Chapter four

My steps become brisk, heart pounding in my chest like a sledgehammer as I catch a glimpse of a sinister shadow tailing me. I shove my trembling hands into my pockets, shuddering as I quicken my pace. I dash leftwards, casting a swift glance over my shoulder to meet the murky abyss, only to find my pursuer vanished into thin air.

Pausing for a moment, I draw in a deep breath to quell my racing heart. "It's just your imagination, Tatiana," I whisper confidently, mustering enough courage to suppress the nervousness. Spotting the glowing replica of the pub signage, I scamper towards it, the awareness of being late for my night duty sending shivers down my spine, one final time.

Stepping into the pub, my ears are blasted by raucous music and the smell of spilled beer. The roars of drunken men drowning out the giggles of women twerking on them, and the sight of other men eyeing up their next victim. As I move past the mayhem, I catch the disapproving eye of Mr. Bhatt, the bane of my existence.

"Sorry, sir, won't let it happen again," I mutter under my breath, rushing to the staff room. A few quick motions and I'm stripped down to a sharp white shirt and jeans, ready to tackle the night in my small black apron.

Ah, this place. While I slave away, I can't help but imagine being back in the floral shop, surrounded by the sweet smells and pretty petals.

Anything's better than this hellish hole.

An hour had passed and my feet were throbbing as I sauntered around the lively pub. I flexed my wrist that felt sore from the incessant bottle collecting and occasional food delivery. My mind was ticking away the hours until I could finally clock out and head home.

As I tidied up table 6, the sound of a man's whistle caught my ear. My head jerked up to find a group of guys ogling me. Their eyes were fixated on my rear, making me roll my eyes before returning to my work.

I couldn't help but feel a hint of pride in my body, as it had been sculpted through countless hours of walking and exercise. However, the attention I received also came with a price. I was constantly aggravated by the stares and occasional unfounded fear that my skin condition generated. Throughout my childhood, I was a target of taunts and teasing until my teenage years arrived, and with it the surge of male attention.

My identity wasn't what caught their eyes; it was the shape of my body that seemed to have them entranced. With ample curves and a full chest, I was the epitome of teenage desire in the male gaze. And as I matured, so did my figure. My thighs grew shapelier, my backside rounder, and my breasts fuller. My waist maintained its delicate form, harmoniously blending with my curves. Standing tall at 5'6, I carried my weight with grace.

Yet, despite my external allure, being objectified still made my skin crawl. As I strode past a group of men, one of them chose to cross the line by slapping my ass. The sound of my outraged shriek pierced the air as I turned, seething with anger. Fueled by fury, I grabbed the closest object--a tray--and let the man have a taste of his own medicine with a fierce strike to the head.

The chatter and laughter in the pub ceased instantly as the tray clanged loudly against the man's skull. He leapt from his seat, bellowing obscenities at me. But I stood my ground, unflinching, meeting his furious glare head-on. "You fucking bitch!" He spat.

I refused to back down.

I typically exude an air of sweetness and effervescence, but make no mistake: if anyone attempts to cross me, I transform into an entirely different entity. My tolerance for disrespect is non-existent.

These traits are a direct result of the torment I endured during my youth - day after day spent dodging dirt and water hurled by kids who deemed me an abnormality. But today, as an adult with a newfound understanding of the world, I vow to never again be the cowering girl of my past.

Remaining poised, my voice placid and composed, I issue a simple statement: "Do not touch me." As of late, I've discovered that keeping one's composure in the face of another's raised voice only serves to further intimidate them.

"I-"

The repulsive man was abruptly interrupted by the formidable Mr. Bhatt. "What's going on?" he queried with a stern tone. "That bitch you call an employee struck me with a tray!" he bellowed, motioning to his pinkish bruise that blended with his dark skin.

Exasperated, I rolled my eyes. "He deserved it," I countered. "He spanked me." Mr. Bhatt's look of annoyance softened as soon as he glanced at me, but shifted back to the aggressor. "I will not tolerate assault on my workers. Kindly leave," Mr. Bhatt declared.

The perpetrator's eyes widened in disbelief that his host had taken my side. While Mr. Bhatt could be an unrelenting jerk, I admired his no-nonsense approach to ensuring his workers' safety.

The group of men shared a knowing glance before making a silent alliance to escort their imbecilic dickhead out of the venue.

Things eventually settled down, and everyone resumed their revelry. Mr. Bhatt turned to me and let out a sigh, dragging his hand across his face. "My apologies, Tatiana," he murmured softly.

With a gentle clearing of my throat, I offer my gratitude to Mr. Bhatt for his unwavering support. It's a comfort to know he's got my back. Determined to press on, I dive back into my work, consumed by the task at hand.

But hours of hard labor begin to take their toll, and I can feel my energy fading. Though it may be a daunting challenge, I'm committed to keeping my promise to Viraj. With a heavy sigh, I glance at my phone and realize it's nearly midnight. The big clock on the wall reads 12:30am, and I know I must steel myself for one final push.

As I wrap up my tasks and bid farewell to my colleagues, I step out into the brisk spring air. The cool winds of night are a sweet relief, and I can't help but smile at the thought of slipping into my warm and cozy bed.

As I stroll down the deserted street, hands buried deep in my pockets, I glance up at the closed train stations. My heart sinks. But then, as if by a stroke of luck, a beam of hope shines down on me - Mr. Patel's kind offer to take me home.

The drive is always long, but Mrs. Patel understands the grueling nature of my two jobs, often requiring me to work both shifts on the same day, which I dutifully inform them beforehand.

Yet, as I approach the shortcut through a dimly lit alley, my body tenses. It's a route I take often, but tonight is different. A chill runs down my spine as though I'm stepping into a realm of dark shadows. Against my gut instinct, I change direction - the long way it is.

I pivot on my heel and proceed to stride down the winding street, taking the scenic route instead of the direct path. It may add extra minutes to my journey, but my safety is worth the meandering route.

After a brief stroll, the all-too-familiar sensation creeps up on me again. I swivel my head and spot a figure – a man with his hood down, leaning casually against a wall across the way. My gut can't confirm whether he's the same person tailing me before, but the sense of unease is undeniable.

Without hesitation, I pick up my pace towards the blooming sanctuary of the floral shop a few blocks down. The thud of my heart against my chest is deafening as I make out the low growl of a car approaching. It whizzes past me, only to decelerate dramatically as it comes to a halt in front of me.

Suspicion creeps over me as I narrow my eyes. The scarlet car grinds to a halt, causing my entire being to pulse with trepidation. With deserted streets and no soul to call out to, an unsettling feeling sinks in. Only one thing could rescue me now. Swiftly pivoting, I retreat towards the pub. My colleagues will have to do me the kindness of dropping me at the flower storefront- taking no risks with my life.

As I rotate on my heel, my heart plummets to the pit of my stomach and I nearly piss myself as the familiar figure from across the street suddenly looms before me.

In a frantic attempt to escape, I pivot once again, only to find myself face to face with yet another ominous stranger.

I call for help, but before the words can escape my lips, a blackness envelops me, and the world fades into obscurity.