Victoria rubbed her temples as she stacked the last of the glasses on the counter, a dull throb pulsing behind her eyes. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered faintly, amplifying the pounding in her skull. Her head ached like it might split open at any second, a relentless drumbeat that matched the chaos of her day. Everything of the day was not just for her, and she knew it wasn't over yet.
"Hey, Vicky!" Marla, a colleagues, called from across the bar, leaning lazily against the edge of the counter. "You coming out after work tonight, right? Remember that Hanson concert…"
Victoria forced a smile, hoping it looked genuine. "I… I can't. I've got things… to do."
Marla frowned, clearly wanting to probe, but she didn't push. Behind her, two colleagues whispered, throwing quick, judgmental glances at Victoria. "Yeah… like she could even afford a ticket," one muttered, smothering a laugh.
Victoria's stomach twisted. She felt her cheeks heat up. She could hear every word, each one sticking like needles in her chest. She wanted to snap back, to argue, but her voice felt fragile, her energy drained. Instead, she kept her head down and moved faster, stacking chairs, wiping tables, pretending not to hear, though each comment reverberated in her mind.
By the time she finished, the bar was mostly empty. Only one figure remained—a man with blonde hair and pale eyes, quietly sitting at the bar. He didn't order drinks, didn't gossip, didn't seem like the typical bar customer. Just a glass of water, meticulously neat, with a tip that made her blink. He always tipped her well — a bit too well — more than anyone else had before.
Victoria served him, careful not to spill the water, her hands trembling slightly from exhaustion and the headache she couldn't shake.
"Thanks, Victoria," he said, his voice calm and gentle. There was something in it that made her chest tighten—he was always so kind spoken.
She looked up briefly, catching his eyes. He wasn't staring in a crude or intrusive way; instead, it felt like he could see her, really see her, beyond the tired smile and forced politeness.
He reached across the counter and slid a small business card over folded cash notes toward her. "Take this," he said. "Just keep it. And don't think about it. If there's ever a problem, any problem at all, reach out. You haven't been looking your best all throughout the evening."
Victoria shook her head, her fingers curling around the edge. "It's… really okay. I'm fine. Thank you."
He leaned a fraction closer, eyes softening. "No, really. You look upset. Don't worry about saying anything now… just keep it. Who knows when it might help."
Victoria hesitated, then nodded faintly, tucking the card and notes into her pocket. A fleeting warmth blossomed in her chest, a tiny spark of relief, though she didn't let herself linger on it.
Turning away, she grabbed her bag and headed toward the back office to collect her pay for the week.
Her worse time of the week.
Her boss was already there, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
"Ah, Victoria!" He welcomed as she carefully closed the door behind her, not letting it click lock.
"Long night?" he asked, casual, but the angle of his head and the curl of his lips made it clear this wasn't just idle curiosity.
Victoria mumbled, "Yeah…"
He leaned in closer,"You've been working hard lately. Extra shifts here and there. Maybe you need… a little reward. Something extra for your dedication," he said in a low suggestive voice.
Her chest tightened. She had felt this before—the subtle tone, the creeping discomfort from his lingering gaze.
Victoria gulped. "I… I don't want anything, sir," she said, stepping back instinctively. "I just came to collect my weekly pay."
The plumpy man pushed up from his seat to close the distance between them with a few stride, keeping his eyes fixed on her evading gaze.
His hand then brushed her arm, lightly, testing boundaries. "Come on… don't be shy. I can be generous, especially for you."
Subtly slipping from his touch, his hand followed after her skin as he added. "You know, ever since you started working her, I have always taken a certain liking to you."
"M- M- Mister Nate, it's almost eleven PM—"
"Oh don't do that," he finally grasped her arm with asserted force. "You're too old to be playing this naive games with me. You might be a good girl, but you're mature enough."
His other hand found its way to her hip.
Heat and fear surged through her. She pushed him back as firmly as she could. "Mister Nate!" Her voice cracked, a mixture of anger and panic.
He stumbled, laughing harshly. "Well, well… feisty. I like it. You've got spirit. More than those your slutty colleagues."
Having no regards this time, Nate pushed her back against the wall, his hands having no care where they grabbed.
SLAP!
"Leave me alone!!" Victoria shouted, chest heaving as her fingers thudded to the force it impacted on his face.
Nate's eyes were wide as he blinked twice. He frowned.
"You're fired," he said flatly.
Victoria blinked, the words like a punch to the gut. "What?"
"Pack your things. You're done."
All at once, the humiliation of the day, the whispers from her friends, the exhaustion, the headache, the oppressive fluorescent lights—everything—crashed over her. She grabbed her bag and fled the office, ignoring the stunned glances of coworkers, her hands shaking.
Outside, the night was cold, damp, and unforgiving. Victoria walked fast, head down, trying to disappear into the darkness. The streetlights barely lit the empty sidewalk, and every shadow seemed alive.
"Hey, sweetheart!" a man called from behind.
A whistle echoed after. "Fine ass, baby girl!"
"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, Angel?"
"Hey! Come on, pretty facs!"
Her pulse jumped. More catcalls, more harassment. Her stomach churned. She forced herself to keep moving, faster, faster, just home. Safe. Alive.
Her phone rang, startling her. It was her sister.
"Vicky!!"
Victoria's stomach dropped. "What? W-Wh- What happened?"
There was a pause, the line filled with frantic breaths. "He- I tried … mum… I… ju- Just hurry!" her sister whispered, voice trembling.
"Wait, what happened? What happened!?" Victoria asked, panic flooding her.
Her sister barely responded, stammering, muffled cries escaping. "He… he… wanted to hurt Mom… I… I…"
Victoria's heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst. "I'm coming. I'm coming now!"
She sprinted through the streets, the cold night air burning her lungs. Keys fumbled in her hand, adrenaline making her fingers numb, tears mixing with the drizzle on her cheeks.
When she finally reached the apartment, the hallway smelled faintly of smoke — burnt food. The living room door was ajar, and as she entered, her eyes froze.
Her father lay sprawled on the floor. Blood gushed from a deep wound on his skull, and a hammer rested just beside him. His thin frame was eerily still.
Her sister, Mercy, was standing a few steps back, shaking uncontrollably, eyes wide, her face pale. Their mother was slumped in her wheelchair, trembling.
Victoria's knees buckled. "What… what happened?" she whispered, voice tight and brittle.
Her sister's words tumbled out in a broken rush, stammering, panicked. "He… he wanted to kill Mom! I… I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to…"
Victoria wrapped her arms around her sister, holding her tight. "Shh… it's okay… it's okay…" she murmured, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her.
Her gaze flicked back to her father's body. Thin. Silent. Quiet. Still.
Tears streamed down her face. Her chest ached with exhaustion, fear, and the beginnings of guilt she didn't yet understand. She sank to the floor beside her sister, holding her, whispering, "I didn't mean to… I didn't mean to…"
For the first time that night, Victoria realized the raw, cruel truth: nothing would ever be the same. The world she had known—the fragile sense of control, the faint hope of normalcy—was gone. And in the shadows of that apartment, trembling and broken, she understood that life as she had known it, would never be the same again.