Your Star (Vox x reader)

7

The next thing I know, I'm sat behind the bar of one of hell's many clubs. A small glass occupies my hand, and I let out a small huff before tilting it into my mouth. The bitter-sweet liquid glides down my throat with ease, and I place the glass down. I fold my arms on the countertop and remain in my thoughts as the loud party music flows in one ear and out the other. It's been a while since I've been out like this, but I desperately need a break. And what better time to take one than on a weekday in the middle of the night? There's so much stress building up inside me, and chances are, things will only get harder. This is just one big reminder of having such a shit afterlife. Being told that you'll finally be at peace when you die is such a joke.

I trace my finger around the top of the cold glass absentmindedly, when I notice someone sit down beside me. Subtly, I turn my head to take a look at them. Just when I thought my night couldn't get any worse, I find the main source of my stress sitting right beside me. It must be a fucked up coincidence for Vox to be at the same club as me at the same time. Without a second thought, I stand up and start for the door.

"Leaving so soon?" I hear his condescending voice behind me.

I take a small breath before facing him again. "I have work in the morning, so yes," I reply, trying to remain civil despite my burning animosity toward him.

"Don't bullshit me, I'm sure you want another one." He tilts his head, his eyes flickering from the shot glass and back to me.

I hesitate, not exactly disagreeing with him there. Regardless, my desire for another isn't enough to get me to stay. Not if it means being around him for another minute.

He notices my silence and turns to the bartender, speaking in a firm tone. "Get the lady another shot."

I watch as the bartender nods, already turning to prepare the shot. "I shouldn't," I speak with uncertainty. 

"C'mon, what's a shot between friends?" He offers a grin.

I glare at him with a furrowed brow, finding it humorous how he refers to us as friends. "I work for you."

"You're not working right now, are you?" He asks, staring at me as if expecting me to sit back down.

I consider answering with something along the lines of, No, but that doesn't mean I want to have a drink with you, but I resist. He's still my boss, and making him mad will only reflect badly on me. All I have to do is play the game. I sit.

The bartender returns, setting two shots down in front of us. "So, is getting drunk a common thing for you?" Vox grins, picking up his glass.

"I'm not a fucking alcoholic." I snap back, pissed that he'd even ask something like that. 

He laughs heartily, holding his glass still but careful not to spill it. "Ooh, looks like I've hit a nerve there, huh?"

"I'm not," I repeat simply, but stiffly, feeling my face heat up in embarrassment.

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, babe," he comments before pouring the shot into his mouth.

I ignore what he calls me and imitate his action, downing the shot. I set it back down on the counter. "I thought since you're so busy, you'd have more important things to do than talking to me."

"Oh, I do." He replies casually. "But I get so much enjoyment when talking to you that those things can wait." 

I can't exactly tell whether he's being sarcastic or for real. I nod slowly, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "Right."

I stay quiet as Vox gets an actual drink from the bartender. He takes it in his hand and turns to me. "You want anything else?"

His offer tempts me, but I shake my head. "No, thank you."