Later in the break room, I propped my aching feet up on the coffee table as I sipped the rich black coffee. It was one of the perks of working here: an unlimited supply of velvety caffeinated heaven. Kelly often joked I'd drank so much black coffee it was starting to show. Perhaps on some level she was right. It was the tone of my hair and the colour of my nail varnish. There was part of me hoping one day I'd be lucky enough for it to turn my milky skin the lovely colour of latte. Unlikely, but a girl could dream. In the meantime, I gulped it down because it was the best remedy for a mid-afternoon slump.

The door of the break room swung open as Kelly came through with her own steaming cup and a stack of receipts.

"Made anyone cry yet?" she asked with a grin as she tried to manoeuvre herself through the office door.

"Sadly no, but my shift's not over yet," I said brightly with a wink. She bounced the door open with her hip, careful not to spill a drop from her jumbo-sized mug.

I heard her chuckle as the door closed behind her because we both knew I could be many things: tactless, restless, listless, but I was never heartless. Not really. Not to say I wasn't relentless when aggravated, but then again what's that saying? If you mess with the bull you get the horns.

I downed the remainder of the cup and heaved myself off the sofa, stretching my hands above my head as I walked back down the stairs to the bar. Hours of being on my feet had left my back knotted and stiff, but as I stretched, I could feel the muscles unravelling with the movement.

The bar was almost empty except for a man and his laptop at the tall bench by the window, and a trio of boys sprawled across the oversized sofas under the stairs.

I liked this time of day the least. There was still enough to do to finish off the shift, but not quite enough to keep me busy. Most of the time I found myself restlessly finding jobs to fill my time. Emma was like me, she came here to work and occupy her mind, and as a result she rarely sat still. Even now, minutes before her shift was due to end, I could see her rearranging chairs. Grouping the large chesterfields around squat wooden coffee tables, or neatly pushing stools under thick topped tables.

A quick glance up, past the students to the mezzanine floor, saw Callum's feet poking off the end of one of the ruby red booths. He didn't share the same motivation as Emma and I, choosing most days to disappear to the mezzanine to nap away the last hour or two of his shift as soon as Kelly disappeared to the office. He wasn't lazy, far from it. For six hours out of the eight he'd pull his weight and then some. For that reason alone, we turned a blind eye for the final two. Today he'd been especially active, but when the boy with the book had left a couple of hours ago, he'd taken Callum's productivity with him.

I clocked the time and picked up one of the cloths under the sink.

"Emma, get out of here. You were finished five minutes ago."

"I'm almost done," she called as she struggled to shift one of the large leather armchairs. She wasn't built for manual labour. She looked like she'd be more comfortable on a catwalk, with her long, willowy limbs and delicate, feminine features, but her urge to help meant she pushed herself past her limits.

"Don't make me tell you twice," I teased, and she grinned as she made her way towards me. Straightening chairs as she went.

I picked up a tray as she passed me, balancing it on my hip.

"Any plans tonight?" she asked as she dashed behind the bar and grabbed her things.

"Sauvignon blanc and something soppy."

"Sounds perfect!" she called while she wrapped a scarf around her neck. It was barely winter outside, but her slender frame felt the cold more than most.

"Could you wake sleeping beauty on your way out?" I nodded towards the lone pair of feet on the upper floor.

As she disappeared upstairs, I twirled through the tables, gathering cups and rubbish as I went. The evening shift would be starting soon, and I'd worked it enough times to know how frustrating it was to have to clean up before you could get started.

My hands moved rapidly as I cleared and cleaned each table, sweeping a damp cloth over the worn wood surface before moving on to the next.

"Hey sweetheart." A cocksure voice pierced my reverie.

I paused and slowly straightened as I watched the guy lean against the battered arm of the sofa he'd come from. He had the same smirk they all seemed to wear. The one that pulled at the side of their mouth like they couldn't quite be bothered to muster a full-blown smile.

Sweetheart, the word drifted around my head and he must have seen the distaste it brought with it.

His voice cleared, "I mean woman?"

I propped the tray on my shoulder and tucked the cloth into the back pocket of my jeans. And then I waited, because it had been a long day and I was just dying to see how it was going to end.

