Never Said

12. CAUGHT [Sean, Black]

★ WARNING: alcohol, anxiety

.oOo.

"Hey."

I nodded, forcing a smile. The bar stool squeaked as I sat and turned to face hia.

He stopped wiping the countertop. "How was today."

That was more a statement than a question. I frowned and shook my head. He folded the small towel he was using and stashed it behind the bar. "That bad?"

"Mmm." That was a question.

"Want the usual?" He placed a white napkin in front of me. Closing my eyes I dropped my forehead to the polished brass that lined the edge of the bar. I'm so tired of making decisions. I don't have it in me today.

I heard him huff. "Something stronger it is."

I hate feeling like this. This distress, this sense of being lost. Of being worn down.

Of drowning.

Every morning I wake up and try to keep a good attitude. But...I can't.

Too many bills, too many problems, too much to do...

Not enough opportunities, no resources.

Eventually, I think 'What do I have to sell? How can I make ends meet today? How long and how hard do I have to work tonight?'

I heard the glass next to my ear. "Thanks." I pulled myself up and wrapped one hand around the beverage. It's clear? What is that? Whiskey?

"You look wiped, Sean." He folded his arms to his chest. I appreciate his concern.

"I'm tired, hia." I smell it–vodka. I gulped it down and I couldn't stop from making a face. "That burns," I coughed, covering my mouth with another napkin.

"Sometimes you need to burn it out, start over." He placed the nearly empty bottle on the counter. "This isn't a solution, but it might help you get some sleep tonight." He touched my shoulder and smiled. "Finish this then head upstairs and rest," he gestured with his chin, "and let's cut your hair tomorrow."

I chuckled as he's called away to a customer and I refilled the glass, staring at it. He's right. I'm not good with sleep. Too much stress, too many dreams, too warm. Everything is just...so much. All the time.

I downed the drink I poured, grimacing.

And I really do need a haircut.

"You look like a guy who knows what he needs."

I see him from my periphery as he slid onto the seat beside me. I closed my eyes, resting one arm on the brass, and just breathed.

"Or maybe you wish you knew what you needed."

I heard him take the bottle and opened my eyes to see him fill the glass in my hand. I gave him a side-eye. "And what is it you need?"

He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. My fingers twitch at the memory of the action.

"Here," blowing smoke to the side, he handed me the stick, "you want this."

I accepted it without hesitation and took a long drag. It's been weeks since my last hit--I bummed it off a classmate who hates to share and made me regret every minute of that smoke.

"You."

Cigarette in my mouth, I turned toward him, confused. He grabbed the back of my neck and roughly pulled me down–lighting the cigarette in his mouth off of the one in mine.

The alcohol was making me slow--I was completely caught off guard, and all I can do is stare at him.

Dark eyes peering out from beneath dark bangs. His face looks young, but those eyes...

Those eyes look cold.

He released his grip and I sat up, pulling another long, hard drag before tilting my chin upward, exhaling the smoke. I gazed at the ceiling, thinking about my bed. I really should just go upstairs and call it a day–before the drink really hits me.

"You didn't answer my question." I downed the shot and turned to stare at the guy beside me. He looks short, but he's strong.

"I did."

I made a face. He filled my glass again.

"What? No, you didn't."

"I did."

His look was unreadable. Was he messing with me?

"Don't mess with me, today." I drank again. It's easier to swallow now. I should stop. "What do you want, anyway." A statement.

"It's not want, it's need." He gives me a creepy grin. "And it's you."

My gut twisted at that last word. I glanced at him and looked away–tapping ash into a nearby glass tray.

"You need to find a way to end it all." I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"What?" I put the cigarette down and turned to face him fully. "What the hell are you talking about?" I'm starting to get irritated and I can feel the alcohol in my system now.

"You want to know how to stop it," he gestured with his chin, eyes locked on mine. "The suffering. The feeling of being off track, overwhelmed."

Who is this runt? I make a face. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"Black." He exhales as he speaks and it gives me chills despite how warm I feel. "And you have something I need."

I looked for hia–he's still dealing with customers at the other end of the bar. It's starting to get packed in here and I'm feeling unsettled. I have to get out of–

"If you leave now you'll never know."

I froze. There's something in his voice... "You think about it every day."

I'm hot–sweating. He leans in, speaking softly.

"You think about what to do to get caught up–"

He lowered his tone, leaning closer.

"--to get ahead."

How...how does he know?

"You take any job you can find."

My heart is pounding. He's still coming closer.

"But always end up being let go."

Closer.

"Being alone."

Too close.

"And back to where you started."

I can feel the heat from his skin. 

"Thinking if only I had something..."

His hands on my thigh.

"If I had something to sell..."

His cheek touching mine.

"I know something you could sell."

Hot breath in my ear. 

"You could even sell it tonight."

I don't like where this is going.

"H-hey," I managed to push him back–to make some space between us, "look, if you're telling me you'd...you'd pay for–for sex, I'm done." I could feel my cheeks get red. "I'm gone." I turned away and moved to stand, but he grabbed my arm and forced me back down.

"No," he's in my ear again, hot and too close, "not your body."

I feel his fingers slowly snaking around my throat.

"Your soul."

.oOo.

Votes and comments are welcome. They help the creativity along. ♥

★ Thank you for reading. ★