"Were you... did he..."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "No," I added in a firmer voice when he looked dubious.
"I hate that fucking job," he snapped, useless anger surging up. Useless because there was no point in being angry over a situation that couldn't be changed.
"Hey, you don't hate it so much when I bring home the curly fries at the end of the shift," I said, trying to keep it light. If he kept on with the caring big brother thing for too much longer, I was going to lose what little control I had left, and I was really trying not to break down.
"Holl, you have to quit."
"No, I don't."
"You can't go back there."
"I will be going back there," I countered.
"It's not safe."
"That's a silly assumption. People get mugged on the streets all the time, should they never go outside again? Besides, look, Malcolm gave me these," I said, going into my bag to show him the pepper spray and eye-gouger. "I really don't think I will need them, but it feels good to have them."
"Quit. Please. Get some other job."
"I need this job." There weren't exactly a lot of overnight jobs that didn't involve taking your clothes off in front of strangers. I couldn't quit in the very off-chance that this was some sort of pointed attack, not some random act of violence.
"Tell me what I can do," Shep demanded, sounding small and defeated. I hated that for him. But I understood the feeling pretty well myself.
"Can I sleep in here tonight?" I asked, waving toward the couch. It was small and not overly comfortable, but I'd spent more than a few nights on it in the past.
"Of course you can," he said, and I could hear the defeat in his voice. Because, normally, he would offer to get me some food or tea or help me set up the couch. But he was barely able to do basic tasks for himself yet. He was far off from being able to help others.
"I'm just going to get cleaned up. I'll be right back."
Sleep was restless thanks mostly to my ribs that ached no matter how I tried to rest, but I'd managed to snag a couple hours before getting up to help Shep with his morning tasks, albeit a lot more slowly than usual.
The bruises had settled in to much darker shades of blue and purple overnight, leaving me staring at my reflection, dubious that the makeup would be able to even halfway cover them.
But I had to try.
Because I had to work.
It wasn't forever. I had to keep reminding myself that. The doctors were all optimistic about Shep making a nearly full recovery. He was going to get his leg cast off in another two weeks. And he would have to be in his back brace for a while longer. Then he'd needed some intensive physical therapy. He might always need to wear a smaller brace. He might always struggle with some lifelong pain. But he would be able to take care of himself. He would be able to go back to work.
Once Shep had his life back on track, I could work on getting mine back as well.
There was no way I was leaving the area now, though. Shep and I had grown apart the years we lived in different states, but all this time together had strengthened our bond. We were all we had. And I didn't want to lose that by moving away again.
So I would stay in the area.
But I would hopefully be able to quit the diner, and get a job in a bakery somewhere again. Then I could save up, move out, get everything back on track.
This was not for forever.
It was just for now.
I could get through it.
I had to.
There was no choice.
Sure, Shep was now bringing a little money in. He couldn't actually do any of the electrical jobs, obviously. But I'd just been able to convince him to talk to his partner, Glen, about handling some of the paperwork aspects.
That income would be enough, just barely, to keep the roof over our heads. My income paid the rest. And only if I was really careful and never missed a day of work.
So it didn't matter that I looked—and felt—like a human punching bag. It didn't matter that there was a knot of fear in my stomach. It didn't matter.
I had to work.
With that, I cursed my way through a shower, hissed my way through tying up my hair, then wrapping my ribs like Malcolm had suggested. And, finally, I started in on the makeup.
By the time I was done, the purple and blue was mostly gone even if the swelling was still noticeable. I went ahead and put on the eye patch mostly because I was hoping it would prevent people from asking about what happened. When people saw an eye patch, they didn't immediately think you'd been beaten.
I slipped into my work uniform, and made a good show of walking normally though the house, being cheerful, because I didn't want Shep to feel any worse than he already did, and then I made my way to work. With an eye-gouger and pepper spray in my apron pocket.
Honestly, I wasn't dreading work as much as I was dreading what I knew would come before work.
Namely, a confrontation with my boss.
Luis was, well, he was an asshole.
I didn't like to be so ungenerous about someone's character. I could usually find good things about everyone. But I'd been searching with a magnifying glass for a single decent quality to Luis since I'd started working for him. And, yeah, I hadn't found any.
Luis was one of those bosses who thought everyone was out to screw him over. He was also of the toxic mindset that "everyone is replaceable," so if you didn't like how he ran things "there's the door."
If there was anywhere else I could work doing the shift I needed, I would have done it. Literally anything else. I even had an alert set up that would send me jobs in the area that were for the overnight shift on the off-chance I could escape working under Luis's tyrannical rule.
I saw his car in the lot as I parked, needing to take a few slow, deep breaths before climbing out, and moving inside.
"Oh, honey!" Zara, the afternoon server, said as soon as I walked in. I liked Zara. She was a maternal figure with bright red hair and a lot of eyeliner, but a heart of gold. The morning server, Abby, who relieved me reminded me of Luis's evil female twin. But Zara? Zara was the bright spot in my day. "You shouldn't be here!" she said, rushing forward, reaching to place a hand gently under my chin.
"I have to," I said, shrugging. "You know how it is."
"Don't I ever," she said, sighing. "Still. Maybe I can take tomorrow's shift for you. Give you all the tips, mind you," she said. "Just so you can get a break."
I could not get all weepy at work. But Zara was making it difficult.
"That is a really sweet offer, but I promise, I'm okay. I'll be even more okay tomorrow once some of the swelling goes down. But thank you."
"That cheap bastard could have prevented this," Zara hissed as she pulled out her server book and started ringing up an order. "One busboy. What would that cost him? A hundred dollars a night. While he rides around in a fucking Range Rover and crying the blues about money. I wish Don was here," she said, referencing the cook I worked with every night. "Because I would have a word with him about letting you take the trash out."
"Zara, it's okay," I said, reaching out to pat her hand.
"It's not okay to—"
"Night girl," Luis called, making both of us jump. "My office," he added, waving a hand toward the back.