Page 9 of Revenge of the Forgotten

“What crawled up your ass and died this time?” Vega snapped.

“You. Always coming in late like it doesn’t affect others around you. You millennials have no respect for anyone.” Everyone hated Susan here, Bobby included. But who else was he going to get to work for him at his atrocious diner besides a crabby, washed-up old lady and a down-on-her-luck almost thirty-year-old?

Every booth had rips in them, and the bar seating wrapped around the inside of the restaurant was missing stools. The sign reading Bobby’s Diner was a hazard to walk anywhere near, hanging on by a wish and a prayer. Vega would be surprised if it lasted one more winter, the salt from the roads eating away at the metal base.

God, I hate this fucking place. Vega finished pouring the three cups of coffee she needed and stepped away from the server station. “Stop worrying about me so much and try not to forget table ten’s side salad this time!” Vega didn’t lower her voice, giving the kitchen staff behind the window a good laugh.

“You need to learn to respect your elders, Vega!” Susan was as red as the tomato on the burger under the heat lamp.

“Respect is earned,” Vega said with a wink while bringing her tray down from its resting spot on her shoulder to distribute drinks to her table.

The rest of the shift went by without a hitch, and Susan avoided her at all costs. She walked out with $100 in her pocket—a good night for crummy old Bobby’s Diner.

On her way home, Vega stopped at the corner store for the cheapest wine she could find.

The owner sat behind the counter, his permanent scowl on display in the stark lighting. “You look awful. Smell like wet dog,” Gregor said with his thick Romanian accent.

As if Vega didn’t have enough to worry about, she had to deal with this asshole. “Yeah, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s spring in Chicago. Rain happens this time of the year.” She usually stopped here at night after a long shift and bought a bottle of wine to sip while she and Chase watched whatever trashy reality TV show was on. Tonight, she bought two bottles for herself—praying to anyone who would listen that Chase wasn’t home.

Gregor grabbed the bottles and scanned them as he continued to talk. “Your husband was in here with a pretty blonde last night. At first I thought it might be a sister, but they were too cozy for that.” He slid the bottles into separate brown bags. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked, eyes wide with excitement. Gregor was a leech, living off the misfortune of others.

“Do you ever mind your own business?” Vega snapped. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with Gregor.

The chuckle that left his lips was thick, filling up the room like a bleating sheep. “Bad day?”

Vega’s response was the loud whack against the counter her hand made when she slammed a twenty-dollar bill down. “Just give me my change.” Her voice sounded defeated and tired, which might have been why the man did as he was told for the first time since Vega had known him. She packed the bottles into the bag slung over her shoulder and gave the man behind the counter a sarcastic salute as she slipped back out into the unrelenting rain.

The walk back to the apartment took half the time it usually would. Vega was sick of being rained on—physically and metaphorically.

Old Man Morris stood outside the mailboxes in the main lobby of their apartment building, keys rattling against the metal door. “Ah, Vega. I got a package of your husband’s outside of my door today. Would you like to stop by and get it for him?”

Vega didn’t slow her pace, dashing to the elevator. Morris was a fucking weirdo. Always staring at the younger women who lived in their building, offering to help them put their groceries up when he caught them in the hall. He liked to sit in a lawn chair on the stoop during the summer and comment on dress lengths as women walked by. Their landlord never said anything to him because Morris had been living here since the dawn of time.

How he’d ever been married was a mystery to Vega. “He can get it himself.” She hit the Up button, adjusting the bag on her shoulder.

Riding in the death trap that was this elevator was more appealing than joining Morris in the stairwell. He always took the stairs so he could brag to his friends at Monday night Bingo that he was still getting around just fine!

The elevator dinged upon its arrival at the ground floor. Vega stepped in, hit her floor number, and began to press the Door Close button a hundred times like that would speed the door closing.

“… should keep the noise down!” was all she heard before the door snapped shut.

Vega leaned against the wall of the elevator when the machine roared to life, creaking as the cable jarred the box. Vega’s stomach dropped, her heart speeding up as she ascended in the elevator that was built before Prohibition.

She forced herself to focus on something other than the sounds the elevator made on its climb, her eyes fixed on the lights around the buttons lighting up at each new floor. They flickered between floors three and four, and the elevator lurched to a stop, sending Vega tumbling to the ground.

“What the…” Vega screeched, landing on her knees with a thump. Her bag flew off her shoulder, slamming to the floor—pink wine puddled around her. “No!” she cried, ripping the bag open to save whatever she could inside. One bottle was shattered, but the brown bag kept the glass contained.

“Fuck!” Vega was losing her mind. Slowly but surely, she knew she would break.

All the blood left her body when the realization sank in that the elevator was no longer moving and the doors hadn’t opened to her floor. Vega hopped up, scrambling to the buttons. “No, no, no,” she muttered to herself as she continuously pressed the Open Door and Fourth Floor buttons. “This can’t be happening.” She slammed her hand onto the door with an open palm hard enough to feel the sting of the impact.

An unwelcome wave of nausea rolled in the pit of her stomach. “All I wanted to do was get black-out drunk and forget who I am tonight. Is that too much to ask for?” Vega screamed to the ceiling, knowing no one would answer back.

Frantically, Vega began to press the Emergency Call button, but nothing happened. Her breathing hitched, chest tightening—a panic attack was creeping in.

The corners of her vision went fuzzy, and she tripped over herself. No, not a panic attack. She was about to black out again. Vega reached for the handle on the wall, attempting to steady herself before she was thrust into her mind.

A calloused hand reached out to grab hers, and Vega’s eyes fluttered up to meet the gaze of the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His delicate grasp contradicted the way his eyes locked on hers with feverous intent. He dipped his head, never breaking their eye contact as he placed a light kiss on the back of her hand.

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