Rejected.

This was not how I want to start my day. No one on this earth wants to start their day with bad news. I don’t know if it’s me but I think that starting your week with nad news set soff the rhythm for how the rest of the week is going to be.

But for me this has sort of become part of my routine these past few months.

Job hunting sucks and I know that everyone who has ever looked for employment would agree with me. I drag myself away from the sad email, stand up from the computer and make my way out of my room.

I get to the kitchen and start to make some breakfast. For me this is some cereal in a bowl with a lot of milk. A gust of hot air and steam comes from the bathroom door right across where I am standing next to the counter and my roommate emerges from the vapour like some rockstar at a concert.

“Sup, babe”, she says walking out of the room with a towel wrapped around her torso and another one around her head to dry up her hair.

I smile at her, not wanting to speak with a mouth filled with food.

She takes a spoonful of my cereal, which makes me smack away her hand.

“Gigi get your own breakfast”, I laugh and move away from her to sit on the couch.

Gigi, born Georgiana Roberts is my tough as nails, blue eyed, raven haired best friend of three years and out of that we have been roommates for two years. We live in this cute two bedroom apartment with a single bathroom, an open plan kitchen and living room.

She is what some people would call crazy. She’s actually a cool person, and is everything that I am not. She is funny, strong and does not take any nonsense from anyone.

And on the plus side she is ridiculously beautiful. It’s an exotic kind of beauty that just makes everyone stop what they are doing and stare at her just to admire how gorgeous she is.

Gigi is the complete opposite of me. Where she is loud and colourful, I am more laid back and quiet. She likes going out and exploring and I am the stay in doors and watch tv type of person. We are the perfect pair because we balance each other out. It's a Yin and Yang kind of friendship.

I lay on the couch and turn on the tv, while Gigi is in her room to change and get ready for work.

The whole job hunting stress is slowly getting to me and it is making my life hard due to all the stuff that is going on. I try to put it away under a mental rug in my mind that I am pretty sure is filled with all the other stuff that I have dragged under it.

I’m not the kind of person who deals well with stress. I suck at stressful situations, It has always been like that my whole life, and I would usually have mental breakdowns because of that. I sort of found a weird way of dealing with problems in my life by thinking they are not there until the very last minute when I eventually feel mentally suffocated.

Basically my mental health is a ticking time bomb.

It’s not a healthy way to deal with stuff and I know that. I just got tired of having everyone around me deal with what I think I can deal with at the time.

I sometimes wish that I had Gigi’s assertive nature nad wasn’t so timid when it came to facing anything challenging.

Gigi finally comes out of her room, all dressed up for work. She looks cute in an all black ensemble. Black skinny jeans with high heeled boots, a v-neck t-shirt and a leather jacket on top. She basically resembles a very tough female lead in an action movie.

She goes to the kitchen to make herself coffee and then walks over to sit next to me on the couch.

“Are you working today?” she asks after taking a sip of her coffee.

“Yeah”, I answer, letting out a long sigh.

“Good luck babe”, she pats my back and finishes off her coffee. She says that every time. And I appreciate it every single time because in all honesty I need every ounce of luck that I could get, especially with the type of job that I currently have.

I work as a waitress at this fancy french restaurant called Le Petit Chateau. Sounds nice right? Not exactly.

I guess it would have been an okay job if I didn’t work with perverts and women who are so stuck up it seems like they had a literal stick up their buttholes.

The pay is okay but not exactly enough for me to survive of off. The tips suck, rich people tend to not tip well even though they have money to last them a lifetime.

Basically being a waitress sucks big time.

It is a very hard job to do and we need more people to actually appreciate the amount of patience we had to have to be able to put up with all the crap that gets thrown in our faces by customers and the restaurant owners.

Waitressing is basically the nursing of the food industry.

Having a job like Gigi’s would be a dream come true for me. Hence why I was applying for internships left, right and center. Gigi works as a production assistant for a fashion magazine and as much as she gets busy at least she has work perks that I would kill to have.

She has a car given to her by the editor, plus they have amazing work trips and the pay was out of this world.

I watch her get her bag and car keys, as she walks towards the door. “Bye, love you” she says to me.

“Love you too”, I call out to her before she closes the door.

