Playing Married

2.

Every day was the same as any other. Having spent the entire day in classes, I had then spent the night working at Sal's Bar, which was a shabby little shack that was frequented by a large number of the people who lived in Fairisle community. Additionally, the tuition at Fairisle University was comparable to that of some of the best universities in the country. I had to work nonstop in order to make ends meet, and I was buried under a mountain of debt.

Despite the fact that I could complain, whine, and complain about the American school system as much as I wanted to, I was aware that I could not change anything about it. After heaving a sigh, I repositioned my grip on my book bag and proceeded to slog through the night.

When I thought about how early I would have to get up the following day, I was filled with a sense of dread and dismay. It was a Friday. I worked two jobs on Saturdays: one was at a bookstore, which I didn't mind because I enjoyed reading, and the other was at Barnett Café, a posh restaurant that was filled with Fairisle's finest and even some posh people who would visit Fairisle just to eat at the five-star restaurant. I made the most of my time at Barnett Café because I enjoyed reading. Despite the fact that my feet hurt after a long eight-hour shift, I was able to make a good living there, despite the fact that I did not particularly enjoy working there.

Due to the fact that I was so exhausted that my head was aching, I was unable to recognize that there was a man approaching from down the street. I collided with him, and my books were thrown all over the place, including onto the filthy streets and gutter and falling everywhere.

He exclaimed, "Watch where you're going!" in a loud voice.

I mumbled, "I'm sorry, sir, I'm so sorry," as I got down on my knees and continued to pick up my books. In an attempt to apologize, I looked up at him.

While I was crouching down by his feet and searching blindly for my books, I couldn't help but feel inferior because he was tall. In spite of the fact that it was dark, I could see that he was extremely handsome. He was dressed in a suit and had shoes that appeared to be expensive, but his face was young, somewhere around my age. His dark hair was unkempt and messy, despite the fact that he appeared to be neat. According to what I could see, his face was almost impossible to look at, with eyes that were a brilliant silver color, but his face was contorted into an angry expression.

Before storming off, he merely uttered the words "How rude" and let out a sigh of irritation. He did not offer any assistance.

I had the urge to get a textbook and throw it at the back of his head.

Instead of doing that, I gathered my books, became enraged, and continued to make my way home while fuming in silence.

Later on, with my eyes bleary, I arrived at my apartment for the very first time. I was relieved to discover that my roommate was nowhere to be found, and I let out a sigh of relief. Her name was Julia, and she was a lovely young lady who was majoring in some form of sociology. However, she had an excessive amount of energy and was one of those rich girls who were "roughing it." She wanted to experience what "real life" was like, and as a result, she attempted to live off of what she earned. However, she had such a lack of desire to work that she was constantly withdrawing money from her millionaire bank account.

In spite of this, she was a pleasant young lady who was always eager to contribute more than her monthly rent p*****t. Furthermore, she enjoyed a good party, and as a result, I saw her physically in the apartment only a few times. This meant that I had a place to stay that was almost completely free for me to use all by myself.

However, there was a part of me that wanted to complain to Julia about the attractive man who was rude. The way he carried himself gave off the impression that he was superior to everyone else. He exuded an air of superiority. I decided that tonight, I needed sleep more than I needed to start my reading, so I set my heavy head down and fell into the warm abyss of sleep, still thinking about the jackass in the street. I left my books down with a disappointed sigh and made the decision that I needed to sleep more than I needed to begin my reading.

"Freye, table seven is still waiting," Jeff yelled at me in a rather abrupt manner.

As I was leaving the kitchen, I said, "I'm on it, I'm on it," while holding a heavy tray as I walked out of the room. The scrumptious dishes were brought out to a family that was dressed in luxurious attire.

A lively atmosphere of conversation and gentle music could be heard in the dining room of the Barnett Café. As they made their way to a table, a group of slim and stunning women laughed uproariously. When I saw them, I quickly returned to the kitchen while simultaneously smoothing my apron out of self-consciousness.

As the head chef, Jeff exercised a dictatorial control over the kitchen. The chefs who worked under him appeared to be in a miserable state, and I felt sorry for them. His food was so luxurious that it was worth the hell that he put everyone through, despite the fact that he was a small man with a permanent frown etched into his face. He began to lose his hair and was balding.

