The night shift

~Chapter 3~

Then your work went relatively smoothly. From time to time, clubgoers would swear at you, insulting you in every possible way, but you got used to it. The bastard who had been harassing you came back a few more times, and on the last day he suddenly decided to put you on his lap in a very rough way, just by pulling your clothes. You wanted to cry then, and only when you got home did you allow yourself to curl up on your pillow and scream.

But at least they paid you well. A couple of times you broke glasses and the owner fined you, but you still had a decent amount for your financial situation.

You crossed paths with the Dealer many of times, but didn't engage in conversation. He just smirked at you and immediately took the doomed and drunk strangers to the first floor. They never came back from there, by the way.

But all things pass, and the working hours were relatively quiet.

Once, almost at the end of your working day, drunken men fought, and you had to separate them, because the guards had gone for a smoke break. Even the bartender only watched from behind the bar, wiping glasses, but did not intervene.

You unsuccessfully called for security, who didn't even think about coming back, but you were all responsible for the broken club props. Besides, everyone wanted to go home soon, and basically nobody needed the extra trouble...

— Bastard, I'll break all your arms!

— Try it, you piece of shit!

Their screams could be heard even through the music. And now you felt powerless. All you could do was to watch the fight and be horrified by the amount of fine the owner of the place would give you.

Finally, one of the fighting men seemed to get hit too hard and fell down with his arms spread. The other crawled towards him, holding a broken bottle in his hand.

— Jesus, he's going to kill him! — you shouted to the bartender in desperation, but he just shrugged.

You had to act. No one wanted dead bodies here, so you took the bold step of approaching these drunks.

— Wait, don't do it!

The one with the bottle ignored you, almost approaching your knocked out opponent to slit his throat.

— Stop, you bastard! You're going to jail, do you hear me?

You tried to pull the man lying on the floor away, squatting down. It seems you shouldn't have, because the other one suddenly swung and hit you right in the temple. Luckily not with the hand that was holding the broken bottle, or you would have died on the spot from your wounds.

Your eyes went black. Now instead of music beats, it was the sound of your heartbeat in your head. A muffled groan escaped your chest, and the floor shook. Now you were crawling away just like that, disorientated and almost knocked out.

— Fuck...

Now you didn't care about the fate of that man lying on the floor. It would be better if your own wasn't interrupted...

Suddenly, through the haze in front of your eyes, you felt someone lifting you from the floor into their arms. Grasping someone's jacket, you smelled cigarettes and instantly fell into oblivion.

The way you were being carried somewhere, the way the music suddenly stopped — it was like a strange dream.