Chapter 3

My hands clasp the steering wheel as I sit in my old beat-up car out front of where I work as a bartender. I didn’t want to go in today. Instead, I wanted to stay home in my bed and binge on ridiculous television watching Law and Order, or some other shit on television, to forget about what I did.

Yet, here I am watching everyone as they walk in and out of the establishment where I work. People are hugging each other, touching each other in inappropriate ways right where everyone can see, yet they don’t care a bit about it. Hands, lips, bodies all over one another. Then there are the observers that want what their friend has, and would watch and wait for their chance. I’ve seen plenty of them.

I often wonder why you would have friends when you can’t trust them.

I don’t trust anyone.

This is why, on a Saturday night at twenty-three years old, I was home binge-watching television until my boss called for me to come in and cover for Serena, whose son is home sick. I like Serena, she’s loud and beautiful, but too much for me. Of course, I didn’t say no to him. I said yes because that’s my problem, I’m a yes girl when I should be a no girl.

Von is standing at the door keeping his hands to himself though silently observing. He also knows what’s to come—once a girl tries to make a move on a friend’s man—he’s seen it all too often. Every weekend it happens, men fight over their girlfriends, woman fight over someone who is just staring at their boyfriends. They fight over anything and everything when there’s no reason to. Alcohol does stupid things to some people, things those people wouldn’t do when they’re sober. This is why I don’t drink. I have actually never consumed alcohol and I never intend to.

I take a deep breath and run my hands down my perfectly ironed button-up shirt as I prepare to open the door and walk past these people. Men always catcall, some even attempt to grab at me. I wouldn’t even get out of my car if I hadn’t seen Von standing there. I feel safe outside, always safe.

My hands sweat on the car door handle. When I pull it open, the door screeches loudly. Instantly I think, I either need to fix it or buy myself a new car. I will probably do neither until it dies. It will last me, I keep telling myself.

Von spots me straight away as my heels click on the black pavement while walking up to the door. The music becomes louder the closer I get. Von nods his head to me and opens the door. When I step inside, I notice a couple locking lips as her friend watches and stares too hard. I want to be that kind of girl, to tell her to stop looking at what isn’t hers, to go and do something about it if that’s what she wants.

I do nothing but avert my gaze as I keep on walking past her and into the bar. A live band is playing. The lighting isn’t dark which I like because I hate not being able to see. I hate the dark. I’m sure that fear stems from my childhood, from my mother never paying electricity bills.

Two bartenders are behind the bar and two girls work the floor. I make my way past the table of men with loud voices, and manage to slip behind the bar without anyone noticing me. I was a floor girl, but I sucked at interacting and working for tips, so I asked to be a bartender instead. I like the flow and the fastness of it, and I don’t have to interact as much as the girls do.

Only two girls work behind the bar, myself and Serena—who’s off tonight—plus, two male bartenders. They don’t do idle chit-chat, and for that I’m thankful.

My hands start working straight away cleaning and preparing drink orders that the girls request. I try to busy myself so I don’t look out and size up who my next lay will be. I try very hard to avoid that because the low that follows leaves me in my house regretting everything I’ve just done.

“Milanka, we need you on the floor,” Von tells me as he walks up to the bar in my area.

I go to shake my head to tell him, no, but he hits me with a stare saying, ‘Don’t argue with me.’ Von is the owner’s brother, and when the boss isn’t here Von tells us where we need to be. Von knows I hate it. It was him who got me a position behind the bar in the first place. So, I don’t argue because he obviously needs me if he’s asking me and not someone else.

I give him a curt nod and grab the pen and pad he’s holding out. My hand takes it carefully trying not to touch him, and I place the pen in my hair. Then I start wiping the bar hoping to delay the inevitable for a fraction longer. Upon hearing his impatient cough, I see him watching, waiting for me to move. So, I sigh and walk around and out onto the floor.

I observe the tables straight away that he wants me to wait on. My hands run down my apron as I walk closer to them. Sitting at one of the tables are two couples, both leaning into each other and smiling as if they don’t have a care in the world. Do they know the real world? I offer them a smile as I ask them what they need, and they rattle off their drink orders. I smile again then head off back to the bar, slipping behind it to prepare them.

I hear the sound of footsteps approaching, and I know it’s one of the girls by the click of their heels and the speed in which they’re walking. I look up to see what they want, and my eyes skim the room. They stop when a man enters. I don’t move a muscle as my heartbeat slows down because I can’t take my eyes off him. He stops before he reaches the tables and looks around. He has a baseball cap on his head that’s covering his eyes, but I can see the defined jawline and cheeks that sit above it.

My emotions fly high—it’s the same man from weeks ago, the stranger from the coffee house. He doesn’t look my way, and for that I’m glad because I’m afraid of what he may do or say if he sees me staring. Averting my eyes as his close in on mine, I take two deep breaths telling myself that I don’t need what he has to offer, even when I know it’s a lie. How can I say no to sex.