"How's things?" he continued.

I smiled brightly. "My feet hurt. I have a headache thanks to caffeine withdrawal, and I'm sweating like a pig. Yourself?" I asked as I tilted my head sweetly. I felt my pony-tail swing with the motion.

"Well that certainly got my attention." He grinned, and I instinctively rolled my eyes.

"Oh joy, now my life's complete," I drawled.

I carried on with my task, half hoping he would give up and go back to sitting with his friends. Still, I couldn't deny the part of me that hoped he wouldn't. I had this itch that needed scratching, and, with his perfectly styled auburn hair and gym-chiselled torso, he seemed like the perfect candidate.

I almost shivered with delight when he followed me. I stopped again; my hand resting on my hip.

"Do you want something, or can I get back to clearing these tables in the hope that I might actually get out to enjoy whatever scrap of daylight is left?"

His eyes narrowed. In the right circumstances they could probably be described as smouldering. "I wanted to introduce myself," he started, so I stared waiting for him to continue. "I'm Harry."

He said it like I should somehow already know who he is.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," I replied politely. "I'm Not Interested."

He chuckled, even though I could see he didn't really find it funny. "Nice one. I see what you did there."

He shoved his hands in his pockets, flexing his biceps in the process, like a perfectly choreographed routine.

"I thought we could grab a drink once your shift's done." He inched forward as he talked. His voice getting lower the closer he got. "Maybe go back to my place, put on the new Batman movie. Not watch it."

From the glint in his eye this was where I was supposed to swoon. I wondered vaguely how many before me had.

"The new Batman movie?" I questioned as I made my way to the bar. "I've seen it."

"Really?"

"Yep. In fact, I've seen all the movies," I finished as I placed the tray on the counter and turned towards him.

Another lack lustre laugh, "I get you. Not the Netflix and chill type. What if I took you out for pizza?"

I sighed and reminded myself to be nice. Yes, I'd been polite and indicated I wasn't interested, and yes, he'd blatantly ignored it, but that wasn't a reason to be mean.

"Look, Larry," I started.

"Harry," he corrected, his eyes drifting to my chest. Just a brief glance, almost innocent. Almost.

And there was that itch again. The one I knew I shouldn't scratch. However, every second I looked at his chiselled jawbone, faultlessly styled hair, and v-neck t-shirt, I found it harder and harder to resist.

"Whatever... I get it. You struck up the courage to start this little endeavour. And although I doubt it took much, given the fact you've spent more time looking at my chest than my eyes, I'm still aware there's a degree of risk a guy takes every time he makes a move on a girl."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I held a finger up before he could get a word out.

"And even though some small part of me appreciates the compliment. Like a teeny tiny part. The majority just isn't interested..."

I'm ranting now, I know I am, but the itch is egging me on.

"...Now you can make up an excuse in your head if you want. I'm a prude, a bitch, I only like girls. But the truth is, I've spent four years working here, having conversations just like this one. And yes, at first, they were probably more polite, but the end result was always the same. You walk away with a no, and I get on with my day. Then I'll go home, drink a large glass of wine, and think about the next day when I'll have to come in and repeat this very conversation with some other guy, who seems to think all it takes is a smile and pizza to woo me. So please, do us both a favour and be the guy that takes the no with a smile, and walks away without me having to really hurt your feelings."

I end my tirade with a smile, a kind of bright satisfied grin.

"Fine, I get it. No need to be a bitch about it," he grumbled, and it's like a switch is flipped in my head. That bright grin turns into a smirk, and I feel the words just bubbling up my throat.

"Oh, Larry. You just had to do it didn't you..."

The next moments are just a blur of words as they rattle off my tongue. Each one hacking the boy down to a pile of steroids and hair gel.

As he skulks away, I sigh like an addict who's taken their first hit after months of sobriety. I was so far into my vitriol I had hardly noticed the evening shift come and start setting up, but from the red creeping up the boy's throat, he was all too aware of the audience.

With a slow gratified walk, I made my way up to the office to collect my bag and coat. I handed over my monthly hours sheet to Kelly for her to sign, the smile still plastered on my face.

