It's complete chaos at the café when I finally arrive. The place is heaving, far surpassing what could be classed as a simple, lively buzz. In a far more complicated reality, the place is verging on catastrophic.

Countless customers queue to order, the line stretching almost to the door as I try to squeeze past. Most of the tables are already taken, and those that aren't are piled high with dirty crockery, plates and cups stacked up precariously in mass towers all over.

Voices all shout over one another, numerous words blurring into one loud rumble. The sound attacks my eardrums as I make my way to the front, weaving around the crowd of agitated customers.

I find Ellie on the frontline, battling on like a soldier as she tries to manage the mayhem. She stands behind the counter, ringing a new order through the till as one customer specifies, "No tomatoes," in her BLT.

One look at her face, her eyes pinched with tension and a tiredness she struggles to hide, has all my other thoughts pushed aside. The only one I hold on to is, 'My friend needs help.'

"Where do you need me?" I call out over the carnage, stopping next to the customer at the till.

Ellie sees me for the first time and lights up like a firework – frazzled and a little erratic. Today, the glow that envelopes her has nothing to do with her typically bright nature, and everything to do with the light sheen of sweat that plasters her hair to her forehead.

"Everywhere!" she exclaims, before rattling the price off for Miss BL-no-T, who moves to tap her card. "I am so glad you're here!"

Then, she rattles me off a list.

"Table six have been waiting for their food for too long. Let's offer them some coffee on the house or – or something. I don't know. Just... whatever they want. They're pissed; we need them not to be."

I nod, listening as she continues.

"We've got a thirty minute wait on hot food, so if anyone complains just say we're doing the best we can."

I nod again.

"Table eight have a nut allergy," she explains as she plates up a brownie for the next customer in line. "So, watch out for the flag. We don't want any mix-ups..."

She trails off as she announces the price for the brownie, her smile turning plastic when the customer – who I just heard say, "that'll be everything" – suddenly decides that he wants a coffee, too.

I jump behind the bar to make his drink so Ellie can move onto the next customer, steaming the milk for the latte as I listen to more of her instructions.

"There's supposed to be a delivery arriving today. We have no clue what time, though – they're already late – so keep your eyes peeled for that. Also, there have been some complaints about the toilets. They're out of loo roll, I think. So, if you get a chance, could you please check?"

Loo roll. Got it.

"And the dishwasher is broken. The plumber's due to come out tomorrow but, until then, we've got to hand-wash. But I've not had time to hand-wash, so we're low on... pretty much everything."

Ellie sighs and shakes her head as a new customer steps up to bat. "Dad tried calling the others for back-up. Sheila's got the kids and Carl's at the garage today, so neither of them can get in. It's just going to be the three of us."

Carl and Sheila, our two part-timers, are both only scheduled to twelve hours a week. With a second job working at an auto repair shop, Carl is very limited to the days he can work here. And Sheila, as a mother of two small children, can only work early morning weekdays once she's dropped the kids at school.

So, on a busy Sunday like today, we're basically screwed. Although that's not what Ellie needs to hear right now, as her panicked words tumble out so fast she's practically hypoxic. So, instead, I tell her what she does need to hear.

"Ellie, take a breath. It's fine. We'll manage."

Then, I rattle off a game plan.

"I'll stop by table six first, and then I'll sort the toilets. After that, I'll jump between pot-wash and running food out to tables, while Paul deals with cooking and you focus on serving behind here. Between the three of us, we'll cope."

As a twisted silver lining, I'm kind of happy about the mayhem. It's the perfect distraction – it leaves no room for me to think of anything else, and no time to dwell on my other problems back home.

Bailey and Alex, the gun, social services, my broken brain, and the panic attack: none of it has any space to surface as I busy myself, sweet-talking the two women at table six with the offer of free cappuccinos.

I take comfort in the monotony of clearing the tables: collect, wash, restock, repeat. And I deliver food to those same tables with an almost mechanical repetition: smile, speak, serve... survive.

The repetition becomes my friend, the routine keeping me afloat. That is, until that very routine comes crashing down around me, broken not thirty minutes later with the latest ping of the front door.

I almost drop the plates of food I carry when I see the redheaded snake slither in.

Come on, Jade. Smile!

I approach a table in the back corner of the café, plastering on a smile so false it probably looks painted.

Speak.

Struggling to find my voice when I notice the snake slithering closer, I force out a cheerful, "Here you go! A ham and cheese panini, and an eggs benedict?"