I busy my hands with the mixing of drinks and try my best to not look back up when they are ready. Placing them on the tray in the front of me, I move from the inside of the bar back around to the other side collecting the tray and walking it over, looking down and watching where I’m walking. Once I reach the table, I look up slightly to drop the drinks off, but the customers pay me no attention. With a small fake smile that I’ve managed to master, I turn and run into someone, a figure I know the smell of, one whose bed I left at the beginning of the week. His hands touch me on my hips, and I revolt by backing away. I only focus my eyes on his when I feel his hands draw back. Robert slash Bob, what was his name again? Is staring at me with a look of confusion which I don’t understand. I asked for nothing after I slept with him and I left without a word. Yet, here he is standing in front of me in confusion. Why? His red hair looks dark in the bar. There’s no light shining brightly down it like it did that day. Averting my eyes, I see if my stranger with the dark hair from the coffee house is still here, then Robert slash Bob pulls me back with a name.

“Sara,” he says the name I gave him. Looking around quickly, I make sure no one heard him. I don’t ever give my real name because I never plan on seeing them again. And still, somehow, he’s found me. “I thought it was you when I walked in.” He scratches his head.

Looking down to my feet then back up again, I have the sudden urge to wash my hands from being so close to him. The memory of him, of what he did, fixed in my brain now like it has only just happened.

“Yeah,” I say wiping my hands on my apron again. “Look, I’m working so…” I trail off not finishing the sentence, not really knowing what else to say. What else is there to say?

“Maybe we can catch up after?” His hand comes back up to touch me, and before I can move away fast enough, he has a hold of me, pulling me to him like I’m his lover, which I clearly am not. I want, no I need, his hands off of me as fast as possible. I struggle and try to move away, but he smirks like I’m playing a game with him. I’m ready to kick him where the sun doesn’t shine when I’m pulled backward and into the arms of yet another man. Only this one doesn’t feel like he’s closing in on me. The feeling is odd, and I don’t know how to explain it. Looking back up, I see that the Robert slash Bob I slept with has hard eyes on whoever is behind me. The voice rumbles dark and dangerous through his chest, I can feel the vibrations running through me with the full force of his voice, it’s deadly.

“Leave,” is all he says, making me stand up taller as I watch Robert slash Bob scrunch his eyebrows in contemplation. He shakes his head and walks away like it isn’t worth his time. It clearly isn’t.

I take two deep breaths before I step forward and away from his grasp. I can’t turn around just yet to thank the stranger, I have to try and calm my erratic heart first. Talking it over in my head, I can get away without any explanation if I just say a quick ‘thank you,’ offer a free drink, and go back to working behind the bar like nothing happened. Turning around ready to face this stranger, I see no one behind me. Only the table I served, who are too wrapped up in each other to notice anything other than themselves. Shrugging my shoulders and shaking off that feeling, I go back behind the bar to hide, hopefully not coming out again for the rest of the evening.

Time drags on and I don’t see either man again. When the bar finally closes, it’s just me and Von left as I close the till.

“Go home,” Von says, watching me from the door. He turns and opens it trying to have me leave. I look around one last time before I take my apron off and switch the lights off. As I walk out, he leans in and taps my shoulder as a goodbye.

The night air is colder now than what it was when I first arrived. A slight chill whips through the air as I take in the night sky. Everything is as quiet as the dead. No drunks hanging around, no cars driving by, and it sends a shiver up my spine.

My beat-up rundown car sits all by itself in the parking lot. I look around to make sure no one is there before I walk closer to it. My low heels crunch in the gravel, and my breathing is deep and heavy. The darkness does this to me, it causes me to freak more than necessary. The light makes me feel somewhat normal. While opening my car door, a voice comes from behind me. I jump, my hands plaster against the window of my car and my head spins so fast you’d think I was in the Exorcist. There’s a man with a baseball cap standing not far from me at all.

A streetlamp illuminates the area and it’s all the light I get. It shines on him, so I can just make out some of his features. He’s dressed in all black, a short-sleeved shirt that reveals very large arms, jeans that hug him so perfectly. The part of me that’s scared, is also the part that wants to see what’s underneath those jeans. My eyes roam all the way up to his face, where I stop and notice his eyes on me. He’s watching me. I know him. He was the man from the coffee house, he was the stranger who left. I recognized him when he walked in. I placed him at the back of my mind, but now that he’s close to me, he becomes all my mind can think about.

“Is your name Sara?” he asks me. His voice is so rich and full that it takes me a moment to comprehend what he’s said.

I missed that voice, I think.

How can I miss a voice that I have only heard once?

“Were you…” Shaking my head, I don’t finish the sentence as he continues to watch me, not saying a word.

“Is it?” he asks me again, this time more dominant, leaving no room to argue or deny him—he wants me to answer him.

“No,” I tell him, having no idea why I just did that. Then more words leak out of my mouth before I can stop them. “It’s Milanka,” I say, giving him my real name.

He doesn’t move and I wonder if he’s even breathing. I can’t hear him or even see the rise and fall of his chest.

I’m about to blurt out more words. Even knowing I’m tired and knowing I shouldn’t, I can’t help it when they rise to the surface. “Should we go to your place?”

His hand moves and it’s the only sign I get. I start to wipe my hands on my shirt feeling nervous when he steps closer to me.

“Your place.” He doesn’t leave it open for me to argue, he’s telling me my place or none. I should tell him no, that I’ve made a mistake, but like always, I can never do so. Never deprive myself of the one thing I want the most. Sex. It fills a void I didn’t know I had, but only just for those few minutes. The moments I’m flying away, riding on that ecstasy train, then it stops and my mind comes back to reality and down to the ground with a thump. Having no idea why I just did what I did, I curse myself, wanting to take it all back. I want to tell myself to never do it again. And yet here I am, doing just that, again.