My Savior

                “Hey,” I said, nodding to one of my fellow employees, Donavan, as I walked into McDonald’s three minutes before my shift started.

                I had started three weeks ago and was proud to say I was doing fairly well. It was the first job I had ever managed to get, and I was treating it with the upmost care. I hadn’t been late once and forced myself to keep a smile no matter how annoying the customer was.

                Because it was a McDonald’s, we’d had plenty of freaks come in the short time that I had been working.

                I slipped into the back room, dropping my duffle bag down. I pulled out my uniform, going into the back bathroom to change into it. It was like all other McDonald’s uniforms, black pants with a black shirt, two gray shirts going down both of my sides. I pulled the name tag out from the bag, poking it through the shirt where I had poked it thirty times before. Pulling my hair back into a pony tail, I stuck the visor on, officially ready to work.

                As I walked up to the extra cash register, I surveyed the restaurant. It was three-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon, which meant rarely anyone was in here. A few old men sat arbitrarily through-out the restaurant. Most of them ate the same general meal.

                Two or three of them were regulars. I had seen their faces enough to be able to know just exactly what they wanted to get.

                Yet, as the good little employee I was, I always asked to make sure.

                It didn’t surprise me when they gave their order to me exactly what I had imagined for it was the same thing they had gotten the day before and the day before that.

                My shift was from three-thirty until eight at night. For most of it, it was fairly slow business on weekdays. Around five-thirty, business would pick up considerably, especially in the drive-through lane. Our manager, Ronnie, always kept me on cash register.

                The reason was because I was “a cute face paying customers liked to see” and “too in-experienced to handle the drive-through at dinner time.”

                I was satisfied with the former, but annoyed with the latter, to say the least.

                After seven o’clock, business would slow down. Everyone would take the time to clean the fryers that weren’t being used or to wipe down tables and mop up floors. It was, for most of us, quitting time.

                While the McDonald’s was open 24/7, I hadn’t met any of the night crew. They usually showed up an hour or so after I left. I never returned to McDonald’s after work if I could help it.

                I braced my hands against the counter top, standing on the tops of my toes. I sighed dramatically, earning an eye roll from Donavan. I shot him a smile, one that wasn’t returned, unfortunately.

                My eyes moved to the door as a small family of four walked in. The older man had a little girl in his arm while the older lady had a small boy in her hand.

                The approached the register.

                I glanced over at Donavan, noticing how he had conveniently disappeared to the back to ‘refill’ the cups at the soda fountain.

                I didn’t have to ask�"it was always the same excuse.

                He always made sure that I took the customers during downtime first.

                I sighed, shaking my head with a small smile on my lips, “I can help you when you’re ready.” To the family.

                The lady looked at the man, mumbling a few things before stepping up, “Hi, can I get two chicken nugget Happy Meals, a number 2, and a number 9?”

                I glanced down at the cash register, typing in exactly what she had said, “What size drinks would you like?”

                She glanced back at the man briefly. “One medium and one large.”

                “For here or to go?”

                “For here.”

                I grabbed a tray, setting it on the counter. I turned around to get a cup from the freshly stacked pile, thanks to Donavan. After setting the cups on the tray, I quickly hurried off to get the rest of her food ready.

                Donavan stood by his register, watching me with a playful smirk on his lips. I shot him a look when the customers couldn’t see, sneaking him a very inappropriate gesture with my finger.

                Donavan clicked his tongue, “We’re in public, young lady. Watch your behavior when customers are around.”

                His voice was low, quiet, as he spoke so as not to let anyone else here.

                “Shut up, Donavan.” I hissed back as I stuffed the food into the cardboard Happy Meal boxes, “You’re such a jerk.”

                He gave me a cheeky grin, not responding.

                I glanced at the receipt on the tray, making sure I had everything that they had ordered before smiling at them.

                “Have a nice day.”

                “Thanks, you too.” The woman said half-heartedly. As if I believed she really meant it. Not that I did, but I needed to be polite by force.

                I watched as they walked away, before turning my attention to Donavan.

                “You’re going to be the reason I get fired, I swear.” I said, rolling my eyes.

                He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. Donavan was a typical Puerto Rican. His black hair was naturally spiked him, lucky for him, and his dark eyes always seemed to pierce into my own. He had a strong face with a cute smile. He was anything but flabby. I knew for a fact he packed some serious muscle. I had accidentally walked in on him changing one of the first few days I began working here. He didn’t know this, but I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded.

                Donavan had an arrogant attitude, but he was anything but a player. His most recent ex had been in a relationship with him for nearly a year before they broke up. She had cheated on him. They only broke up two weeks ago, when we were first becoming close. I was his shoulder to cry on�"though he did no crying.

