Dead in Your Head

The Real Start

//6th September, 2014 //

There were a lot of things Bird disliked about the night shift. The moody cook named Freddie, walking home alone at odd hours, and especially the drunken stragglers.

She’d wished more than anything that she didn’t have to work as a waitress at a shitty late night dive near campus, but none of her bills were going to pay themselves. She wished a lot of things too. That she had her life figured out, that she had friends, and most importantly that she was happy. And that nightshift tippers were a little more generous. Especially the ones that came in the middle of the night, drunk off their arses being loud and frustrating.

She heard him before she saw him, like she did with most of them. He was loud and he spoke slow, almost like he’d just been asleep, voice thick and sweet. And being the only waitress there, not only did she have to take their order, but she was also expected to play hostess.

“Four of you?” Bird chirped as the very intoxicated boys stumbled up to the hostess station.

The one with the big, dopey eyes giggled, “Yeah, jus’ four.”

“Right,” she grabbed some menus from the cabinet below, “Follow me.”

The four of them followed her, laughing the entire way. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at how ridiculous they all looked. It was the first weekend of school and they were already out getting pissed.

She seated them and left their menus before walking away. Knowing she wasn’t going to get a drink order out of any of them right away. She went back to where she’d been sat for the majority of the evening with her textbooks laid out on a table. It was early, the drunk rush hadn’t even really started yet. She’d picked a little corner where she could keep an eye on everything without getting shouted at.

After a few minutes (and three paragraphs later) she returned to the table where she’d sat the four boys, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

They all blinked at her slowly.

“‘S your name really ‘Bird’?” The one with hazy green eyes and long, long hair asked her, looking at her nametag.

“Yes it really is,” she tried to keep a polite smile plastered to her face, “What would you like to drink?”

“I’d like a Coke please,” the blond one with the Irish accent said.

“Has anyone ever called you a fit bird, Bird?” the green eyes one kept speaking, right over his mate, “Or ‘s that overdone?”

She didn’t hold back her eyeroll at that and looked at the boy sat next to the blond one, “Jus’ water.”

She nodded and scribbled it down, trying to ignore the stare burning into her.

The other just ordered a water as well and then she got to the one with green eyes. He was still staring, blinking slowly. As if he was lost, or maybe trying to piece her together.

“And for you?” She huffed out, face burning up.

“Have you got chocolate milk?” he asked, completely seriously.

She just blinked at him, “Yeah. Would you like that in a kids cup?”

“Depends,” he hummed, “Have you got the straws that change color when you drink through it?”

She rolled her eyes, “We’re not a five star establishment, mate.”

He huffed, “Well I’ll have it in an adult glass then, thanks.”

“Perfect,” she said with a tight lipped smile, “Have you decided on what you’d like to eat?”

He shook his head slowly, like he hadn’t even considered it.

“Chips!” The blonde one piped up, “Loads of chips.”

“Don’t want chips with chocolate milk, Niall,” he snapped, sounding utterly disgusted.

“What would you like with your chocolate milk then?” Bird wasn’t in the mood to deal with arsehole drunks. She had work to do. Important school work that needed to be done by Monday morning.

“Dunno,” he sighed, looking back down at the menu, “Somethin’ sweet.”

“You don’t want something sweet with chocolate milk,” Bird deadpanned, “You’ll be sick if you have too much sugar.”

“Don’t care, gonna be sick anyway,” he slurred.

"Maybe you shouldn't drink that much then, yeah?" She said, agitated with the group of boys already.

The blond, Niall, snorted, "I like her."

Bird just shot him a glare, "Is there anything else I can get you lot?"

One of them ordered a bacon sandwich and the boy quickly agreed that was what he wanted too. She wasn't surprised by any of it. Once she'd taken their orders, she put them into the kitchen before she got their drinks and brought them back out to the table. The boy that had tried to hit on her was practically asleep on the table.

After she deposited her drinks, she was quick to scurry off to the corner and throw herself into the booth facing her work. She needed to focus and ignore the drunk boys who were being far too obnoxious for her liking.

Sometimes she wished she could be like them. Wished she had the mentality to go to pubs with friends she didn't have and just drink like every other uni student did. But she'd never been able to. That wasn’t ever really her scene at all. She'd never been able to shut her brain off when it came to school.

