I woke up to the hot sun shining through my bedroom window and onto my bed. My eyes struggled to open, last night’s mascara caking them together like glue. I drove my face into the pillow, trying hard not to remember the night before.

Groaning, I reached my hand down the side of the bed and searched around for my phone to check the time. When I held my phone close to my still-adjusting eyes, the first thing I noticed was the fifteen missed calls from Wyatt.

Sliding my thumb over the screen to unlock it and clear the calls list, I cringed when I saw the time. My shift had started half an hour ago.

I jumped out of bed and ran into the living room to wake up Jo, who had spent the night on the couch, but she was gone.

“Jo?” I called as I walked into the kitchen, seeing a note on the table.

Thanks for looking after me. Sorry about The Douche. Stay home today, I’ll deal with him.

‘The Douche,’ I presumed, was Jo’s new name for Wyatt. I rolled my eyes at her suggestion to stay home to avoid him – no way would I stop living my life over a guy, no matter who he was.

I felt sick wondering what Jo meant by ‘dealing’ with him. Knowing her, it would involve a lot of drama.

In a rush, I tied my hair into a ponytail, pulled on my trusty jeans and boots, threw on my favourite tee (grey with a large wolf printed on it), wrapped a maroon scarf around my neck and grabbed my satchel, throwing my makeup bag in there so I could put eyeliner on at work.

Thank god I live so close to the diner, I thought as I slammed the door shut behind me and started running down the stairs, the glare of the sun making me squint.

Walking out onto the street, I noticed how quiet it was. A part from a few sirens in the distance, everything was silent. No cars, no people, no trams. It was deserted.

I looked at my watch, seeing it was just passed ten o’clock. It was Saturday morning, meaning most people in this neighbourhood were either sleeping in or too hungover to move. But it had never been this quiet before.

I wondered if I should have taken Jo’s advice and stayed home, but I quickly shook off that thought, knowing I’d be better off at work with something to distract me from my pathetic broken heart.

Except Wyatt.

I looked at my watch again. Wyatt was working today, too, and his shift started in thirty minutes. I felt the butterflies return, only now they were sickly, like they had been spinning out of control for far too long.

I wanted to shrug it off like it didn’t matter, like it didn’t tear me up inside, but I would only be lying to myself. Deep down I knew it was his loss, but right now I just felt… crushed.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone shuffling slowly behind me, groaning loudly.

Probably still drunk.

Saturday morning always brought party-goers and up-all-nighters stumbling into the diner for a hangover cure.

I put my headphones in as I picked up speed.

Walking towards the diner, I noticed Wyatt’s car wasn’t parked in it’s usual spot down the street – as a bright yellow Chevy Impala, it’s very easy to spot. Relief washed over me; he hadn’t arrived yet.

I pushed the door to Pop Rocks open, causing the bell above it to jingle. Ben and Jo were standing behind the counter, chatting while they wrapped napkins around cutlery in preparation for what would surely be a busy day.

Their heads snapped the door at the sound of the bell, and when they saw me and immediately fell silent, I knew that they had been talking about last night.

“Hi,” I muttered, avoiding eye contact as I walked behind the counter and into the tiny office, throwing my bag on the desk against the wall.

Meticulously created to be a perfect replica of a 1950’s diner, Pop Rocks had everything from vintage art prints and Coca-Cola posters to the blue and white tiles on the floor flown all the way from the USA.

Large booths lined the large windows all across the L-shaped design, followed by two-seater tables in the middle of the restaurant area and stools all along the counter.

Behind the counter stood a large kitchen island, with plates and soda glasses on one side, a milkshake maker and food preparation area on the other, and a long stove, oven and fryer parallel to it.

A swinging door to the right of the counter led into the back room, which held a storage area, an industrial dishwasher and a walk-in freezer. A sliding door to the left of the counter opened up into the office.

Usually, fifties music would play through the diner – with speakers over the door outside, we would often play music to attract customers – but considering the hangovers everyone had today, it would likely stay quiet unless a customer put a coin in one of the many mini-jukeboxes that sat on the counter.

The office was reserved for staff to change into our uniform; a white dress shirt, apron, black bow-tie, and white hat. No bigger than a walk-in closet, the office had a tall row of shelving and a desk with a small television on it to the left, two chairs and a whiteboard to the right, and a mirror on the far wall.

“I thought I gave you the day off?” Jo asked as she followed behind.

