Sweetheart || BBANGSAZ

1. Taking My Time On My Ride

The bar I always avoided was a grimy, low-lit dive that sat on the corner of 82nd and Pulaski, its windows permanently fogged up with the sweat and desperation of its patrons. The neon sign outside flickered weakly, buzzing like it might give out any minute. It was the kind of place where you could disappear for hours, where the world outside seemed to fade into a distant memory. The paint on the door was chipped, and as I pushed it open, a gust of warm, humid air hit me like a slap. It carried the stench of cheap beer, stale smoke, and the unmistakable odor of unwashed bodies.

The moment I stepped inside, the noise hit me like a wall—loud, raucous laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the low rumble of men talking in thick Chicago accents. They were all so tall, towering over me, dressed in the same rough clothes, with dirty hands gripping bottles and glasses. Their jackets were what stood out the most—a dark, leather uniform emblazoned with a logo of two snakes coiled around a motorcycle. Some had their sleeves cut off, proudly showing off biceps covered in tattoos that told stories I didn't want to know.

As soon as I walked in, it felt like every pair of eyes in the place locked onto me, sizing me up like I was fresh meat. I was the only woman in sight, or at least that's what it seemed like. My heart pounded in my chest, fear crawling up my spine, but I tried to keep my face neutral. I couldn't show them I was scared. Not here.

"Excuse me," I muttered, trying to push my way through the crowd.

"Hey, lady, need a place to crash?" A guy leered at me, his voice slurred and thick. He was holding a beer in one hand, the other hand hovering dangerously close to me. His jet-black hair was greasy, and his smile flashed gold where a few teeth had been replaced. He smelled like he hadn't showered in days, a mix of sweat, smoke, and cheap cologne. The kind that makes your stomach turn.

For a split second, I considered it. Hell, I'd jump at the chance to live anywhere but where I was now, but not with him. Not with any of these guys. "No thanks," I said, trying to sound firm, though I knew my voice wavered a bit. I couldn't help it; I was out of my depth here.

"Alright," he chuckled, as I walked past him. I flinched when I felt his hand smack my ass, a jolt of anger and fear surging through me. But I kept moving, grimacing, pretending I hadn't noticed, that I was above reacting to it.

I spotted my father at the bar, the one man in the whole place not wearing one of those damn jackets. He was hunched over, a plaid shirt stretched across his back, a beer in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He used to be a good man—good to me, good to my mom. But that was before the bottle took over his life. For two years now, he'd been drinking himself into oblivion, letting the liquor turn him into someone else, someone cruel, someone who hit my mom when he was too drunk to remember she was his wife. He liked to act like the man of the house, but I knew better. He was weak, weaker than anyone who had to turn to a bottle to deal with their problems. I lost respect for him a long time ago. Now, it was just a game of pretending things were okay, pretending like I didn't see what he'd become.

I made my way toward him, keeping my head down. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a group of guys at a table, their eyes following me, undressing me with their gazes. One of them let out a low whistle, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. I quickened my pace, desperate to get this over with, to get out of there and back to the relative safety of the streets.

I cleared my throat, trying to get his attention. "Pa," I said, but he didn't hear me. I tapped him on the back. "Pa!" I said, a little louder this time. Still nothin'. Finally, I gave his back a good hit. "Pa!"

He jolted, turnin' his neck slow, like he wasn't even sure what was goin' on. He hadn't shaved in days, maybe weeks. How long had he been sittin' in this dump? "It's time to come home," I told him, but somethin' odd happened. His face shifted from grumpy and pissed to somethin' else entirely. He actually smiled, and it caught me off guard—he hadn't smiled like that in years.