The Darkest Hour

Emily bolted upright as the morning sun streamed through the window, its rays bathing her in a golden light. The soft sounds of birdsong drifted in but they did nothing to soothe her frayed nerves. She fumbled for her phone on the bedside table and checked the time - 9:23 a.m. 

She ran to the bathroom and as she brushed her teeth, replaying the events of the previous night in her head, trying to figure out how things had gotten out of control. In a hurry, she dressed sloppily after a rushed bath and with no time to spare, knowing her appearance was less than ideal, she rushed out the door, slowly closing it behind her.  She didn't want to disturb her mother, who was exhausted after a long day at her salon and finally getting some rest.

Carefully, she mounted her bicycle, which had been propped up against the house and began to pedal slowly, taking care not to draw any attention to herself. 

      For a seventeen-year-old, Emily was an extremely independent and hardworking individual. Immediately after graduating from high school, she found a job as a server at Nix. She was determined to create a life for herself, and she took great pride in being able to help out around the house and with the bills. 

Though her home was humble, and the weight of responsibility often felt heavy on her mother, being a single parent, Emily found strength in knowing that she was not alone. She drew inspiration from her mother's resilience and determination, and resolved to create a life for herself that was full of hope and promise. 

                    * * *

With a sigh, Emily entered through the back door that led to the kitchen and as she turned to close it, she heard a voice. "You're late!" she jumped, nearly dropping the things she was carrying. 

Chris stood in the doorway, a tray of orange juice in his hands. His eyes were twinkling with amusement, but his voice was stern. 

      Though Chris and Emily were the same age, he always teased her about her small frame, calling her 'shorty' whenever he could. It was all in good fun, of course, but sometimes it made her feel self-conscious. He was the second son of Nicholas Williams, the owner of Nix. He knew the ins and outs of the business and his easygoing personality made him popular with the staffs and customers.

"What do you expect when I had to cover your girlfriend's shifts?" Emily retorted, her irritation getting the better of her. 

Chris rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen and she followed him in. "Em, You know I don't have a girlfriend," he set the tray of orange juice down on the counter. "How many times do I have to remind you I'm not in love with Elsa anymore? We broke up a long time ago." He leaned on the wall with his left shoulder.

"You're always going on about how great she is and how talented she is. You know, it's a wonder that we haven't all started calling you 'Elsa's number one fan'!" 

The corner of Chris' mouth twitched as he fought back a smile. "That's not funny, Em," he shook his head. "Besides, you know I'm your number one fan!" He gave her a playful wink, and she couldn't help but laugh. 

"You're lucky I like you, otherwise I'd be insulted," Emily said, her laughter subsiding into a grin.

"Well, You're lucky too that my dad isn't here right now," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You know how he hates it when people are late." He gave her a smug grin, then turned and walked away. 

Emily rolled her eyes, but she knew he was right. His dad was a stickler for punctuality, and she didn't want to get on his bad side. She quickly tied on her apron and left.

                     

       Endless orders of customers had           Emily moving hastily in and out of the kitchen with trays of different food and drinks. After what seemed like an eternity, the clock hit 12pm - It was time for her thirty minutes break and she settled in a chair with an exhausted sigh. But then she realized Michael was nowhere to be seen. 

"Where is he?" she mused, peering around the kitchen, but there was no sign of him. 

He was always around, barking orders and keeping the kitchen running like a well-oiled machine. Without him, things felt off-kilter. He was the manager and first son of Nicholas Williams, the spitting image of his father. Towering above the other chefs and bartenders, his broad shoulders and strong frame made him look like a gladiator, rather than a chef. Yet, behind his intimidating appearance, he was gentle, a pillar of support for the staffs. Now, with his absence, the kitchen felt bare and empty, like a house with its heart ripped out.

As Emily scanned the restaurant, her eyes landed on a man and woman who had just taken a seat at a table near the door. The man looked to be in his early forties, with silver hair at his temples and a sharp, handsome face. The woman beside him was probably in her mid-thirties, with wavy dark hair and a serious expression. Emily looked around but this time, her eyes were searching for Chris or any other chef who wasn't on break but she found neither.

Closing her eyes in frustration, she straightened her apron and made her way over to them.

"Welcome to Nix!" she said, smiling brightly. "What can I get you today?"

"Um, we'd like two burgers, fries and... Just get us any drink." The lady spoke, and Emily nodded before leaving.

