The young woman once to believe in fairy tales. The kind where a young prince would find her in a tower, rescue her from the cruelty and loneliness of the world. And carry her into a future of hope, light, and laughter. But those dreams died the instant her father left, dragging a old dusty black suitcase and the smell of cigarette smoke out the door. She was only ten years old. Lucas, her brother, stood beside her, frozen in the same stained school uniform, eyes wide as their mother crumbled onto the kitchen floor tears streaming from her eyes, with swollen eyelids, from crying all morning begging and, pleading with her husband to think things through.
Atlanta was still that terrible morning. A gray sky loomed over the village like a wet curtain. The distant sounds of the sea were faint, but Lucy's home was in turmoil. Her mother's cries, the slamming of cabinet doors, and the ensuing silence became etched in Lucinda's memory like scars.
The years that came after seemed to wither her rapidly. By the time she turned thirteen, she found herself cleaning floors in the opulent two-story home of Miss Nova, while her friends enjoyed playing soccer in their backyards. By the age of twenty-two, she had taken on the role of serving drinks at The Velvet Ember, a stylish yet lit bar on the outskirts of town.
But she didn't complain. She couldn't. Not when Lucas lay in bed every day, paralyzed from a motorcycle accident no one saw coming. When faced with hospital bills that loomed like storm clouds. Every week, her mother came home more tired and silent, not at that time.
Lucinda's aspirations had transformed from visions of fairy tale weddings to the more practical concerns of having functioning toilets and reliable electricity that lasted throughout the night. Her brother required surgery that was expensive, specialized, and located a considerable distance away in Raven hills. Therefore, she put on a smile for the intoxicated men at the bar, counted the crumpled notes she had, and swallowed her pride as if it were a bitter medicine.
"If you don't get your ass up" Elena spoke as she hops onto lucy's bed.
"Give five more minutes"
"More like five hours" She joked
"What does a girl need to do to get some rest around here?" Lucy questioned as she pushed here self-up unwillingly and walked towards the bathroom.
"On the bright side of things, you'll be through with college in a few and you'll be working a normal job" Elena tried her best to cheer her roommate up
"Ha, says the girl who have held a job down" She snickered between brushed teeth
"Oh, come on! I work at a coffee shop"
"Your parents coffee shop" Lucy added as she slipped into a pair of soft blue pants
Lucy raced down the alley, hurrying to the train station in an effort not to miss her train. She relied on the train for commuting to and from work, doing everything she could to save money by eating less and saving more when necessary. Arriving at the station, she was out of breath but unfortunately missed the train by just a few seconds. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched the train disappear into the tunnel. She could already sense his anger as she approached the bar.
"Your shift started ten minutes ago" The owner of Velvet Ember spoke, pulling Lucy out of her daydream and into reality.
For the hundredth time, my name isn't Emma. Lucy was growing tired of correcting her boss, but that day she didn't feel like making a point.
"I know, and I'm so sorry. I missed my train" she said, trying to keep her voice calm.
"I'm sorry—that's all you can come up with, Emma?" he snapped, deliberately emphasizing the wrong name.
"At least I have the courtesy to apologize," she muttered, realizing the words had slipped out until she saw the look on his face. The urge she felt as she snaps her hands to cover her mouth. Preventing any wanting things to escape those lips.
"Excuse me?" He spoke turned around slowly to face Lucinda, with narrow eyes.
"Ugh—nothing," She mumbled.
"Who takes the lousy train anyways?" he scoffed. Turning his back towards her as he strolled into the bar.
"I do," She answered firmly, despite knowing it would only provoke him to anger.
He stopped in the track as he studied her for a beat. "It seems as though you've grown wings overnight, Emma.
"No, sir," She replied quickly.
"Go get dressed," he barked as they parted ways.
Without wasting a moment, she dove right into her tasks. Lucy scanned the bar while she grabbed her apron, tied it around her waist, and shoved her sticky pad and pen into the apron pocket. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a man sitting by himself, observing her. His stare wasn't menacing—just inquisitive—but it hung around long enough to make her feel like she was wearing a neon sign that said "Look at me!"
Lucinda tried to ignore him, but his gaze burned through the smoky air. She approached with a cautious smile.
"Good evening, sir. Would you like to try our special?" She asked, slipping him the menu.
He nodded silently, like speaking was a chore—or something he just didn't do.
"Okay, great. I'll be right back," she added, turning on her heel and heading into the kitchen to place his order.
After placing the order, Lucy hurried into the main hall, she felt a firm grip on her upper arm.
"Ouch!" She cried out, turning to see who it was.
"Emma, table four needs a waiter," Henry said, his grip still tight.
What is it with this guy? She thought. All he had to do was call my name—or rather, try to.
"Henry, I'm already working on table six," She protested, rubbing my arm gently.
"Do you want this job or not?" he snapped, eyes challenging her.
"Okay, fine,"
As she turned away and walked towards table four, she tightened her jaw. Wearing her most convincing fake smile, she approached the table carefully.
"Hi, my name is Lucy, and I'll be taking your order,"
"Oh, finally! A pretty one," one of the men at the table said with a greasy grin.
"Can I order your number?" another chimed in, raising his beer to his lips in a crude toast.
She managed to keep her expression neutral, even though she wanted to disappear.
"Hey, don't be rude to her," the third man at the table said. "She's being polite."
She nodded slightly in his direction, silently grateful. But still, She couldn't help but wonder how many more nights she has to deal with this— being touched inappropriately by drunk unpleasant men, being treated like a prop.