Page 54 of Don’t Forget Me

The scene of Ezra at his father’s mercy kept replaying in my mind. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state cracked the fortified walls of my heart. On top of that, telling him a sliver of the struggles I went through with my own family created a bundle of emotions that threatened to spill at any moment. I didn’t like talking about it for this very reason. Distant recollections of moments I buried deep within my subconscious had begun to come to the front of my mind to haunt me.

It was difficult for me to talk and open up about my past. I couldn’t get much out when he asked about what I went through. I think he noticed how stifling it was for me to speak about the matter.

That was the beginning of our story. A moment of sadness, which created many more filled with joy.

It was as though we spent every waking moment together, and I surprisingly enjoyed it. Being with him felt like dancing under the sun’s gleaming rays. However, it wasn’t a budding romance growing between us. It was a friendship. A mutual understanding. For me, that was enough.

These were the thoughts that swirled through my mind as I waited for the manager of the pub to meet me for my interview. My initial plan had been to get a job as soon as I arrived in Scotland. I gave myself a few weeks to understand what my schedule would be like, to test myself, and decide whether I could balance my education and a job. The only other person who knew that I was here was Camille; she thought it was a good idea too. She was patiently waiting for me back at our dorm.

Despite my friendship with Ezra, I didn’t want him to know about my economic issues. I hated the thoughts that told me that I would never escape this miserable and brittle financial struggle.

Although it had only been four in the afternoon, the last slivers of Sun did not filter the dark mood of the pub. There’d been hundreds of bottles filled with alcohol lined inside a large cabinet. Large transparent cups were set in formation at the very bottom of the cupboard. Several workers passed by the vast pub table. The bartenders wore a simple uniform: black shirt, pants, shoes, and a white apron wrapped around their torsos.

Clinks of fragile cups reverberated through the entire building. I could hear the TV blasting the latest sports news, accompanied by the laughter of old men. It was a large pub with a considerable number of guests enjoying their meals and drinks.

An older woman walked out of a back door toward me, scanning me. The woman grunted as she approached me. “American.”

“Mexican-American, ma’am,” I replied.

Amusement flashed through her eyes. “America wasn’t enough?” she asked.

“I guess not,” I answered with the same roughness that she had in her tone.

A sharp grin formed on her lips. “What brings you to Scotland?”

“Boarding school.”

“Which one?”

“Blackthorn House Academy, ma’am,” I said.

“One of the best in the country, aside from Lachlan Prep.” She raised a brow. “Why does a pretty girl like you want a job here if you could get into that school?”

A few days after I arrived in Edinburgh, I got an email from Lachlan. It was then that I remembered how I had forgotten to reply to them. To be truthful, I was glad I took Blackthorn’s offer rather than Lachlan’s because then I would’ve never met Cami or Ezra.

“I’m here on a scholarship. I didn’t pay my way into the school like most of my classmates,” I chirped.

“What job are you here for?” she asked.

“Server.”

“What makes you think you are fit for the position?”

Straight to the point, good.

“I’m a hard worker, and above all, honest. I like the feeling of this place. I’d like to spend my nights here after school and be able to serve the people of Edinburgh,” I answered.

She nodded, turning toward the bartenders who had been mixing drinks beside her. They inclined their heads in response. The woman then extended her hand, and instantly, I reached for it.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“You got yourself the job, girl. But you’ll be working under supervision. My name’s Miriam, I’m the owner and manager of the pub.”

Relief washed through me when I heard her harsh Scottish accent enunciate my victory. I beamed brightly as I said, “Nice to meet you, I’m Lysandra.”

“Pretty name.”