SPASE

SPASE: CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Get I get another?"

The bar smells damp. The scent is of bourbon, mold, and pine tar soap. The leather is worn off of the bar stools. Nick strokes the peeling leather off of the barstool to the left of him with his left hand while he traces the rim of his glass with his middle finger on his right hand. He stares into the glass filled with nothing but ice as he waits for his next drink.

Nick is only seventeen, but in Spase age doesn't seem to matter. There's no checking for identification. There's no second-guessing if people lie or not. If people lie here, they stay here, indefinitely. Nick knows this. He doesn't bother lying. He peels back the leather that hangs off of the barstool until it breaks off and he shoves it in his pocket. He looks around to see if anyone sees him but quickly notices that no one gives a shit. No one is even paying attention to him. The few people in there are peering into their own glasses, lost in the nothingness trace. Depressed, and feeling robbed of life.

"What's your story?" asks the bartender. She's tall with skin the color of caramel. Her hair sits on the top of her head in a perfect bun. Nick looks at her and stares through her dark brown eyes. Freckles cascade her nose and drip onto her cheeks. Nick's lips part. He doesn't say a word.

"Okay, I take it that you don't talk much. Bourbon?"

She slides Nick the tiny shot glass across the bar. He continues to stare in awe. The bartender goes about her business wiping the counter.

Nick clears his throat to say something, though nothing comes out. He watches the way that her hips sway behind the counter as she continues to work. Usually, Nick doesn't have a hard time speaking to other people. He never shuts up. Nick's ego is bigger than his head, (if that's even possible), but somehow, her wide, pink lips and the gap between the front of her teeth leave him in awe and speechless.

He tries again to speak.

"I'm stuck," he finally blurts out, louder than he probably should have. The only two other people in the bar, an older lady dressed all in black, and an old man with very round glasses turn and stare at him.

"Well, that's nothin' I ain't heard before," she states and leers in his direction. She gives him an attitude. Normally, he would state something shitty in return, but he just sits there.

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Nick pouts.

The bartender decides to wipe the counter more toward his direction. She walks over and begins wiping the bar counter in front of him, glancing up to make eye contact with him every now and again. Nick only thinks about one thing.

"Please stay right there where I can continue to see down your shirt," Nick thinks.

"Yo, keep your eyes up, man, I ain't blind. There ain't nothin' down there for you," she snaps.

Quickly, Nick adjusted his glance to meet her eyes.

"Star. That's my name," she proclaims, proud of who she is. She wipes her hands with the rag she was wiping the counter with and extends her hand to him across the counter. Nick stares at her hand and hesitantly places his hand in hers and gives a gentle shake.

"So, what's your story, Nick?"

Nick's jaw drops. "How do you know who I am?"

"Everyone knows who you are. You're friends with the Guide right?" Star says, nonchalantly like it's not a big deal. She gives him a wink.

Nick scoffs and lowers his head and looks at this glass of bourbon.

"Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?" Star says with a giggle.