The Resurrection

Flora

“You broke three glasses this week, Flora. Consider yourself lucky I'm paying you at all!”

I stared at the thin envelope in Signor Benedetto's outstretched hand, and my fingers went numb. Three glasses. I only broke one glass three days ago when my hands were shaking from exhaustion after working a sixteen-hour shift.

“It was one glass, Signor.” My voice came out smaller than I intended as I choked back my tears. “Just one.”

He didn't even look at me. He was counting the cash register, his thick fingers moving through bills I helped earn. Bills from tourist's who left generous tips that somehow never made it to my pocket.

“One, three, what's the difference?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “The cost is the same. Be grateful I didn't fire you for your clumsiness.”

Grateful? I should be grateful for half my wages. Grateful for the privilege of scrubbing his floors and serving his customers and smiling until my face ached. Grateful that he let me work myself to the bone for money that wouldn't even cover my rent.

I took the envelope in my shaking hands.

“Thank you, Signor,” I said, and I hated myself for it.

He grunted, already forgetting I existed.

The evening shift was just starting when I slipped the envelope into my apron pocket. I didn't need to count it to know it wasn't enough. It was never enough. I did the math in my head while I wiped down tables that were already clean.

My rent was due in four days. I had maybe half of what I needed. The rest would have to come from tips, if I was lucky, if the tourists were generous enough, if the universe decided to stop crushing me for one single moment.

My mother’s ring pressed against my heel. I hid it in the sole of my left shoe. I shifted in my weight, feeling it's small, solid presence. The only thing I had left of her. The only thing in this world that was truly mine.

I couldn't sell it. I wouldn't. Even if it meant sleeping on the street.

“Flora! Table seven needs water!” Signor Benedetto's voice echoed.

I grabbed the pitcher and hurried over, wearing my usual smile that didn't reach my eyes. I was tired. Too tired. A family of four were seated. They were German tourists by the sound of their conversation. The father barely glanced at me as I poured the water. The mother didn't acknowledge me at all. I was just as invisible as the chairs they sat on.

This was my life. Twenty-three years old and invisible.

I used to be someone. A little girl who dreamed in pirouettes and grand jetés. A girl who believed that grace and hard work could lift her out of poverty, that beauty existed even in ugly places.

My mother used to say I moved like water, like wind, like something too lovely for this world.

Then she died. Then the money ran out. Then the dream died too.

Now, I poured water and cleared plates and smiled at people who don't acknowledge me.

The evening crawled by in a blur of orders and complaints and aching feet. My shoes were falling apart, the sole of the right one was flapping with each step. I’d glued it back twice already. If I glue it back one more time, there’d be nothing left to glue.

By nine o’clock, he café was half empty. Just a few stragglers nursing their drinks, trying to stretch out the evening. I was clearing table five when I noticed him.

He sat alone by the window with a glass of wine in front of him.

A middle-aged man, wearing an expensive watch, and a silk shirt that was left unbuttoned, revealing his hairy chest. His eyes had been following me for the past twenty minutes. I felt his gaze like oil on my skin.

I kept my head down, stacking plates with practiced efficiency. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d get bored and leave.

“Signorina.” He called.

His voice was smooth, and cultured. The kind of voice that was used to getting what it wanted.

I turned, my professional smile firmly in place. “Yes, sir? Can I get you anything else?”

He didn't answer right away. He just looked at me, his eyes traveling slowly from my face down to my feet and back up again. My skin crawled.

“You're very beautiful,” he said finally. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

My smile felt like it was cracking. “That's very kind, sir. Can I bring you the check?”

“Sit with me.” He gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Just for a moment. You must be tired.”

“I'm working, sir. I can't.”

“I insist.” His smile didn't reach his eyes. “Just a few minutes of your time. I'm a generous man. I tip well.”

I glanced towards the counter. Signor Benedetto was watching with an unreadable expression. He didn't tell the man to leave me alone. He didn't tell me to get back to work. He just watched.

“I really can't, sir. I have other tables.”

“They can wait.” The man reached out suddenly, his fingers closing around my wrist. His grip was firm, and possessive. “Sit.”

I tried to pull away but his hold tightened. “Sir, please let go.”

“Such a lovely face.” His other hand came up, his fingers brushing my cheek. I flinched back but he followed, his thumb tracing my jawline. “Such lovely hair. Do you know how rare it is to find natural beauty like yours?”

“Let go of me.” My voice was shaking now. I looked desperately towards Signor Benedetto. “Signor, please.”

He turned away.

He actually turned away, busying himself with wiping down the espresso machine that was already clean.

The man’s smile widened. He stood, still holding my wrist, and pulled me closer. His breath smelled like wine and something sour underneath.

“Your boss and I have an understanding,x he said softly, his lips close to my ear. “I paid him well. Very well m you're mine for the night.”

The words didn't make sense at first. They couldn't make sense. But then I understood, and the understanding made my blood turn to ice.

“No.” I yanked at my arm, panic rising in my throat. “No, I'm not. He can't. He doesn't have the right.”

“He has every right. You work for him, don't you?” The man started pulling me towards the door. “Don't make a scene, sweetie. It will only make things worse for you.”

I dug my heels in, my free half grabbing at the nearest table for support. Glasses rattled. A fork clattered to the floor.

“Signor Benedetto!” My voice cracked. “Please, you can't let him do this! Please!”

My boss finally looked at me. His face was hard. “You’ve been short on rent, Flora. Consider this a way to make up what you owe. Go with the gentleman. Don't embarrass me.”

The world tilted. The few remaining customers were all suddenly very interested in their drinks, none of them looked at me. None of them helped.