haven't so much as giggled about guys, or girls, that have caught your eye." Owen poked her shoulder playfully
"Oh, right." She blinks rapidly, having finally subdued her welling emotional outburst. The calming colors and stone focal points give her mind something to hyperfixate on and she relaxes a bit before she continues again.
"Actually, I'm not really trying to date right now," Morgan insisted. "I wanna win this thing so bad I can actually taste my freedom." she expressed desperately, "But I guess I did meet someone I thought was maybe a little interesting."
Owen was distrated by Harvey who had briefly entered the room to announce his departure. Harvey worked as a Hospice Nurse but had recently taken on a private contract, he was doing respit care for some CEO of a Medical Hardware Tech company out of Texas. They offered him on call for more than tripple his annual salary as a nurse in the ER. He wasnt bothered by the calls at first but the higher that man reached for the scenery most green, he got more and more audacious.
That old man, Harvey's patient, was a diritive of sonic and his pals in a blockbuster themed retirement-home. All the little brothers of the world are dubbed by him. Harvey was grateful and still is to his most healthy position in life, though he is human and thus grows annoyed at his patients chain messages.
"This old man gets on my nerves sometimes! He's got great strain, but hes a strain on my last nerve too!" Harvey Muttered as he kissed Owen on his way towards the door.
"Well, he's also the one whose Name is on the building... so, lets count our blessings." Owen waved off his grumpy husband, and closed the door behind him as Harvey departed.
Owen knew Harvey was just a grumbling and rumbling mountain of peaceful breeze, and he would soon get over his anchor clouds and return to happy fluffy cumulonimbus state. The most beautiful kind of cloud in his opinion. The ones with the sheer and glittering silver curtains. The clouds that show you the power of brisk mightiness, pushing into you and bright sparking your desire.
A look of antuquity, class, and prowess as he gazed toward his forever heart.
and yet,
Across from him, Morgans innards are heavy with the spiritual density equivilant of 4 dwarf stars. She felt that same longing once toward someone. She remembered when she loved like that once. Or maybe she thought she knew what love was.
Scher was her first love. She was everything a first was supposed to be. Kind, gracious, a poised leader, and a just warrior. Scher was the first heartbreak. It was their relationship that made morgan realize The first clue that "maybe something really is wrong with myself."
Scher made her question it all.