As he pointed his wooden spoon toward a plate that was waiting for him, he yelled out, "Freye!"

After grabbing the plate, I proceeded to the table that was designated for it.

"Right this way," Sasha said, and I heard her say it.

This event was hosted by Sasha. In addition to being tall and beautiful, she was a part of the Barnett Café experience. Her eyes were a brilliant amber color, and her hair was a chestnut brown color that was both incredibly glossy and incredibly dark. In her role as hostess, she gracefully moved through the Café and greeted guests with a voice that was soothing and comforting. The fact that she walked by me and gave me a nod indicated that I ought to drag my dirty behind back to the kitchen.

When I returned, Jeff was already there waiting for me. "These dishes," he said, pointing to a collection of plates that took on a divine appearance, "are reserved for the VIP section." Do you know the location of that?

A look of bewilderment appeared on my face as I looked at him. Naturally, I was aware of the location of the VIP section because it was ostensibly separated from the rest of the building by a red rope; however, low-level employees such as myself were never permitted to return to that section. The only thing that Jeff did was shove the plates onto my platter and then send me on my way. He did not respond to my confusion either.

With trepidation, I made my way towards the VIP section. Shall I make a knock? I was not sure. Nevertheless, before I could take any action, the door suddenly opened, and a man greeted me with a broad smile that filled his entire face.

He exclaimed, "Finally!" in awe. "Food's here!" As I eagerly entered, he ushered me into a small, extravagant lounge that was occupied by four men who appeared to be wealthy.

The happy man, like everyone else, was dressed in a suit; however, his suit was scrunched and rumpled in a haphazard manner, giving the impression that he did not really care. In addition, his hair was unkempt and unruly, and it brought to mind the individual I saw on the street the day before. Nevertheless, his eyes were a dark hazel color rather than silver.

"Oh," remarked one of the men. "You."

When I looked up, my heart was beating extremely fast. It turned out to be the extremely impolite individual, the one who had rudely ignored me. His eyes were stony, and he had a frown that filled his mouth tightly.

The man with the messy face crumpled his face up. "You know her?"

A jackass nodded his head. "She's the one who scuffed my shoes."

"You're the one who ruined my books!"

His expression was one of amusement. "How did I ruin your books, exactly?"

"W-well you didn't directly, you j-just…" My voice was shaky and nervous.

The man, who was younger and less organized, laughed. "You're so mean, Tumtum."

I looked at 'Tumtum' with a curious expression. No words came from him.

He looked at me with a smile on his face. "Permit me to introduce a few people. To introduce myself, my name is Sinclair, and this is Aaron, my brother. There is no problem with you calling him Tumtum because that is his nickname.

Aaron snapped, "Don't," while looking at his brother with a look of bewilderment on his face.

"That's Morgan, and next to him is Jack."

When I looked into Morgan's eyes, he smiled at me in a manner that was professional. He appeared to be the oldest member of the group. It appeared that Jack was roughly the same age as Aaron, with dark gold hair and blue eyes. He did not look at me; rather, he chose to concentrate his attention on the stack of papers that was in front of him.

The atmosphere was filled with an awkward silence.

Aaron heaved a sigh of relief. "Why is the waitress still here?"

Sinclair struck his brother on the shoulder with a punch. "Show me how you can be so impolite to her. The day before, you ran her over and did nothing to help her.

"I was approached by her.

"A gentleman always takes the blame."

"I suppose you know what being a gentleman is?"

"I've been told I'm quite dapper."

"Who made that statement? The mother?

Although I was blushing, I said, "Um, I'll leave you all, then," as I attempted to slide back out of the lounge and away from the brothers who were arguing with each other.

Sinclair spoke up and said, "No, please stay." "Considering that Tumtum was such a jerk to you the day before, this is perhaps the least that we could do for you. Take a seat! Please join us in eating; you must be starving. Jeff keeps you guys working well past your normal hours.

I said, "I really ought to get back to work," but Sinclair grabbed my arm and pulled me into the lounge. "I really needed to get back to work."

"Don't worry, I'll let Jeff know that you're presence was required her," said Sinclair in response.

"Why would Jeff listen to you?"

"Because we own the place."