She returned moments later and set their orders on the table. "Enjoy!" She said, but before she could turn away, the lady spoke. 

"Just a minute, please!" She pointed at the soda. "What is this?" 

Emily opened her mouth to respond, but the woman spoke over her. "Didn't I ask this moron a question?" she snapped, turning to the man at her side. He looked up from his phone and ran his gaze down Emily, his expression unreadable. Emily felt a flush of anger, but she took a deep breath and held her tongue.

 

"I may be a server, but I'm not stupid," she said, her voice firm but polite. "This is a soda, as you can clearly see. And I don't recall you specifying any particular drink, so I brought you the most popular option." She held her gaze steady, refusing to be cowed by the woman's rudeness.

 

"And this is the only thing you could think of?" The lady scoffed. "What am I supposed to do with this?" She asked, turning to look at Emily with a serious look on her face.

"I don't know, maybe use it to wash that ugly face you've got there. You know, the gas might help wash away the ugliness, because..." Emily shook her head slowly. "Your face is really scaring our customers." She blurted out. Her face flushed bright red as soon as the words left her mouth. She couldn't believe she'd just said that, and a part of her wanted to run away and hide. But another part of her was sick of this woman's attitude, and she felt a fierce satisfaction at seeing the woman's eyes widen in shock. 

There was a long, tense silence as they stared at each other. The woman stood up, her eyes darting around the room in disbelief. 

Suddenly, Emily felt a firm grip on her neck, her eyes staring into the angry gaze of the woman as she gasped for air. The man's voice cut through the tension like a knife. "Enough, Eve." He took a bite of his fries, but his eyes never left the woman.

She felt someone approach and as she tried to see who it was. A hand grasped her arm firmly, and she could feel his strength. The grip was painful, a clear message that he was in charge and she yelped, releasing her grasp on Emily who fell to the ground and her eyes lifted to see Michael.

 

In an instant, the man's entire demeanor changed as he charged Gone was the calm and collected air he had held before, replaced by a fury that seemed to radiate from him. His eyes turned a deep, dark shade of brown, and his canines lengthened into sharp points. Emily gasped and drew back, her heart skipping a beat. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and a shiver ran down her spine. Michael quickly withdrew his hand from the woman's arm, as if burned. He took a few steps back, putting some distance between them.  

Emily blinked, her mind struggling to comprehend what she had just witnessed. Was it all just a figment of her imagination? Or had something truly extraordinary just occurred? The man stood before her, looking perfectly ordinary. His eyes were no longer dark, and his canines were no longer elongated. Everything about him was perfectly normal. 

"Is that how y'all treat customers here?" the man asked, directing his attention to Emily, who was still on the floor. "Calling them ugly?"

"And is this a right was to treat servers?" she responded, rubbing her sore throat. It was hard to believe that she could speak after being strangled in that manner. It was a wonder to her that a woman could have such strength.

"Why didn't you step in and do something?" Michael asked. "You could have stopped her from hurting the girl, but you just sat there and watched." He shook his head.

"You're lucky I'm feeling generous today," the man said. "But if I were in a different mood, I could get you both fired with a word to your boss. Do you understand?" His tone made it clear that he was not someone to be trifled with.  "It's a shame that my lovely evening was interrupted by your rudeness," the man said, turning to the woman and touching her cheek gently. "You are anything but ugly, my dear and I apologize on behalf of her for saying otherwise." He looked her in the eyes and she stared back at him with an expression unreadable but it was clear that she was still pissed. 

"Shall we leave?" The woman said, giving them both a withering glare before storming out of the restaurant, the door slamming behind her. The man's lips curled into a smug smile, and he turned to leave. 

"You know I can't stand it when customers are rude to the staff!" Michael exclaimed. "But I've told you over and over again that you can't start fights with them. We need to maintain a professional and calm atmosphere at all times." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated.

"It wasn't my fault; the lady was impolite," said Emily, defensively.

It doesn't matter if the customer is rude or not," Michael said. "You are a representative of this establishment, and you need to behave accordingly. I don't want to have to keep repeating myself on this point." He fixed her with a piercing stare, as if to drive his point home. "You might not always get away with it, so you need to keep your cool." His eyes were fixed on hers and she looked away, unable to meet his gaze. He shook his head and left the room, leaving her to stew in her frustration. She huffed and turned on her heel, walking briskly to the kitchen.