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Chapter 1 - Hired

At 3pm on a Friday I arrive at my new 'home' for the next while. And I'm thankful too, it couldn't of happened sooner. What with working this job and my other one at the store, it will provide a new life for myself away from past troubles.

I try to stop my feet from tapping along the concrete step before the front door, waiting for someone to answer. It's a nervous habit of mine, to shuffle and move when placed in a stressful or impatient situation.

"Right," a tired man in scruffy pajamas with a towel around his neck answers the door, gray eyes giving her a once over, "Zoe Buckwart, right?"

"Yes," I nervously smile, trying not to look to long at the faint drool of toothpaste running out of his mouth.

The man, Jackie Elliot, steps forward and kindly takes the old suitcase from beside my tapping shoes. He enters the house with a firm nod of his round, bald head.

I scramble in after him, closing the door against the crisp morning breeze.

Taking a short look at the messy, tiny kitchen, I try not to linger my eyes on the burnt toast lying by an old toaster. The maker of said toast obviously couldn't be bothered to clean up their mess.

The Jackie man re-enters, arms folded as he looks slightly awkward.

"It's Beckworth." I speak up in the silence, fingers fiddling frantically along my jacket's broken zipper, "Zoe Beckworth."

"Sorry," he replies, looking slightly awkward for his mistake, "Zoe Beckworth, let me show you up to your room.," he gestures towards the staircase, coughing a bit.

I follow him up the stairs, trying not to notice how the rusty floorboards creak underneath the weight of people. My old house was, despite the constant drinking and yelling, a well-built home inside a gated community.

Spotting the peeled wallpaper and faint signs of mould growing on the window ledges, I try not to judge too quickly. My childhood home was a blessing to live in, compared to the rest of Everington.

"I'm sorry about the mess," Jackie announces as he pulls down the attic stairs, letting it smack against the carpet, "but I haven't had the time to sort everything out up there."

I just smile through my cringe, "It's fine Mr Elliot. I'm just glad to have a place to stay, that's all."

He nods before stepping aside to let me walk up the rickety ladder.

Thankfully he leaves as I start to climb, eager to have some alone time to breathe. I take a long look around the attic, sighing in relief that there's a sturdy floor and bed, as well as a small, open window.

I hear Jackie come back and move my attention back to the ladder. He comes into sight and looks up.

"My son Tony is cooking dinner tonight," he calls up, "So be prepared for something that's either a little burnt or raw."

Feeling a bit useless, I lean over with the suggestion: "I could help…"

Jackie interrupts me, "No need. He needs to help out somehow," he then lets out a long sigh, moving away from the ladder, "Lord knows that boy needs a hobby."

"Okay." I mumble as he leaves, feeling a bit awkward at the moment.

My fingers itch with getting to work right away but Jackie has made it clear that I'm not needed yet. I also wonder who this Tony boy is and why Jackie seems to be so full of concern for him.

Breathing out, I tie back my unruly long brown hair with an old scrunchie.

Well at least I could clean up and get everything ready up here. Then I'll head downstairs to set the table and help clean up after dinner.

Happy with my plan, I set my bag of possessions on the rickety bed, opening the small window a little more. It's time to begin my new job.

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I head downstairs after three hours, having finally packed up and dusted the entire attic. Everything had gone into their boxes and at the end of the room, giving myself some much needed space. Overall it's not the worst and better than other places available to stay.

A tall, broad shouldered man stands in the kitchen, who is definitely not Jackie. He has a short cut of brown hair and is stirring something on the stove.

Taking a wild guess, I presume this is Tony Elliot, Jackie's son.

"Hi," I announce myself, stepping into the quiet room.

He mutters a swear word under his breath, his whole body jumping in shock as if I've given him a little fright. He then turns his head to give me an annoyed, sharp glare with his tinted blue eyes.

By the time he has turned back to his cooking, I have finally released my breath. He certainly holds a presence and demeanour that my body nearly shakes from.

But I won't let myself be threatened by some angry teenager, "I'm Zoe."

Nothing but silence.

So I try again, stepping deeper into the small kitchen/dining room, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Maybe you could shut it," he growls, still keeping his whole attention on the pan, "Go find someone else to bother."

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," I smirk, unfazed by his strange temper. It's certainly not the worst thing I have heard, especially working at the till of a general store.

I pick up some scrap tissue on the small dining table as well as a discarded egg shell, turning to the 'busy' boy, "Where's the bin?"

"Would you just stop-" he spins and finds my eyes again, but stops his angry tone to point a spatula at the other corner of the room, "It's over there."

"Thank you," I grin wider, taking a long stride to the old bin, brushing off my hands. It felt good to have pushed this boy to giving up his pride to help me. It may deem entertaining in the future to play with his buttons a little.

Tony must have noticed my light smirking because he taps the spoon against the pan sharply with a huff, "Don't look so smug about it."

I only smile more, hiding it behind my palm and turning away. But something tugs me back, as though I'm not done yet with the situation.

"What are you cooking?" I ask, though by looking at it, it's obviously a poor attempt at stir-fry.

He replies like I thought he would, with a sarcastic eye and tone, "What's it look like?"

"Looks like rice and veges," I take a sniff of the crackling food, "Smells like burnt cabbage."

"Who're you?" he growls

"I already told you, I'm Zoe Beckworth," I stick out my hand a little too fast and the whole elbow clicks.

Tony just stares down at it like it's a foreign object invading his personal bubble. I pull it down, wincing at the pain but still managing a smile.

"If you use more oil it won't stick to the pan," I step forward to hover over the stove once more, pointing over the frying food, "That way it won't burn."

Tony only gives me a small shove with his side, moving me quite a bit to the left that I'm forced to take a step. This boy sure packs a bunch.

Maybe I've pushed him a bit too much for our first meeting.

Stepping away to leave the kitchen and find something to do somewhere else, I can't help but feel his eyes follow me all the way out. I know this to be a fact because the second I come to enter the hallway, he speaks up through the silence.

"So how much oil do ya' suggest I put in here?"

I turn back around with the widest grin I've ever had on my face.