My shift is at midday so that gives me three hours before having to go to work. I take the remote and start browsing through Netflix to see what I can watch.

I choose to watch Lucifer. It’s a great show, plus Tom Ellis is a whole meal. Calling him a snack would be an understatement. I’ve always had a thing for british men. But I’ve never even met one in my life before.

What I wouldn’t give to hear a man with that accent say my name.I think I might literally swoon to death.

I watch two episodes and decide that I should get ready for work. I quickly wash any dirty dishes that we have. And then go to my room to get my uniform out. It was a basic white shirt and black slacks with heels. There used to be a skirt but it was too short and I could not take having men who came to eat at the restaurant touching my bum and things every single time I went to their table. So I asked my manager Mr Donnadieu if I could wear pants instead.

After a quick shower, I rub my favourite lotion on my skin, spritz on some perfume then put my clothes on.

By the time I am done with my hair and put on my heels, I have about thirty minutes till my shift starts. I get my purse, phone, and house keys then left for work. I take a taxi and get to work with about ten minutes left till midday.

I go in through the employee entrance, walk towards the locker room. I put my stuff in my locker, take out my notebook and pen that I will be using for the day. I walk to the front to find out what tables are mine for the day.

After getting my tables I got off to work. I put on a smile and go to my first table, which is an adorable elderly couple. Old people are my favourite. They were always nice to me. I occasionally get an old lady who would want to set me up with their grandson. It’s cute really.

“Hi, my name’s Rosalie and I’ll be your waitress for the day”, I say handing over menus to them.

The day drags on like that with me attending to tables, serving drinks and food to customers. Taking food back to the kitchen because something was “too salty” or “not what I ordered” when we both know that they ordered it.

Times like that and people like that sometimes made me want to pull my hair out, but I never wavered. My smile stays on until I could get to the kitchen where I can groan in frustration.

I stand and run around until my feet hurt. I just cannot wait to get home and soak my swollen feet in hot water filled with epsom salt. Walking around in six inch heels for eight hours is no easy task.

Finally eight o’clock comes around and I go to the back to get my stuff from the locker room.

The weather has changed and has a slight chill to it, thankfully I brought a jacket with me every time for days like this.

After clocking out I get some takeout for myself and Gigi and then go wait for a taxi in front of the building.

“You know it’s not safe for a pretty woman to be out here alone”, a familiar voice says from behind me.

I turn and see who it is. Paul, the son of the restaurant owner comes to stand next to me. I don’t say anything and just shrug instead.

Paul is an okay guy from what I know about him. He is an average looking guy, blonde hair and brown eyes. His body looks like he hits the gym quite a few times a week and his personality is okay.

“What are you doing here?”, he asks with a smile, showing off his straight teeth.

“Trying to catch a taxi”.

“I came in to check on dad. I'm actually headed home, I could give you a ride ”, he points to his Black Camaro right across the street from us.

I take a few seconds to consider his offer. I don’t know him that well, so he is technically a stranger. And we all know what they say about stranger danger. But him taking me home saves me some cash and I need to save every penny that I can.

I look up at his tall frame and nod, “Okay, thank you”.

“Great, let’s go”. He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me across the road to his car.

The whole action kind of makes me feel uncomfortable but at the same time it makes me blush.

The whole ride is okay. His car is so comfortable and clean, plus it also smells nice. It smells just like him as his cologne fills the whole space. It basically smells like man, oak with a spicy undertone, it’s a beautiful scent.

Paul plays some music and we have some small talk about work and how my life is as a waitress. It sucks but of course I don’t tell him that, I lie and say that I love my job.

He finally drops me off in front of my apartment building.

“Thanks for the ride Paul”, I say as I unclasp the seatbelt and open the door.

He smiles at me, “No problem Rosalie, see ya”.

I get out the car and watch him drive off. Holding my purse and the bag filled with takeout ,I quickly rush into the building, not wanting to bump into any crazies.

We live in a nice neighbourhood but psychos are everywhere so I am not taking the risk.

I get on the elevator and wait for it to get to my floor. It dings and opens and I walk out. Just before I open the door to the apartment, realisation hits me. I never gave Paul directions, so how the hell does he know where I live?

Opening the door I try to shake the thought off but my subconscious cannot help the nagging, uncomfortable feeling in the back of my head.