Loving the Bad Guy

The shrill beep of Stacy Maraj's alarm shattered the silence of her cramped studio apartment, signaling the start of another long day.

"Ughh, not another fucking day" she said groaning with her long strands of brunette hair dispersed all over her face, she rolled over with her eyes barely open while she fumbled for the snooze button, dreading the inevitable grind ahead. But as her sleepy hazel eyes flickered open, the dim light filtering through the blinds revealed the time: 5:30 AM. Panic surged through her veins.

"Damn it!" Stacy cursed, throwing back the covers and scrambling out of bed. She had overslept again, and if she didn't hurry, she'd be late for her shift at the diner. She quickly rushed into the bathroom, grabbed her toothbrush, applied toothpaste and started brushing her teeth in a rush, she finished brushing so fast that she wasn't sure she brushed well enough as she blew her breath into her palm to get a sniff of her own breath "Huhh...Not that bad i guess" she said as she rushed straight in for a quick bath.

With trembling fingers, she hastily pulled on her uniform, a worn-out apron and a faded t-shirt which clung unto her petite,curvy figure, before grabbing her keys and bolting out the door.

The streets of New York were eerily quiet at this hour as she ran through, trying to ensure she doesn't get to the diner one second late as she did not want to get Mr Tate Chang upset.

Mr Tate was Stacy's middle aged half-Asian, half - American boss, Mr. Tate's diner exuded an aura of nostalgia and weariness, its weathered exterior bearing the scars of time. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of old wet wood and damp, mingling with the comforting aroma of coffee and sizzling burgers on the grill. The walls, once adorned with cheerful posters and photographs, now bore faded traces of their former glory, peeling paint revealing the layers of memories accumulated over the years.

The diner's furnishings, though sturdy, showed signs of age and use, their surfaces worn smooth by countless patrons who had passed through its doors. Each creak of the floorboards and rattle of the chairs spoke of years of laughter, tears, and shared moments that had left their mark on the humble establishment.

Behind the counter stood Mr. Tate, a middle aged stalwart figure with a black hair brushed with a stubble of gray hair on both temples of his head, a warm smile and brown eyes that held a hint of sadness. He and his wife had once run the diner together, their partnership a beacon of warmth and hospitality in the bustling city. But ten years ago, tragedy had struck when his wife succumbed to cancer, leaving Mr. Tate to carry on their legacy alone with his daughter who was only 9 years old when she lost her mother.

Despite his grief, Mr. Tate had persevered, pouring his heart and soul into keeping the diner afloat. But the passage of time had taken its toll, and now the once-vibrant establishment bore the scars of neglect, its faded charm a testament to the trials and tribulations of its faithful caretaker. His daughter went to college in Miami on scholarship late last year and hasn't heard from her ever since as she grew distant on him ever since the death of her mother and now the diner is basically all he has left.

He was the only one who agreed to employ Stacy when no one else would and for that,she didn't want to ever stand the chance of making him upset in any way. Even though she hated her job, she still couldn't afford to lose it. New York city, still wrapped in the hazy embrace of dawn. Stacy's worn sneakers pounded against the pavement as she raced to make up for lost time. She knew all too well the consequences of tardiness – Mr. Tate Chang, the diner's gruff owner, didn't tolerate it. He is a loving boss but also strict when need be.

Breathless and disheveled, Stacy arrived at the diner just as the first light of morning began to filter through the windows. She hurried inside, ignoring the disapproving glare of Mr. Tate as she hurriedly packed her long effortlessly beautiful brunette hair up in a high rough and tacky bun without caring what she'd look like, she grabbed her mop and bucket, ready to tackle the day's chores.

Hours passed in a blur of scrubbing the faded, ripped, partly chipped chairs and sweeping the worn out floors of the diner, the monotonous routine broken only by the occasional patron stopping in for a cup of coffee or a greasy breakfast. But as the clock neared closing time, Stacy's exhaustion began to weigh heavily upon her shoulders.

Finally, as the last customer shuffled out the door and Mr. Tate began counting the day's meager earnings, Stacy allowed herself a moment of respite. Leaning against the counter, she closed her eyes and sighed "never thought this day would ever end" she said in a whisper to herself, the weight of the day's toil bearing down upon her.

Stacy slowly walked through the street looking tired and exhausted. It was 11:05 pm she had taken a double shift from Mr Tate because that was the only way she would be able to pay her bills and rent. She kept thinking about her life, wondering when all this toiling and suffering would end. She was already so far deep in her head.

It was then that she heard it – the screech of tires followed by the unmistakable sound of a car horn blaring.

Startled, Stacy stumbled backward, her heart racing as she realized a sleek black car had run the red light, narrowly missing her. Out stepped a handsome, tall guy with long, dark sleek shiny hair pushed back and a neatly shaved facial hair slightly above his luscious pink lips and beneath his jaw which stretched up broadly across his cheeks and thinly connecting upward towards his hair from the sides, his car was a sleek black Bentley, the epitome of luxury and sophistication. Its polished exterior gleamed under the moonlight, reflecting the world around it like a mirror even in the dark. The lines of the latest model were sleek and aerodynamic, exuding an aura of power and refinement.

As he stepped out of the car, its doors opened smoothly with a soft hum, revealing the plush interior within. The leather seats were supple and inviting, offering the ultimate in comfort and elegance. Every detail of the car was meticulously crafted, from the gleaming chrome accents to the state-of-the-art technology seamlessly integrated throughout.

With its powerful engine purring beneath the hood, the Bentley commanded attention wherever it went. Seemingly infamous for his reckless driving and arrogant demeanor. Stacy's frustration boiled over at the sight of him.

"Are you out of your mind?!" she exclaimed, her voice sharp with anger as she glared at him not noticing or caring about the beauty of the car.

His smirk faltered slightly, caught off guard by her fiery response. "Watch where you're going, sweetheart," he retorted, attempting to brush off the incident with his arrogance.

But Stacy wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. "You're the one who should be watching where you're going! You almost ran me over!...Baby boy!" she shot back, her hands trembling with adrenaline.

The young man's eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "I don't have time for this," he muttered, brushing past her with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Stacy's blood boiled at his nonchalant attitude, fueling her anger even further. "Typical," she muttered under her breath, "these rich kids keep feeling like they own the fucking world!" her voice dripping with contempt as she watched him walk away.

Grumbling to herself, Stacy trudged back home, her exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders with each step. The encounter with the wealthy looking stranger with a Bentley had only added to her frustration, leaving her seething with anger as she replayed their exchange in her mind.

As she reached her cramped apartment, she kicked off her worn-out sneakers and collapsed onto the threadbare couch, feeling utterly drained. The events of the day replayed in her mind like a broken record, each moment of indignation and exhaustion echoing in her thoughts.

Flicking on the dim overhead light, Stacy rummaged through her tiny kitchen, scavenging for something quick to eat. She settled for a microwavable meal, the taste bland and unsatisfying compared to the warmth of a home-cooked dinner.

Sinking deeper into the cushions, Stacy let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of her burdens pressing down on her weary soul. She had hoped for a moment of peace after a long day's work, but instead, she found herself consumed by anger and resentment.

As the night wore on, Stacy's frustration gave way to exhaustion, her eyelids growing heavy with sleep. She dragged herself to bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, hoping that tomorrow would bring a reprieve from the relentless cycle of toil and hardship.

Little did she know, the encounter with the stranger was just the beginning of a tumultuous journey that would test her resilience and strength in ways she never imagined. But for now, all she could do was surrender to the embrace of sleep, seeking solace in the fleeting moments of peace it offered.