Spoilt Princess Reincarnate As a Waitress

Alexia's POV

Because the universe clearly has a personal vendetta against me, it started raining.

Not a light drizzle, mind you. Oh no, that would've been too merciful. This was a full-blown downpour, complete with icy sheets of water and howling winds that felt like tiny needles stabbing my face.

I stood there, frozen in disbelief, as the first few droplets turned into a relentless torrent. My thin uniform clung to me like a second skin, and my shoes—already barely holding it together—squished with every step.

"Great!" I shouted at the heavens, throwing my hands up dramatically. "Just what I needed! Rain and darkness! Way to kick a girl when she's already down!"

Some passersby shot me strange looks as they hurried past with their umbrellas, but did anyone offer to share? Nope. Humanity for you.

I started trudging home, water pooling in my shoes and my hair plastered to my face. Every step was a reminder of how far I'd fallen—from a princess with golden carriages and silk gowns to a soggy, unemployed mess trying not to drown in a city that didn't give a damn.

"Couldn't have waited five minutes, could you?" I grumbled under my breath, glaring at the sky. "No, you just had to pour your metaphorical salt into the wound. What's next? A lightning bolt?"

Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and I immediately regretted my sarcasm.

By the time I reached my apartment, I was shivering so hard my teeth felt like they were auditioning for a tap-dancing competition. I fumbled with the key, muttering curses at the lock, the rain, and the entire universe. When the door finally gave way, I stumbled inside and slammed it shut, leaning against it with a heavy sigh.

The apartment was as depressing as ever. Cramped, cold, and dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. The ceiling still had that weird stain that looked suspiciously like a face, and the faint smell of mildew was impossible to ignore.

I peeled off my soaked clothes and wrapped myself in the scratchiest towel ever, the kind that felt more like sandpaper than cotton.

Sitting on the lumpy couch, I stared out the window at the rain, my mind swirling with frustration and bitterness. My life wasn't just a series of unfortunate events—it was a full-blown tragic comedy, with the universe as the sadistic playwright.

"Why me?" I whispered to no one, the words barely audible over the sound of rain pelting the glass. "Why couldn't I have been reborn into a better life? A rich CEO's daughter? Or at least someone with a trust fund?"

I glanced at the empty fridge, my stomach growling in response. The paycheck in my pocket wasn't going to last long. Rent was due tomorrow, and after that… who knows?

I buried my face in my hands, letting out a long, shaky breath. I hated this. I hated all of it. The struggle, the rejection, the constant feeling of being stuck in a life that wasn't mine.

But giving up wasn't an option. It never had been.

"Alright, Alexia," I muttered, sitting up straight and forcing myself to focus. "This isn't over. Not yet. If the universe wants a fight, then a fight it's gonna get."

Somehow, some way, I was going to turn this mess around. And maybe, just maybe, I'd figure out why fate had decided to screw me over so royally.

For now, though, I just needed to survive.

Of course, just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, my phone buzzed. A strange number.

I should've let it go to voicemail. I should've ignored it and continued wallowing in my soggy misery. But no. My curiosity got the better of me. I answered.

"Hello?" I said, my voice dripping with exhaustion.

"Is this Alexia?" came a gruff voice on the other end.

"Yeah, who's asking?"

"This is Mike from The Red Barrel."

The Red Barrel. Oh no. Not that place.

"Yeah, so?" I replied cautiously, already dreading where this was going.

"Well, we've got a bit of a situation here," he continued, his tone impatient. "Your mom's here. She's… uh… she's had a bit too much to drink, and she's causing a scene."

Oh, for the love of—

"Are you kidding me?" I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. "What kind of scene?"

"The kind where she's standing on the pool table singing My Heart Will Go On at the top of her lungs while throwing peanuts at anyone who tries to stop her."

I sighed so hard I thought my lungs might collapse.

"Can't you just, I don't know, kick her out?"

"Tried that. She bit the bouncer."

Of course, she did.

"Alright, fine. I'll come get her," I muttered, already regretting every life choice that had led me to this moment.

"Make it quick," Mike said before hanging up.

I stared at the phone, debating whether to scream or cry. I settled for an angry huff.

"Great. Just great," I muttered, throwing on the least damp clothes I could find. "Because my night wasn't awful enough already. Thanks, universe. You're really outdoing yourself."

So out I went, back into the freezing rain, my soggy shoes squelching with every step. The streets were eerily quiet, save for the sound of water dripping from awnings and the occasional car splashing through puddles.

By the time I reached The Red Barrel—a run-down bar that looked like it hadn't seen a health inspector in decades—I was soaked to the bone again. The neon sign buzzed faintly, half the letters flickering on and off like it couldn't decide whether to stay lit or just give up entirely.

I pushed open the door and was immediately hit with the stench of stale beer and bad decisions. The place was packed with drunkards, most of whom were either laughing hysterically or slumped over their drinks. And there, in the middle of it all, was my mother.

Brenda. My dear mother.

She was perched on a pool table, her arms spread wide like she was performing for a sold-out arena. "NEEEEAAARRR… FAAAAARRR… WHERRREEEVERRR YOUUUU AAAARE…" she wailed, completely out of tune, as the small crowd of equally inebriated patrons cheered her on.

"Mom!" I shouted, my voice barely carrying over the noise.

She ignored me, too busy pelting peanuts at a poor guy who'd dared to boo her performance.

"Brenda!" I tried again, marching up to the table.

Finally, she turned to me, squinting as if trying to recognize me through her alcohol-fueled haze. "Alex! My baby!" she slurred, nearly toppling off the table as she tried to hug me.

I caught her just in time, barely managing to keep her upright. "Alright, show's over," I said firmly, glancing at the amused onlookers. "Go back to your drinks."

"Hey, she was just getting to the good part!" someone protested.

Ignoring them, I focused on wrangling Brenda off the pool table and toward the door. She resisted, of course, whining about how she wasn't finished yet and how I was ruining her big moment.

"Big moment?" I muttered under my breath. "You're not Céline Dion, Mom. Let's go."

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, I managed to drag her out into the rain. She stumbled along beside me, humming the tune of her "performance" while I gritted my teeth and prayed for patience.

"Why do you do this to me?" I asked, more to myself than to her.

"'Cause you loooove me," she sang, her voice dripping with drunken smugness.

I sighed, shaking my head. I didn't respond. What was the point?

When we finally reached our apartment, I dumped her on the couch and threw a blanket over her. She passed out almost immediately, snoring loudly.

I stood there for a moment, staring at her, the frustration and exhaustion bubbling inside me. This wasn't the life I was supposed to have. I wasn't supposed to be the one cleaning up someone else's messes.

But here I was.

I sank onto the floor, leaning back against the couch. Outside, the rain continued to pour, the sound a constant reminder of how far I'd fallen.

"Tomorrow's a new day," I muttered to myself. "It has to be. Because I'm pretty sure I've hit rock bottom."