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Taking a deep breath, I grab a bucket and bottles of cleaners. Next, I grab the mop and head toward the dining hall to start my job.
The place is beginning to fill up. From the smells wafting from the counter, I guess it’s their breakfast time. My empty stomach makes loud noises but I focus on mopping the floor.
Mopping floors and clearing tables isn’t much of a big deal for me. I do them every day at Ethan’s restaurant anyway.
The young men watch me with curiosity and interest. I hear them talking about me in loud, boisterous voices.
“Who is she?” they say between themselves.
“Is she single?”
“Is she eighteen?”
“Is dating against the rules here?”
“Why do you want to waste time with dating? Just ask if she wants your dick.” Loud raucous laughter precedes this wise crack’s stupid comment.
My cheeks heat up but I ignore it all, using all my strength to mop the floor.
“Hey, girl! Get over here. We’ve got a spill,” I hear someone else say.
My head whips up.
I look toward a group of guys sitting around a table. Among them, I spot Garcia, the man I injured last night. His companions are the same men I fought yesterday.
Shit.Ignoring them, I keep mopping the floor.
“Didn’t you hear them calling you?” Alistair’s at my side, an admonishing look marring his old, weathered face. Snatching the mop out of my hand, he thrusts a thick napkin at me. “Go clean that table.”
I drag my feet to the table.
Looking down, I see someone’s spilled coffee. Releasing a sigh, I wipe the spill. When the surface looks clean, I turn around to walk away.
Hard fingers grip my elbow, pulling me back.
“Did I say you could leave?” Garcia hisses, spraying spit on my face.
“The table’s clean,” I mutter, trying to snatch my arm back but he refuses to let go of me.
“You’re not done yet,” he says. With his other hand, he upturns his bowl of cereal. Milk and soggy bran spill over the table, making his companions guffaw and jeer.
“You did that on purpose!” I snap.
“So, what? It’s your job to clean after us now.” Garcia pulls at me, nearly throwing me against the table.
“After you’re done with that, make sure you clean the floor over here,” one of the other guys points at his feet.
Looking that way, I see he’s spilled scrambled eggs under the table.
“Get cleaning, bitch,” says a third guy. “You don’t have much time. After you’re done here, you’re going to have to clean the toilets.”
Anger and frustration rise inside me. My fingers tighten over the napkin in my hand. These men are purposely bullying me.
“You’re all worthless pieces of shit,” I mutter, leaning over the table to clean the cereal spill. “Making a mess is all you can do. You can never win against me in a fair fight.”
Fingers grasp at my hair. My head is jerked back until I’m staring Garcia in his pimple-spattered face. “What did you say?” he fumes.
“You heard me,” I say with a smirk. “You’re a fucking loser.”
