Somewhere Between the Depths

Chapter Four

Nora

I don't recognize the girl in the mirror. She's.... almost beautiful. My eyes trail from the black boots, up to the ripped skinny jeans that are tight enough to seem painted on, until they land on the lowcut V-neck t-shirt. My tits are pushed up to my throat, and in hindsight, it may not be the best decision to draw so much attention to my body working at a biker bar, but I know I can handle myself and more cleavage equals more tips. I air-dried my hair, letting it fall in chocolate waves down my back. My eyes are rimmed with dark smokey shadows, and a nude lipstick is painted on my mouth.

"Damn, sis." Lydia smirks, leaning in my doorway.

I eye her in the mirror while I secure small silver hoops in the second and third holes of my ears. I finish off the jewelry with dangling silver crosses, liking the whole gothic vibe I've managed to create.

"Very Buffy Summers of you."

Hmm... I did kind of resemble the slayer in this outfit, except for the whole five-foot-ten, brunette hair thing.

"Thanks."

"Where are you going?" Lydia flops down onto my bed, ruffling my fresh covers.

I glare at her in the mirror, frowning at the state of my bed. I don't bother answering her question, it's none of her business where I'm going. She rolls her eyes but knows not to press me any further. I won't cave even if she does. Without another word, she stalks out of the room, not even bothering to fix my bed. I smooth out the blanket, snatch my leather jacket from the back of my door and bound down the stairs.

#

I park at the back of the lot underneath the streetlight. Slipping my brass knuckles into my back pocket and my knife into my boot, I exit my jeep. The sign in the window is gone when I reach the door and I can't help the smirk from sneaking across my lips as I waltz through the door.

"Oh, HELL NO! Get the fuck out, you crazy bitch." The asshole from yesterday bellows at me.

I run my eyes over him, noting the blackish/blue bruises adorning his face. It fills me with a guilty amount of pride.

"Keep talking, motherfucker. I'll paint the rest of you black and blue."

Snickers echo around us, and when no one steps up to kick me out, the asshole stomps off toward the backdoors.

"Welcome back." The bartender laughs while uncapping a few beers.

"I don't think I'm very welcome."

"Nah, probably not." He agrees.

"It's okay. I'm used to being in places I'm unwanted."

"Dark... I like it."

We share a small smile and then jump straight to the basics. He, whose name I learn is Sip, shows me around the bar and backroom. I discard my jacket in an empty locker and pick up a notepad and pen, shoving both in my unoccupied back pocket. An hour later, Sip has gone over the regular orders and the very short menu. It wasn't fancy by any means, but I'm pretty sure these fuckers didn't show up for the cuisine.

"If you get overwhelmed or need anything, just holler, okay?"

I nod, and head out onto the floor. It's barely eight now, but the bar has started to fill up. As expected, my outfit garners a few whistles and plenty of stares, but my resting bitch face keeps them from getting handsy.

"Aye! Need two fingers of bourbon and a Michelob on tap." I lean over the bar, my feet killing me.

I was only three hours in, but I was already regretting these fucking boots. Were they beautiful? Yes, but not practical. Never again. I'm roaming all over the damn floor, delivering countless beers, wings and shots. It's so fucking hot in here my skin may just melt off my bones. I found myself becoming extremely jealous of the Hooters uniform. Those booty-shorts and tiny tank-tops sounded like fucking heaven right about now.