“I’m not going to stop living my life just to avoid him, Jo,” I replied, buttoning up my shirt and pulling my white apron over my head. “And I don’t want you to say anything to him. If he wants to be a jerk, that’s entirely his choice. Stay out of it. Please.”

“Fine,” Jo sighed and disappeared back into the diner, leaving me to clip on my cheesy bow-tie and little boat shaped cap.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I smirked. I always felt silly putting on the uniform, but I had so much fun working in the diner with my friends, listening to old music and pretending we were in a simpler time. My stomach turned, hoping it would still be the same as before.

I began searching through my makeup bag, pushing passed my makeup tools and a few Special Effects products to pull out the eyeliner. Popping the lid off, I leaned in close to the mirror, but stopped when I saw Wyatt standing behind me in the reflection.

“You look beautiful,” he said as he stood in the doorway, keeping his distance from me.

My heart started to beat faster, and I hated that the butterflies were back and more alive than ever. I continued drawing on my eyeliner, ignoring his compliment.

“I tried to call you last night…” he said, looking concerned.

“I was busy, Jo wasn’t feeling well.”

I couldn’t help but notice how miserable he looked, and my heart sank when I realised he must feel sorry for me.

He feels bad for breaking this poor girl’s heart. I hate that. I’m not a victim, I’m not some poor girl. I’m strong and capable, and I don’t need anyone’s pity, least of all his.

I was about to tell him all this when he stepped into the room and slid the door shut behind him.

“I want to explain… what you heard. Last night,” Wyatt started, his shoulders stiffening.

I quickly finished my liner and threw it back in my makeup bag, wanting nothing more than to get out of that tiny room.

“You don’t need to explain anything,” I interrupted. “I totally get it. I thought you were a nice guy; a genuine, kind hearted person. Clearly, I was wrong.”

I could tell by the way his eyes dropped to the floor that I had wounded him, but I pushed passed him and slid the door open anyway, walking out into the diner to start my shift.

Even though it was only the four of us in the diner, the tension was thick.

Wyatt reeked of guilt, while Jo and Ben gave him the cold shoulder and smothered me with over-the-top kindness.

When my parents died, I became very familiar with pity. I know exactly what it looks like, complete with sad frowns and awkward silences. But nothing compares to the look in the eyes of someone who feels sorry for you.

It’s a swirling mixture of sympathy, sorrow, and relief. Relief that it’s not them going through something so terrible, so tragic. I swore I would never see myself in the reflection of those melancholy eyes again.

Needing some fresh air, I volunteered to take the trash out to the dumpsters, which sat in the alleyway down the end of the block.

Picking up two full bags of rubbish from the bins in the kitchen, I carried them out into the stairwell, avoiding all eye contact on my way passed Wyatt, Jo and Ben.

Grey and cold, with concrete stairs leading down into the dark basement, I always found the stairwell to be rather eerie.

Two trolleys sat on the concrete landing, by the double doors that opened up onto the street. I threw the bags into a trolley and pushed through the doors, light filling the stairwell as I made my way outside.

Closing the doors behind me, I noticed how empty the streets appeared, even though it was now mid-morning. I could only see one man, far off in the distance, who stood staring at a brick wall, swaying back and forth.

Another drunk? I wondered as I began pushing the trolley down the hill.

Taking the rubbish out wasn’t the most glamorous of chores, but there was one aspect I really loved about it. I smiled as I started running down the street, picking up speed. In one movement I jumped onto the back of the trolley and closed my eyes to feel the wind on my face as I flew down the sidewalk.

After a few seconds of exhilaration, I opened my eyes and jumped back onto the ground, skidding to a stop just in time to turn into the alley and pull up alongside an open dumpster.

Lifting the bags over my shoulder, I flipped them into the dumpster one at a time, holding my nose to avoid the smell of rotting food and filth.

I started making my way back towards the diner, pulling the trolley behind me with one arm, when I heard a moan coming from behind me.

I paused to look back, but saw nothing.

I kept walking, only to hear it again.

A low, rattling growl echoed from within the metal container. I had never heard anything like it before, and it sent chills rushing down my spine.

This time, I walked back over to it to investigate. I held my nose again as I edged closer to peek inside.

All of a sudden, something jumped up from inside the dumpster, groaning and covered in garbage.

I screamed as I jumped back in fear, my heart pounding inside my chest.

It rose to its feet unsteadily, and it took me a few seconds before I realised it was a woman in ragged clothes.