The couple at the table don't appear to notice how strange my voice sounds, their attention too focussed on the food.

Serve.

I place the plates down right as the snake finally strikes.

"Hi, Jade."

...Survive.

The sound of Megan's voice, hesitant and timid, sets my teeth on edge. I take a few steps back from the table and turn to face her. She looks as uncertain as her voice sounds, her eyes wide with guilt and a hopefulness that makes me want to vomit.

What the hell is she doing here?

I haven't heard a peep from her in two whole weeks, not since the day I ditched her at the pub to confront Dylan. So, why is she here now, on today of all days? Honestly, I'm not sure if I have the capacity to handle anything else, right now.

It's all getting to be too much.

So much has happened in these past few weeks that I've barely had time to process it – any of it. Drama after drama, crisis after crisis – my brain is still somewhere back there, desperately reeling to catch up. I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel right now... angry, upset, betrayed?

All of the above?

Am I supposed to yell at her, cry, or ignore her completely? Should I run and hide until she goes away, spew all over her shoes, or push her over into a table of dirty crockery?

I have no idea – because life doesn't come with a self-help guide on what to do when your best friend cops off with your boyfriend.

I need more time; I'm not ready to deal with this. Not today.

So, I opt to ignore her and walk away.

"I wasn't sure if you were working today," Megan says, following behind me like a bad smell as I move around to collect up more pots.

"I wasn't," I reply, my voice oddly emotionless – detached. "I am now."

"Can we talk?"

Is she serious?

"I'm busy," I reply. Then, just in case the message isn't clear enough, I say. "Leave me alone."

"Jade, please..."

I pretend not to notice the way her voice wobbles, not sparing her a glance as I collect more mugs from a recently evacuated table. New customers replace the old ones like vultures, swooping in with their bags and coats to claim their newly-cleared territory.

On my way back towards the kitchen, I notice Ellie watching us. She stands at the coffee machine, her brow dipped with worry as she makes a drink for her waiting customer. If it weren't for the endless queue she's still trying to tame, I'm sure she'd be over here in a heartbeat. As it is, all she can manage is a mouthed, "You okay?" from across the room.

Suddenly unable to smile, I manage a small nod.

"Jade, I'm sorry," Megan says quietly – so quietly that I almost don't hear her over the noise of the café.

"You know what, Meg?" I mutter, placing my hand flat against the kitchen door, right next to the plaque that clearly states, 'Staff Only'. "I really don't care."

Then, I push through the door and let it close in her face. Somewhere deep inside of me, a nasty part hopes that it hits her.

Once inside the kitchen, I feel my composure begin to crumble. The detachment I managed to achieve out there drops away, leaving me to feel hollow and shaky as I press my back against the door and inhale a deep breath. All of a sudden, my heart feels too heavy – as does the tray of dirty dishes, still resting in the crook of my elbow.

I hate myself for feeling so drained, and for the way my eyes begin to prickle with the sign of fresh tears.

You will not cry over this. You are stronger than this.

I don't feel strong, though. I feel... sad – sad and broken.

You have survived much worse things than this, Jade. Get a grip. People let you down... that's just the way of life.

I should know that by now.

Staring up at the worn, white-tiled ceiling, I blink the tears away before I'm dumb enough to let Paul notice them. He has enough to be dealing with already, rushing around the kitchen in a crazed daze of chopping, grilling, stirring, and spilling – the latter being an accident as he knocks a bowl of soup with his elbow, sending it crashing to the floor.

It's enough of a disaster to drag me from my own. And the look on his face is enough to keep me from my own, as he looks down at the mess around him. He mutters out a heavy curse and pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously stressed.

"I'm sorry, love," he sighs, and it quickly becomes apparent that he's not talking to me. In fact, I don't think he even realises I'm here. "I don't know how much longer I can do this..."

Oh, shit...

"...I fucking hate this job."

I clear my throat to announce my presence and Paul opens his eyes, dropping his hand away from his face in surprise. One... two... three beats of awkward silence pass before Paul clears his throat, too. Then, he sighs.

"I won't ask if you won't," he says, gesturing at me in a way that makes me think I'm not hiding my Megan-meltdown as well as I'd like to be.

I decide to take him up on the offer, nodding at the spilled soup still on the floor. "I'll fix the mess; you fix the soup?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Paul ladles out some more tomato and basil into a bowl whilst I set to work, mopping up the spillage. Then, with a sourdough roll added on the side, the dish is ready for me to deliver to the waiting customer.

