Saving Scout O'Brian (REMASTERED)

Sixteen

Scout

TW: fighting, blood, flashbacks of physical abuse, brief mention of SA

I knocked back the third shot, baring my teeth at the fierce burn of straight tequila. My bloody scraped up knuckles shook as I slammed it back onto the bar, shaking my head sharply as my head swam, my vision blurring. Rock music blasted through the seedy bar, the sound of pool sticks clanging and conversation thrumming through me. Charlotte's bandaged face flashed through my mind, and I waved my hand for another drink. The barkeep wandered over, a pretty little thing in a short black skirt and tank top that read "Frank's Delights" in shitty Halloween font. I knew I shouldn't be here, that I should be across the street in the hospital with my very injured daughter. But when I saw her, something in me broke, and I ran out of there so fast. Now here I was, drunker by the second and doing everything I could to drown out the pain and guilt of the simple fact that I should've never been a mother, and Evelyn deserved better than me.

"Need another, love?" She leaned against the bar, a heated look in her eyes as she waited for my response.

"Whiskey, on the rocks." I murmured, sliding my tongue over my lip ring, pulling it between my teeth.

She swallowed tightly, and I could almost feel the temperature change in the air. "Sure thing."

I sat back, hiking my leg up and resting my forearm on my knee, surveying the area around me with disinterest. This bar was low budget, and of the fifty or so motorcycles stationed outside, a very popular gang hang out. People either gambled, played pool, or were actively punching each other in the corner in a makeshift ring. It was violent and dark and everything I needed to remember. The smell of sweat and beer was thick in the air, and every now and then a gust of cold air would pass through, signaling another arrival. I watched from my stained and faded stool as two men beat each other bloody and the small crowd around them hollered with excitement.

The barkeep slides my drink over, and I toast her in thanks. She follows my gaze, a knowing quirk to her lips as she shouted over the music. "You thinking about going a round?"

I took a healthy sip of my whiskey, relishing the taste, before I responded. The dark thing inside me uncoiled and watched through my eyes as a smile of my own glinted in the red lighting above us. Her grin faltered at the sharp gleam of teeth, unaware that I was playing a dangerous game that everything to do with unleashing the darkest parts of myself.

"Babygirl, if I got in that ring, no one would remember leaving it."

"Why's that?" She asked so quietly I barely heard her.

I set my empty glass down with a clink and stand, stripping off my jacket just as "Dead of Night" by Orville Peck begins to play. My black skinny jeans ride low on my waist, and the maroon sports bra beneath is all I'm otherwise wearing as I flash the stunned barkeep a dark look. I decline to answer her and drape my jacket over the back of my stool, cracking my knuckles as the fight before me concludes with the snap and screams of a broken arm. I am desperate, ravenous, as I study the blood on the floor. My mind keeps replaying the way my fingers wrapped around Evelyn's creamy throat, and I need someone else to take her place before I do something that I will likely regret for the rest of my fucking life. "Emptiness Machine" by Linkin Park plays through the vibrating speakers now, and I approach with confidence, my booted feet echoing. Burly men and women wearing ripped leather jackets turn towards me and I spare them a brief glance, sliding my body through the crowd until I stand in the center of it all, and they are silent.