17 Last Times

⤹23❁ Broken Pieces

Welcome back. I really love this chapter. I hope so will you!

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𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵

It's been so long since I did anything else than stressing over Anaya's case and running the gallery, simultaneously trying to maintain my grades and attendance at school. No wonder I needed a drink.

I grab a stool and take a seat at the bar. The music is jazzy and moderate — a pleasant background noise.

"Can I get you anything?"

I look at the guy behind the bar. He must be just around my age, maybe a little bit younger. He's quite short, neat in appearance and very timid. How did he even manage to he get himself into serving drunk and rowdy people if his level of courage is a mere two?

Money.

He does this for money.

"A bottle of whatever you think I should drink tonight."

He nods his head silently and crouches behind the counter. A moment later, he reoccurs in sight, placing of bottle of water before me.

I arch my brows at the phenomenon, then look up at his thin presence. I'm baffled.

"I'm sorry," he blabbers quickly. "It was . . . You seemed really stressed. I thought it'd loosen you up. I thought it'd be funny," he apologizes further, all shaky in fear of possible repercussions.

I purse my lips to the side, staring at the bottle. "No, don't worry. I think you might be actually right. I think it's best if I stay sober."

"Is it?" he quizzes, slightly relieved.

I nod. "I turn into a right dick when I drink."

He gulps, unsure whether he should laugh or fear for his life.

"So?" I raise my brows at him, pointing at the bottle. "How much for this?"

"Oh." He seems surprised by the question. "It's £1.90."

I take out a few twenty-pound notes and place it on the bar. "Keep the change," I mutter monotonously.

His eyes bulge at the money. He collects it off the counter and splays the notes in a shape of a hand fan. "You sure you haven't drunk already? This is like . . ."

"Three hundred pounds?" I guess by looking at the notes. "Maybe three-twenty?"

"Well. . . yeah. . ?" He shuffles through the money. "I can't take it."

"Why not?" I stare at him, confused.

"This is too much. You're definitely going to need this."

I laugh out loud. He doesn't understand my amusement. I throw another few twenties onto the counter.

"Is this still too much?" I ask him.

He gapes at me, flabbergasted. "Are you a magician? Is this a trick?"

I burst out laughing. This bloke, I swear. "I ain't no magic, trust me," I tell him. "My non-existent Hogwarts letter only confirms it."