                There was one thing about Donavan that I thought was irresistibly sexy. Aside from the tattoo on the back of his neck of his mother’s name, he always wore a gold chain around his neck. When I asked him about it, he answered,

                “My younger brother gave it to me for my twelfth birthday. He died two and a half weeks later.”

                I never pried as to why he didn’t have a younger brother or a mother anymore, but from what I heard around the restaurant, it was from a drunk driving accident.

                “You better watch yourself, Nelson, or you actually will get fired. I’m pretty sure that lady saw.” He laughed.

                My eyes widened, “She didn’t.”

                “She made a face at you when you did it…” He trailed off, “But maybe she was just jealous of your cute little a*s.”

                I giggled, “You’re so full of it.”

                “Yeah, baby, and I need to unload soon. How about in the backseat of my car after work?” He smirked.

                “You’re such a pervert.” I rolled my eyes, “I don’t even want to think about what’s been done in the backseat of your car.”

                He laughed, shaking his head. Both of us knew only a few girls would have been in his backseat to begin with.

                Another thing about Donavan; he was a shameless flirt. If he was single, any girl was a target on his radar.

                My eyes flickered over to the man who had just ordered struggling to pump the ketch-up out of the ketch-up container.

                “Come on, big boy.” I said, “You need to replace the ketch-up.”

                “Why is it my job?”

                “Because you seem to conveniently leave every time a customer comes up to order and there’s one walking in right now.” I said.

                His eyes followed mine over to the elderly couple walking in.

                “Well, have fun serving them.” He moved around me, grabbing a jug of ketch-up to go refill the old one.

                I let my eyes watch him for a few minutes as I waited for the elderly couple to walk over to the counter.

                ~*~

                I squirted the water down on the table before wiping a rag over top of it. I flicked a few edges of French fries onto the ground, figuring I’d catch them when I went over the floor with a mop in a few minutes.

                I lifted my foot up from the ground slightly as I reached to the far end, pathetically swiping it across.

                A deep chuckle sounded from the front of the restaurant. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Donavan was bored and watching me clean down the restaurant by myself. Someone had to man the register.

                He managed to beat me at rock paper scissors today.

                My eyes flickered over to a man just walking it. It was close to eight, but that didn’t mean we didn’t get customers.

                I continued to wipe down the tables as I was doing before.

                This time, without the pressure of Donavan.

                 I felt myself singing a soft tune as I wiped to help pass the time. Blackbird by the Beetles sang through my lips as I hummed the words.

                It was almost guaranteed that Donavan would torture me about this later, but I enjoyed the song.

                “…ordered a damn large, not a medium.” The deep voice of the customer had increased in volume some as he spoke, clearly upset with Donavan, “Damn kids these days, really need to listen to their payin’ customers.”

                “I’m sorry, sir.” Donavan was clearly more annoyed with the customer, but he did his best to hide it.

                “Better be.”

                He took his tray, moving off to a table near where I had been previously cleaning. I turned my head to look at Donavan, giving him a sympathetic look.

                No one ever liked grumpy customers.

                Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the man ripping open his bag, pulling out the burger inside. He tensed up, taking in quick, angry breathes.

                “Where the hell are my fries?!” He growled, loud enough for the entire restaurant to here. I raised an eyebrow, stopping my cleaning.

                Donavan glanced down at the register, “You didn’t order any fries. You ordered a burger and a drink.”

                “Oh, I damn well know I ordered French fries. Who the hell comes to McDonald’s and doesn’t get French fries?” The man growled, standing up in his seat.

                “Sir, I can show you on the receipt. You didn’t buy any because you didn’t order any.” Donavan hissed as calmly as he could manage.

                “Because some little s**t didn’t put it on my bill when I clearly ordered it.” He growled, taking a few steps towards Donavan.

                “Sir,” I intervened, raising my hands peacefully “I’m sure it was just a simple misunderstanding. Maybe you didn’t speak clear enough for him to hear or�"”

                “I know how clearly I spoke, you little tramp.” He snapped.

                I gasped, opening my mouth to let him know what I thought of him when our manager stepped in.

                “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Ronnie said sternly. He didn’t look like he was really afraid to do so. It seemed like this was a normal thing to happen at McDonald’s from the look on his face.

                “I’m not leaving until I get my damn fries!” He growled, “And an apologize from these two little idiots!”

                “Sir�"!” I snapped.

                Ronnie cut me off, “Leave or I’m calling the police. It’s your move, sir.”

                “It’s my move, huh?” He growled.

                The man reached out, grabbing my ponytail in his thick hands. He pulled hard, a scream ripping out of my throat as I stumbled back into him. I fell back into his stomach painfully. He wrapped an arm around my neck, flexing his muscles. I could feel my airway becoming restrained.

                “Then this is how I’m going to play the game!” He shouted at the entire restaurant, his eyes moving around.