It wasn’t even like she loved school all that much like she had when she was younger. It was stressful and expensive and hard when you didn’t have anyone to ever hang around with. But she was good at it. Her brain understood maths a lot more than it should have. Her few friends in college used to joke around saying if they spoke in maths she’d understand them better. And the thing was, it was true. It was always what she'd been good at.

So university really was the only option it seemed for her. She'd always told herself she just had to get to uni and it would be better. But now she was telling herself she just had to graduate. Just had to get out of Manchester and she’d be free and able to do whatever she wanted with her life. She'd be happy.

It wasn’t long enough before the bell from the kitchen was ringing, signaling their food was done. She marked her page and tried to hold back a yawn as she stood up and stretched. She was tired all the way down to her bones.

She got their food from the kitchen and easily carried the plates over to the table they were all sat at. They were all still laughing and she tried to avoid eye contact.

Bird just placed their plates in front of the appropriate patron and didn't expect any of them to speak to her. They didn't usually.

“Thanks, Birdy,” the one with green eyes grinned sleepily. His chin was resting on the table.

“Bird,” she corrected.

"Tha's what I said," his eyebrows knit together.

“You called me Birdy,” she deadpanned, “It’s Bird.”

"Oh," he furrowed his brows, “Well, Bird, if that even is your real name, ‘m Harry.”

She couldn't hold back an eye roll, "'S a pleasure."

“Are you a student?” He asked as she put the last plate of food down in front of him.

"Yeah," she felt like sometimes that was all she was. She wasn’t like him or his mates. She wasn’t a mate or a drinker or the life of the party. She was Bird. The hermit of a maths student.

“What do you study?” He questioned.

“Maths,” it was the simplest answer.

“You study math?” He looked horrified. As if she’d just confessed she she was a serial killer.

She was used to that reaction so she just nodded, “Do you need anything else?”

“He needs to know why you study maths,” the blond chipped in.

She shrugged, “‘M good at it. Anything else?”

“Honestly, he’d probably like your number,” he replied for his friend again.

She rolled her eyes again, “Is there anything else you’d like to order? Those of you that can speak for yourselves?”

They all just shook their heads.

“I would like your number,” he spoke up suddenly.

Bird’s eyes just flew to him, “I don’t give out my number to random drunk blokes I meet while I’m at work, soz mate,” she mumbled, cheeks going pink.

“Does that mean I’ve gotta come back sober? Cause ‘m not sure I can remember where this is and-” he rambled and Bird just wanted him to shut up.

“Looks like you’re not getting my number then,” she shut her notepad a bit too harshly, panic rising in her chest, “Let me know if you need anything else,” before turning and walking away.

She heard the rest of them snicker as she walked away, her face burning up. It didn’t matter. She didn’t do dates or shags. She didn’t have time. And even if she did, she didn’t know how to do that sort of thing. She wasn’t even good at keeping friends. She had all of two mates at school, both of which she only really ever saw in class.

So she went back to studying. Like she always did. She revised for a good fifteen minutes before she went over and refilled their drinks. She felt the green eyed boy watching her the whole time.

It wasn’t much longer until they asked for the cheque and she gladly set it down at the end of the their table.

When they left, she wasn’t even expecting much of a tip. In fact she wasn’t expecting one at all. Drunks were forgetful and a bit selfish, she’d learned. Once she watched them leave, there were more people coming in and all she had time to do was grab what they’d left, receipt included. She stuffed it in her apron and forgot all about it.

Until a couple hours later when she pulled out the receipt and the few bills they’d left with it. She was cross legged on her bed, trying to figure out if she could afford takeaway after she slept.

When she got to their receipt (the one they should have taken with them) she saw writing on the bottom. It was sloppy (although she wasn’t sure that that was entirely because of alcohol) and smudged but it was definitely a number signed ‘-Harry x’.

Bird was good with numbers, she could do incredible things with them. But not a boy’s telephone number. She’d never even really got a boy’s number, at least not in uni. Not anyone she’d ever take seriously.

She just stared at it with wide eyes, unsure of what to do with it. It felt heavy in her hands. Part of her wanted to throw it away, never see the boy again. But something stopped her. It was shit sometimes being alone all the time. And something in her wanted to see how he changed when he was sober.

She didn’t really know why at half four in the morning she decided to text him. She told herself it was exhaustion even if she had only worked half a shift. He’d still be drunk or passed out and if it was the latter, he’d never remember her when he woke up. Which would be fine. She was just lonely. And she was always lonely, but this was different, this was an overwhelming loneliness that she just wanted to stop. So she texted him. One little word.