Broken & Beautiful

Chapter 1

TIMELINE: Begins shortly after "The Pork Special" (S. 2, E. 1)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of death, blood and trauma. Nothing in great detail.

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I don't know what time it is, as I haven't bothered to look at the clock since I first crawled into bed. All I know is that it's dark, it's late, and I should be asleep. Instead, I find myself lying on my back and staring up at the ceiling, thoughts racing through my mind. The tiny lights on my headboard cast a faint, soothing golden glow in the bedroom area of my studio apartment.

I should be asleep. That's what my mind keeps telling me. I know I keep late hours, but tonight is an exception. Depending on what time it is, I can usually be found at Home Bar with the close circle of friends I've made during my time at the restaurant. Either that, or I'm taking a cab home or crashing at Ari's. But thanks to yesterday's events, I am here at home ... staring at the ceiling and quietly resenting the people who are able to sleep while I cannot.

I let out a weary sigh and close my eyes, once again trying to force myself to sleep. Nothing. I could use a sedative, but I can't find my prescription. I turn onto my side and pull the blankets over my shoulders. It's not too cold in here, but I'm one of those people who sleeps better when under the weight of more than one blanket. It's warm. Soothing. Relaxing. And after a while, it actually begins to work.

I find myself in that place between sleep and awake when an extremely loud pounding sound startles me. I groan, scrunching my eyes shut and trying to force the sound to go away. And, of course, it doesn't. Not only that, but I hear a very familiar voice bellow "Hey! Kincaid! You in there? Open up!"

There's only person who refers to me as "Kincaid," and he's the last person I expected to show up at my door at ... Wait! Is it really midnight? Oh, you've gotta be kidding me!

More pounding on the door. More yelling. Frustrated, I scream into the pillow. No! Not him! Why'd it have to be him?!

Fed up, I toss the blankets aside and get out of bed. "I'm coming!" I bellow.

I shove aside the curtain that separates my bedroom from the rest of my apartment and stomp my way toward the door, muttering a few choice words when my shin connects with the coffee table and I nearly fall over the damn thing. After rubbing my eyes, I find the light switch and peer through the peephole. I let out another irritated groan. Sure enough, Jake is standing on the other side of the door.

Now, don't get me wrong. It's not that I hate Jake. While I'm not good friends with him like I am with the others, he is part of the group I hang out with at Home Bar. We actually get along surprisingly well, in spite of his "sparkling," personality. Out of everyone, he's the one I spend the most time with while at work. Makes sense, since we both tend bar at the restaurant.

While I don't dislike Jake, I have to say that I'm not thrilled by his sudden appearance at my door at this late hour. Not to mention the fact that I have no idea how he even knows where I live.

I bonk my head on the door a few times, sigh tiredly, and then release the three locks. I gently tug the door open, leaving the chain in place, and peer out at him. He's standing in the corridor, lit cigarette in his mouth, dressed in his casual clothes: black boots; torn denim jeans held up by a black belt; white t-shirt; and his favorite blue hoodie underneath a black leather jacket. His dark hair is damp from the rain, and the glow from the ceiling lights bring attention to the highlights. He is a handsome man with pretty blue eyes, pouty lips and a well-defined jawline. And if I didn't know better, I'd swoon over him.