Her face was a sickly grey, her skin sallow and glistening with sweat. I tried to contain my shock, but I could see she had been eating rubbish.

“Oh. Sorry…You scared me,” I said as I backed up against the trolley.

The woman let out another low rattle as she continued chewing on something that made disgusting crunch sounds when she bit down.

A long, fleshy rodent tail fell out the corner of her mouth, hanging there as she struggled to climb out of the dumpster.

I cupped my hand over my mouth in an attempt to prevent myself from throwing up in disgust, and grabbed the trolley as I started running out of the alleyway.

By the time I had made it back into the diner I was dry reaching. Jo asked me what was wrong as I ran into the bathroom to wash my hands furiously, but I couldn’t tell her what I had seen.

“Nothing. Just smells bad down there,” I lied.

Knowing how sick Jo had been the night before, and how hungover she felt today, I thought it would be best not to say anything. Besides, I didn’t think I could repeat the story without making myself sick, too.

“It’s so quiet today,” I said as I walked back into the diner, trying to forget the sick feeling in my stomach.

Ben and Wyatt stood by the fryer, cooking themselves some french fries.

“I know. It’s weird,” Ben said, looking out the window. “I barely saw anyone on the drive in this morning. I’ve never seen the city so empty.”

Before I could reply, I saw a man stumbling across the road towards the diner.

“Customer,” I said to the others as I walked over behind the counter to greet him as he pushed the door open and walked inside.

“Hi, here for breakfast?” I smiled, handing him a menu.

“Yeah. I’m starving. Feels like I haven’t eaten in weeks,” he replied as he sat on one of the counter stools.

From the look of his bloodshot eyes and cracked lips, I figured he had been out all night. Wearing a light blue pin-striped shirt with an assortment of stains down the front and torn dark blue jeans, he didn’t look well at all.

“Big night?” I asked, switching on the coffee machine.

“I think so. I don’t really remember. I feel like shit,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “I woke up in the gutter with some homeless dude trying to eat my leg. The freak tore right through my jeans.”

My jaw dropped.

“What the hell? Are you serious?” I asked in surprise.

I turned around to see Wyatt and Ben still standing by the fryer. Wyatt looked as surprised as I did, but I could see Ben was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah. I had to kick him off then I got the hell outta there. I’ll have the Big Breakfast please. And coffee, lots and lots of coffee,” he handed the menu back to me casually, as though he hadn’t just escaped being a Big Breakfast to a homeless man.

I started making his coffee while Wyatt and Ben put gloves on and prepared his meal.

“So, did he actually bite you? Maybe you should go to a hospital?” I asked the man as I carried his coffee over to him, but he didn’t answer.

He just sat there, slumped over the counter with his head in his hands.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” he snapped. “I’m hungry. Just make my food.”

I wanted to return his animosity, but after all the rude people I’d served as a waitress, I had quickly learned to bite my tongue and shrug it off.

Wyatt walked out of the back room holding frozen sausages and bacon and placed them on the stove. I saw the customer’s head snap up then, and he began sniffing wildly and glaring at the meat.

He looked even worse than when he walked in. His skin had fast become clammy and pale, and I could have sworn I heard a low growl coming from his throat. It instantly reminded me of the deranged woman in the dumpster, and I cringed.

I walked behind the kitchen island and stood next to Wyatt. The pain of his hurtful words still lingered in the back of my mind, but I instantly felt calmer in his presence.

“Something doesn’t feel right about this guy. Cook his food quick then let’s get rid of him,” I whispered, watching the customer carefully.

Wyatt looked over at him suspiciously and nodded, flipping the bacon over as it sizzled.

“I think he’s still drunk or something,” whispered Ben as he took freshly popped toast out of the toaster and threw it on a plate.

I looked back towards the counter and saw the man had his head down in his arms again.

Once the Big Breakfast was ready I carried it over to him and placed it on the counter next to his head.

“Sir, you’re breakfast is ready.”

He didn’t move.

I leaned in closer to him, trying to see his face, but it was covered by his arm.

“Excuse me, sir? You’re breakfast is here.”

He still didn’t move.

I watched him closely, waiting for the rise and fall of his back as he breathed.

Nothing.

Slowly, I reached my hand over the counter and gently nudged his shoulder.

His head slipped off of his arm and he slowly slid sideways off of the stool and slammed onto the tiled floor.

Even with that hard knock, he didn’t wake up.

I gasped, my eyes wide as I stared down at his lifeless body.

He was dead.