                I felt something cold and metallic pressing against my temple. I tried to see what it was, but the man’s tight grip prevented that. It wasn’t hard to guess by the circular feel and the loud click that he had clicked the safety off on a handgun.

                My heart beat began to increase in speed.

                Everyone in the restaurant seemed to freeze, watching the man who held me captive with terrified eyes.

                “Alright. This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to open up that cash register and dump all the money out of the counter where I can see it. I want all valuables on the table tops. Or I’ll blow this little c**t’s head off.” His voice echoed through-out the silent restaurant menacingly. I held back a whimper at the threat he made.

                “What are you waiting for?!” He shouted, “Get the money out!”

                Suddenly, everyone seemed to thaw out from their trance, reaching into pockets and pulling out whatever they had. I could see Donavan opening the register and pulling out the amount of money in there.

                I wasn’t stupid. Most of the money was locked in a vault in the back room, but he needed to give up all that was out in the open. I could only hope that my captor didn’t know anything about the vault.

                “’Scuse me,” A new voice entered the conversation, “But I’m going to need you to take your hands off the little lady.”

                It sounded as if he was right behind us.

                The man jerked us around sharply. I screamed in pain at the motion. He rapped the butt of the gun against my skull painfully.

                “Shut the hell up!” He growled.  “I’m not letting her go until I get all the money in this s**t-hole, you got that?”

                The voice sounded again from behind, having moved in some strangely quick amount of time, “Let me rephrase that. Get your filthy hands off of her.”

                “I’m not doing a damn thing you tell me to!” The man growled, jerking us around again. I held back my cries this time, praying not to be hit again.

                I could feel my eyes watering up.

                “I asked nicely.” The new voice said. “Have a nice time in Hell, you psycho-path.”

                “What are you�"”

                A sickening crack echoed through the restaurant. I felt the man’s grip on my neck slacken just enough for me to pull free of it. I jerked myself forward just as his body fell backwards in a slump on the ground. His gun clattered out of his hand on the ground a few inches away.

                Sucking in air, I wrapped my hands around my neck. The ghost of his arm lingered around my neck as my heartbeat steadied out.

                My wide eyes turned to the owner of the voice.

                It was a he�"that much was clear by the body structure. He was dressed in black the whole way down, the clothes fitting tightly to his body. His face was masked half way in black also, covering the upper half. Underneath his nose was his exposed skin, the white contrasting sharply against his black outfit.

                There was one feature that caused him to stand out. His body was to the side, giving me a glimpse of a small portion of a green mark that crossed diagonally on his back. The green slash made it appear as if the suit had ripped and that was what was underneath with the detail in it. It stretched from his shoulder down to his waist before it faded and closed.

                “Who….Who are you?” I whispered.

                The man chuckled, his lips pulling up into a smirk. He ignored my question, turning to face Ronnie, “You might want to tie him up. And check her head out. He nailed her pretty good with his gun back there.”

                Ronnie nodded, frozen in his place.

                The man saluted us, but I felt his eyes on me as he did so, even if I couldn’t see them. He took a few steps forward before sprinting out of the building. The last few steps seemed as if he wasn’t even there, just disappearing into the air itself.

                It was silent in the restaurant for a few minutes later.

                Ronnie cleared his throat, the first to gain consciousness back of them. “Alright, folks, we’re going to call the police and have them handle this. For now, we need you to stay here as witnesses to the event.”

                There were no complaints.

                Either the few customers that remained were still frozen, or in complete agreement with Ronnie.

                I didn’t know which.

                Ronnie pulled out his cell phone, typing in the three digits we had been trained since childhood to call in times like these.

                I stood paralyzed in my spot, still breathing in deeply.

                The workers from out back moved forward. Some only came out to see what was happened now, while others moved towards the man unconscious on the ground.

                I felt an arm wrap around my shoulders.

                Donavan pulled me into his body, wrapping his arms around me. “Shh, Avery, it’s ok. It’s alright. It’s perfectly ay-oh-kay.”

                I rested my head on his shoulder, my arms limp by my sides. He rubbed my back soothingly as he whispered words of encouragement. I stared off into space, hardly able to believe what had just happened.

                Ronnie looked up once he was done phoning the police to where I stood in Donavan’s arms. “Sit her down, Donavan.”

                Donavan nodded, moving us over to a booth. He sat down first, pulling me onto his lap with him. I didn’t object this time, really liking the comfort he was giving me.

                I rested my head on his chest as he rubbed his hand up and down my arm calmly.

                 We sat like that as the cops came.

                We stayed like that when they came to inspect me, looking for signs of a concussion.

                He kissed the top of my head when they concluded it would only be a bruise on my head and nothing severe.

                I was in a daze the rest of the night. 

Author's Note

Ignore grammar--Is this descriptive enough?