The Monster (18+)

Chapter 2: Nightmare

Chapter Two
"Nightmare"

I don't like using the word hate. I feel like it's an overused term used to describe something you feel animosity to, because hate itself is not commonly felt.

I feel it on Saturday's.

Normally, I do my best to stay optimistic, but then Saturday comes, and the bar is completely packed with frantic people trying to find seats, or getting their drinks. Then, they'll complain drinks are coming too slow—which isn't my fault, per-say. We're not allowed to serve drinks quickly to the same person.

Still, that didn't stop drunk men from rambling on and on about topics I have no interest in during a busy shift, women drunkenly stumbling on every corner and more men trying to hit on me.

Two hours into my shift, I had sweat dotting my temples when another middle aged man in front of me leaned onto the bar and whistled. "What's a girl like you working in a place like this?"

I chuckled in a friendly manner but still keeping my eyes on the beer glass I was currently filling. "Just like anyone, I need money."

He sighed drunkenly, and my nose twitched with the need to scrunch. The balding man reeked of alcohol. "There are better places for you to work. Places that'll offer more money than this."

Sucking a breath, I tried to keep my voice polite before changing the topic. "Do you need your bill, sir?"

He ignored me and burped, "You've got a nice body," before swaying in his spot. His smirked, flashing his teeth, and I nearly choked on my spit when he licked his lower lip. "You should show it off. Get money off it."

Keeping my smile, I clenched my teeth a little tighter before repeating, "The bill?"

Clearly angry I was not swooning over his compliments, his eyes flared with rage. "What is it with you females? You getting offended over a fuckin' compliment? All of you are a bunch of feminists."

His voice grew so loud that it caught the attention of our security guard, Rodrigo. He was tall and buff, and despite him easily intimidating men, he was by far my favourite to talk to when the bar was dead.

The drunk saw him and instantly paled when Rodrigo told him to pay his bill and leave. I left him to my co-worker, Sam, and continued making everyone else's drinks. I wasn't expecting a tip from him.

"You alright, Sav?" Sam slid next to me and asked while I made three of the same cocktails. I glanced to my right and smiled softly, but she tsked. "None of that smiling shit. I've been telling ya, brunettes are less likely to get called on."

"Are you saying you get hit on less?" I raised my brows with a chuckle before mixing the drinks. Sam was a few years older than me and had straight, long, dark brown hair and naturally sensual eyes. She was maybe an inch taller than me, and because of her Colombian background, she was tan. And she was drop-dead gorgeous.

"Well next to you," she drawled, nodding to my hair—which was in a tight high pony. "Boys have a thing for blondes."

I scrunched my nose. "Gross." She chuckled at my expression, and I took that moment to clasp all three cocktails in my hands before sliding them on the bar. The group of women cooed in excitement, and thankfully reached for their drinks when they were close enough.

Leaning back, I turned back to Sam and laughed. "A few years ago, I actually considered going darker. Box dye wasn't too bad, but I knew it would be a pain to deal with."

She pursed her lips but nodded in agreement. "True. I went blue two years ago, and dealing with my roots was a bitch."

I smiled, but my reply was cut short when I felt my phone vibrate in my waist apron pocket. Hastily pulling it out, I saw Luba's short text message. Just got home.