"Hey... Paul?" I call out, just as I'm about to leave through the door.

He looks up from the new order receipt he's reading, his expression slightly dubious as he waits for me to say my piece – because I can't not say something.

"She wouldn't blame you, you know. If you ever did decide to call it quits on this place," I tell him, my mouth curving into a sad smile. "...Erica, I mean. She would want you to be happy."

I recognise his smile immediately; it's as false as the one I'm used to wearing.

"I am happy, mate," Paul tries to assure me. "It's just been a long day, that's all. This place isn't so bad, really."

It's an obvious lie, but also one that's not my place to call him on. So, instead, I offer up the best smile I can muster and leave the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Megan doesn't appear to be going anywhere. She stands near the counter, waiting for the kitchen door to spit me back out as Ellie tries to tell her to "get the fuck out," in between taking orders.

Those four words give me the strength I need and I smile at Ellie – who, by the way, is what an actual friend looks like. Her support sits with me as I deliver the soup to table two, surrounding me like armour as Megan returns to trailing after me like a second shadow.

"Go away, Megan," I tell her, not sparing her a glance. Then, I return to ignoring her in the hopes that it'll finally make her slither away.

But it doesn't – she doesn't. She's persistent, I'll give her that.

"Mike ended things with me," she says, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Am I supposed to feel bad for you, or something?

"I – er – told him about... well, you know," she continues.

Oh, you mean how you copped off with my boyfriend at some party like a total ho?

I want to speak those words so badly but I can't – I don't want to start drama in the middle of my workplace – so, instead, I settle for a sarcastic, "Well, at least you told someone."

Not me, of course. Not the best friend whose relationship you completely destroyed – no. You just let me carry on with my life, completely oblivious to your betrayal, until some girl I barely know decided to enlighten me.

I think that's what hits me the most – even more so that the cheating, itself – it's the fact that I had to hear it from Abigail on a day I'd spoken to both of them. The fucking cowards couldn't even admit to me what they'd done until they got caught.

"I should've told you," Megan says, her voice as insistent (and incessantly annoying) as the buzz of a mosquito. "I know that. It's just – well... it was a complete fucking mistake, Jade! We were shitfaced and stupid, that's the only explanation I have. It meant nothing. I mean, Dylan and I hate each other–"

"Just go away, Megan," I sigh, not wanting to hear any of her bullshit excuses. Nothing she has to tell me will change the facts, and the fact of the matter is... "You're a crap friend. That's all there is to it. And I'm done with the pair of you."

A look of hurt flashes across her face, one that she is in no way entitled to feeling.

I don't care that she looks hurt – or, at least, that's what I tell myself.

I can't care because she hurt me first.

"...But we've been friends since we were nine," she whispers, the words barely audible.

I don't care about that, either. I shouldn't.

She clearly didn't value our friendship enough to keep her paws off my boyfriend, so why should I care? She's made the mistake here – not me. That doesn't change just because she's hurt by the plate of consequence I'm serving her.

In this life, people only deserve one chance – that's something I learned early.

Fool me once... shame on you, bitch.

And, with that thought in mind, I ignore the hurt that rips through my chest when I watch her first tear fall. And I pretend that my heart isn't breaking all over again as I mutter out a cold, "Yeah, well... now we're not."

I watch as Megan all but crumbles in front of me, her normal exuberance deflated like a broken bike tyre. She looks as exhausted as I feel – as if she, too, hasn't been sleeping well – and her face appears to be an unhealthy shade of pale, her eyes all but popping from sunken sockets as she cries. She looks awful.

Don't let yourself care. She's done this to herself.

Still, that doesn't make it any easier to watch her walk away, her movement more of a slump than a slither as she leaves.

"Are you okay?" Ellie asks when I next pass by her with a fresh tray of empties.

"I'm fine," I assure her.

... But I don't think that's true.

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(Hey, lovelies!!! So, I know, this one's a bit late... sorry! Anyone who's checked my announcements will have already seen that I've been poorly this past week, which meant my writing got put on hold for a few days.

I mean, I tried writing, but when I read the chapter back I realised that my cold-induced brain hadn't managed to string a single sentence together successfully. Which means I've spent the past day or so trying to salvage the wreck, haha! So, I hope this chapter isn't too awful.

To make up for the late update, I'm planning on cracking out another chapter either today or tomorrow, before returning to my normal update schedule on Thursday. So keep your peepers peeled for that, people!

Thank you for your patience, everyone! X)

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