"Take three glasses of whiskey to table four," my manager, Leo, said as he walked past my station, already turning to attend to another customer.
Leo rarely left his office, but the rush tonight had dragged him out. Kelly, my co-worker, was handling the upstairs section the private lounge reserved for those at the top of the food chain.
Not that the customers downstairs weren't high-class.
Upstairs was just… higher.
The bar reeked of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and sweat a thick, familiar scent that clung to my clothes no matter how many showers I took.
"Come spend the night with me, darling."
The man at table four slurred his words as I approached, his friends bursting into laughter. They were already far past drunk.
I kept my expression neutral, placing the glasses on the table without responding.
I was used to scenes like this.
Being used to it didn't make it easier. It just meant I had learned how to swallow my discomfort, how to laugh when necessary, and how to disappear when things crossed a line. Tips paid better when you smiled. Rent didn't care how you felt.
The best thing to do was always the same ignore it and move on.
Engaging only turned it into something louder. Something messier. I had learned early that men like them mistook politeness for invitation.
I turned away before any of them could say more, slipping back into the rhythm of work wiping counters, collecting empty glasses, memorizing orders. The noise swallowed me whole.
The music grew louder as the night dragged on, the bass vibrating through the floor and into my bones.
Orders blurred together whiskey, vodka, tequila each glass another reminder of how people came here to forget things I couldn't afford to forget.
I moved between tables on autopilot, offering polite smiles I didn't feel, ducking crude comments and unwanted stares with practiced ease.
This place wasn't home.
It was just where I traded hours of my life for cash I desperately needed.
My shift ended close to midnight.
And I went home exhausted.
I collapsed onto the bed the moment I stepped into my apartment. It wasn't much, but it was home.
The paint on the walls was chipped, the couch sagged in the middle, and the heater only worked when it felt like it. But it was mine. Quiet. Safe. No drunken voices. No hands reaching where they shouldn't.
The bar wouldn't open until seven in the evening, so I needed to make the most of the hours I had. Rest was a luxury I couldn't always afford, but tonight, my body demanded it.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, counting cracks and shadows, replaying every decision that had led me here. Thirty minutes passed like that suspended between exhaustion and thought.
Eventually, I dragged myself into the bathroom. The shower washed away the smell of alcohol and sweat, but it didn't wash away the weight sitting in my chest. When I finally crawled back into bed, sleep claimed me almost instantly.
A few hours later, the vibration of my phone jolted me awake.
My purse sat beside me on the bed, the buzzing insistent. I fumbled for my phone, my heart tightening when I saw the caller ID.
Mom's nurse.
I answered on the second ring.
"Hello, Miss Greene," a calm voice greeted.
"Good morning, Nurse Kate," I replied, already sitting up.
"Miss Greene, may I request that you come to the hospital today?"
My grip tightened around the phone. "Is something wrong?"
The question felt useless. Things hadn't been right in a long time.
"I wouldn't say all is well," she said carefully. "But I'd prefer to speak to you in person. Will you be able to make it?"
"Yes," I said immediately. "I'll be there within the hour."
The call ended, leaving the room painfully quiet.
I checked the time. 8:00 a.m.
I stayed seated long after the line went dead, staring at the phone like it might ring again and prove I was overthinking.
I pushed myself out of bed, showered again, and got dressed. Breakfast was instant noodles — the last thing left in the cupboard. I grabbed my bag and headed for the door, hoping I was wrong about the dread settling in my chest.
As I locked the apartment door behind me, I made myself the same promise I always did get through today. Just today. Tomorrow could wait.