"Called you a bitch, didn't he," she said with a knowing smile in her voice. I saw the CCTV footage of the bar flickering in front of her.

"If you're going to call a girl a bitch you need to be prepared to deal with a bitch."

She spun on her chair to watch me as I gathered my things.

"I think I could see his tears from here." Her eyes crinkled in the corners, that dark side she kept hidden enjoying this far too much.

"I did say my shift wasn't over."

She glanced at the clock. "Actually, you were finished ten minutes ago."

"Well look at that. I made it a whole eight hours."

I winked as I waved goodbye and thundered down the stairs.

That small victory kept a bounce in my steps for the whole walk home. The pep in my step even gave me enough patience to tolerate Gina, my next-door neighbour, as she trapped me in conversation while I stood in my back yard. I'd made the mistake of putting my bin out for collection at the same time she had her hourly cigarette.

"How are the new neighbours?" she asked offhandedly.

"New neighbours?" I asked, puzzled.

"Upstairs, 11B."

"I didn't even realise." And I hadn't. The flat upstairs had been as silent as it had been since the previous tenant had moved out two years ago.

"They moved in yesterday, while you were at work. Boy and a girl." There was a pause like she was going to continue but thought better of it. For a woman who frequently broadcasted the neighbourhood gossip from her balcony, I wondered what could be so scandalous that she chose to keep it quiet.

"Very attractive from what I could see," she continued. "But you know me, I don't like to pry." I could almost hear the smirk in her voice, like she didn't even believe her own words.

"I haven't heard anything."

It had been so quiet that part of me wondered if Gina had finally lost it. These old houses weren't built to be split into two flats, so they didn't have sound proofing. There was no way someone could be living above me and not make a sound. Not unless they'd installed their own pully system or learnt how to fly.

There was a beat of quiet while she took another puff on her cigarette.

"You know who isn't quiet?" She didn't wait for my reply. "That girl in 13A."

I thought of the waifish blonde who lived two doors down. She, like me, was in the ground floor flat and that brought a sort of kinship. I'd never spoken to her, obviously, but given the brute who lived above her I knew she'd have just as many sleepless nights as I used to have before the woman upstairs left. Of course, her noise came from the heavy footsteps of a man twice her size, unfortunate but not exactly his fault. A man that size could only be so quiet. My noise had just been because whoever had lived upstairs before had refused to do anything without a pair of heels on.

Gina was still jabbering away even without my response.

"I think she's turning tricks you know," she hollered for all the neighbourhood to hear. "She's always got strange men coming and going."

"How would you know, Gina? You can't even see her front door," I grumbled, as I inched back towards my kitchen door.

"I don't have to. You can see them coming along the back lane and you can hear them talking. She's always got her windows open. Dirty girl." Another drag on the cigarette, and another plume of smoke swirling into the air.

"Perhaps you should join them, show them how it was done in the old days," I teased.

Gina had never hidden what she had done for a living in her younger years. She never explicitly said it either, but you didn't do it for as long as she did without being discreet.

A cackle echoed around the back lane, a husky sound sapped of its tenor by years of cigarette smoke and tar.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she called down. A sharp creak sounded as she settled back in her chair, daydreaming of days gone by.

I took my chance to leave and went straight to the fridge. I opened it gleefully and poured myself a large glass of white wine.

Larry's face flashed through my mind, fuelling my good mood, as I threw myself onto the sofa. Unfortunately, as I scrolled through the TV looking for some horrendous romantic comedy to watch, I felt my smile start to slip. The silence in the flat was deafening.

I looked around at the small living room, my eyes casting over the pitted wooden floors.

One day, far in the past, those floors would have been a real feature for this apartment. Now, after too many parties, they were ruined. Their honey-toned surface was all scratched and dimpled with the impressions of stiletto heels or stained by unknown substances that I hadn't cared about enough to clean up. Those floors were a bit like me. I used to be something so different to what I was now. I used to have a family and a home and a shiny bright future. Just one bad choice had triggered a domino effect and within six years of making it, I had found myself here. Living in the bottom floor flat of an old Victorian terrace in the part of town people like the old me rarely ever went.

I glugged back the wine in the hope sleep would come before the nightmares could.