Page 83 of The Sidekick

“I know,” Max’s voice fills with remorse. “I’m sorry, Pat talked me into this, and now I feel like kicking her ass. Don’t worry about it, ok?”

“No.” The word just pops out, and with it, a shield of determination. He called me for help, and I won’t back out on him. He needs me.

“Tera-”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

I hang up before he can say anything else and stand there stupidly for a second. Then the urgency that came when the phone rang takes me over again, and I hurry into my bedroom to change into something appropriate for a long night on my feet.

I’m cursing myself for doing this the entire way to the bar. I’m not ready to face Satan yet, and I will have to pretend it’s all fine because I don’t want to hurt Max’s feelings. Why am I doing this to myself?

I’m pulling into the packed parking lot before I know it, and my feet automatically hurry to get inside the front doors. Just like old times. I’m surprised by the frisson of excitement that zips through me as I walk in.

Oh my. That’s a lot of people.

Diana and Emily are behind the bar, rushing to fill drink orders. Satan and Max are doing their best to keep up with the tables, but a lot of people look irritated. Before anyone sees me, I rush back to the kitchen that’s been added on. Pat is sweating over a grill and glances up with her usual sour face.

“Get out there and make people happy, damn it,” she snaps.

I laugh as I grab an apron, black now instead of white, and rush back out. I’m not sure who’s this is, but they have a notepad and a few pens in the pockets, so I’m set.

I automatically take the tables closer to the door, greeting people as they walk in while I take orders for food and drinks. Instead of disturbing Diana and Emily's groove, I mix my own drinks when I drop off tickets to Pat. I’m so busy I don’t have a chance to say hi to anyone, and I use that excuse to avoid Satan as much as possible.

A pair of waitresses stumble in a few hours after I arrived, and to say Satan isn’t pleased is an understatement. Guess they were no calls. I shrug it off and keep working.

When they start taking over some of my tables, I let it go because this isn’t my job anymore. Until they start giving the worst service I’ve ever seen before. They’re rude and antagonistic, riling the people I spent so long calming down, and it makes me so angry.

One has taken over half of Satan’s tables, and the other has taken half of mine. I could just walk away right now, but something inside me refuses. If I’m going to do a job, I’m going to do it right.

When the girl helping my side trips me as I carry a tray full of food, I’ve had enough.

I struggle with the tray, finally regaining my balance as patrons suck in a sharp breath in anticipation of impending disaster. I let out a sigh of relief at the close call, and several people clap when it’s apparent I’ve diverted the accident.

I get the food where it belongs, apologizing that everything is a little messy. Really, they’re lucky I didn’t throw it at the spiteful girl circling with a smirk. What started this nonsense? It’s childish and ridiculous.

When I return the tray to Pat for a reload of food, I spy the waitress leaning over the counter laughing with Emily as they both give me judgy looks. Diana gives them both a frustrated glare and meets my eyes. She does a series of confusing hand gestures behind Emily’s back. When I frown in confusion, she picks up the hose leading to the soda dispenser and aims it at her with a grin.

“No,” I mouth slowly and shake my head.

Diana pouts and lowers her arm. Emily must think I was trying to speak to her because she saunters over, ignoring customers calling for her attention. Has the service here been this bad all along, and I just didn’t notice? It’s disgraceful. Satan needs to stop hiring people who make his penis salute and focus on attitude.

“Problem?” Emily yells over the pulsing music around us, and I settle back into Shade imitation mode. I don’t have to engage if I don’t want to. I don’t care if it makes me seem like a coward. We’re working, for cripes sake!

“How did you get rehired?” She takes my silence as permission to keep going. Because she’s a bully. The thought is like a light bulb going off in my head. They’re both bullies.

My first instinct is to make a joke and try to alleviate the tension building in my shoulders. I swat it down and maintain a blank face. I don’t want to escalate things, but I don’t have to listen to it either.

I turn and go back to work. Whenever I return to the bar, one or both have something to say, but I ignore them each time. I’m starting to feel like a lunatic, going from a happy waitress to a blank mask and back again. It’s not the customer’s fault, and they don’t deserve to be treated to the irritated version of Tera.

Things eventually slow down enough that Max can take a break, and he winks at me as he fills a soda and drains it in one long pull. Diana shoves him out of her way and back with Pat, and I shake my head.

I feel something hit me in the back hard. I stumble forward a few steps, my spine taking up a relentless throbbing as my emotions reel. My hand reaches back, and my breathing increases when I feel a warm wetness coat my hands. It triggers the memory of Joe’s blood covering me, and my vision starts to go gray, the room suddenly unbearably hot. Somewhere in my brain, I know I’m having a panic attack, but knowing what’s happening doesn’t stop it.

“Payback’s a bitch,” an ugly voice snaps behind me.

Several people start laughing, but the sound is distorted, as if I’m surrounded in a funhouse of nightmares.

I force my eyes up and try to take a deep breath as I rush to the front doors, bumping into people and cringing away as I try to count to five in my head.

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