After the encounter, he picked up the translucent attaché case, his phone buzzing with coded calls, men in suits stationed outside.
And suddenly the moment shifted when his voice enunciated, "Sniff her out," he demanded, edged with authority.
Then he approached the doorknob, boots heavy against the wooden floor, his presence seemed to swallow the corner, memories flashed, spoken in silence... he knew 'what' was his next target.
IN THE MIDDLE of my shift, lights and sounds were harmoniously filling the nightclub, vividly mimicking the alcohol and perfume's chemical reaction to produce an intoxicated 'place' to momentarily relieve one's reality. Sweaty forehead, exhausted arms and legs, I place the plate on the bar counter. I removed my apron. Right at the moment, my co-worker handed me a note, and I heard the popping sound of an unsweetened bubble gum.
With an expression of exhaustion, a question mark was formed on my face. Swirling the tips of her hair, she mouthed, "Another gig," raising bother her brows and a directed eye towards the note. I opened it.
She tapped my shoulder and left the staff room. I rolled my eyes but let a loud sigh since I have no choice but to earn a penny. I texted Alouette that I might get busy tomorrow night for an event— clearly to tell her that I am avoiding her and to make her stop pestering me with her favors. Thinking about the last encounter with that man, it made me uncomfortable— I could not even sleep that night due to guilt towards my friend (ended up gaslighting myself that 'at least it was done', and the tension I had with that man kept me bothered. I can't handle his intensity, I could not even able to stand beside him and act professionally with his words, actions— I could not penetrate his thinking either!
A buzzed sound caught my eye, and an unknown number appeared on my phone's notification toggle— seemingly uninterested, and I thought of it as a scam text... I did not bother opening it. I pocketed my phone and things in my bag and left my work that night.
Feeling antsy while walking down the pathway to my room, I quickly took the last bite of my saggy sandwich and walked swiftly towards the door.
I felt like shadows were following me. Having thought of the flash news that crimes are rampant nowadays, I unlocked the door, entered my room immediately. As soon as I entered my place, another buzz was heard from my phone.
That time, my eyes widened after seeing the message.
Run.
That was the only word that could describe my situation at this moment.
The last thing I wanted to happen was being caught in a lie.
I lied.
I must pay the price.
At what cost?
My freedom.
Instead of suffocating myself thinking about nothing but fear, I picked up my bag and important belongings, stormed out, and headed towards the venue the night before.
I will apologize to my friend after this sudden escapade.
I fixated my mind on taking this one last gig and pausing my personal goals for a much more important job that a person like me would do.
THE NIGHT HAS COME, beaming lights engulfed the whole place, I, too, engulfed with thoughts... just wanted to make this night end.
In this world, thriving further also pushes you down. Serahtti Aravalle, being known for having multiple jobs, grabs opportunities just to survive a day, orphaned, 24, dealing with everyone was a huge challenge for her everyday living since she has no voice to answer her customers' queries, just pure in-air motions, a ballpen and a pen, inclined with humility to apologize for not responding to them quickly.
My days for the past years have revolved around serving people with my body during the day, another extra hour to fill in my allowance for the next days, and sleeping 3-4 hours just to wake up and repeat the cycle. With the serious intent to fulfill my dreams, I aim to establish my own source of income— prioritizing the hundred percent "passion" in it, not just to 'earn'. Always in a survival mode, but almost to never having the chance to do what I wanted. Always an 'I', never a 'we'. I have never had the chance to see or even visualize my parents' features. Just a typical 'abandoned baby'. I sought to never look back and search for my origins, but guess what?
Feeling empty means longing for somebody.
That's what my heart wants.
One night, I received a text. I got a tip for my biological mother's whereabouts.
I can't deny it. My heart aches for her presence— from hundreds of questions down to just a person to be with me in this life.
I was confused, but doubting what I desire will only make me miserable.
As I trailed the aisle, I served the beverages and alcohol to the guests. With this last gig, the sum will suffice for my bills for the next months (including the payment with a tip from my friend's accomplished 'mission').
A wave from the headwaiter caught my attention, signaling for me to come over to him and do some errands for him. I did not hesitate, he knew my situation, and as I got closer and closer, he wrote down things for me, handed me the note, I accepted and smiled, a sign of appreciation.
Reading the instructions thoroughly, I took the serving tray to bring the alcoholic beverages to the VIP lounge near the VIP Function Hall. As written and instructed, this is my last task for this gig, and I can go home early since the shiftings are a rotational set of on-call part-timers.
I looked at my watch, it's already 9 o'clock in the evening, I carefully passed through the doors, unlike the ambiance at the lobby, the surroundings became gallant, the jazz made it even classier, known guests were scattered— chit-chatting to widen their connections, some were fawning over others' success and trademarks, some were fancying over others' mistresses— making a bait to implore venoms to their competitors, while some were dancing with the pretentious gargoyles dressed up as gentlemen and czarinas. Their core was jammed with a lustful eye for power and influence, cracked personas with a blotched ambition, clearly... a barrier between the poor and the dominion of deadly sins, a world I never wish to revolve in.
Serving the guests with a curve on my lips, I singlehandedly aided most of the guests' needs. Gracefully handing the wine glass when my back got bumped by someone. Shattered glass was heard after. I bowed my head quickly in, apologetic manner, and my co-waiters took the debris out of the hall.
I just heard laughter, "Hey! I didn't hear your apology!" curvy yet high-pitched squick it said.
"Honey, don't be bothered with some nincompoop. You'll get infected once you lower your level," a follow-up voice was heard, mocking, full of disgust it mid-shouted, loud enough to be heard by the nearest guests.
Murmurs started to grow.
I bit my lower lip, my hand gripped tightly my trousers. Still bowing my head, a slap was heard after. My reddened face feels burnt. I hold my breath in order to suppress my growing emotions. I needed to be calm or else someone might get bald in no time.
I heard a firm yet baritone voice near the vicinity, got no chance to take a glance, he uttered, "You there, clear the way." In a commanding tone.
The next thing that happened, my arms were being dragged out of the scene.