H Is For Human (Garlic Is For Vampires, Book 3)

Chapter 2: The Drunk and The Outcast

Even though the summer heat was still beating me down, I had a thin sweater zipped up all the way to my throat. The bite marks inflicted on me from Dylan's vampires were still healing and they could be seen on my arms and legs. I jogged across the street and took the stairs down to the front door two at a time. Then I opened the door and stepped in. It was surprisingly quiet for a Friday evening. The bartender looked up from the small television screen hung up on the wall. He saw me and then nodded his head towards the figure leaning over the counter. I nodded and walked towards Brendon slowly. The only other people here aside from the owner were two men, and they were both talking in Spanish about the soccer game going on.

Brendon was nursing a cup of Scotch, a day's worth of stubble covering his face in a thin layer. I stopped beside him, studying his posture. Tired, possibly drunk and in the process of getting a hangover because of the way his head was cradled in his hand. He stared at the liquid in the glass before he sat and looked at me. He blinked in surprise and then pursed his lips, looking straight ahead, but I glanced down at his hand. It was tightening around the glass, and he was shaking.

"What are you doing here?" he said in a low growl. He didn't sound too drunk, but I heard the slur in his words.

"I came to see you," I said.

"You're not hanging out with the boyfriend today?" he asked casually, downing the last of his cup. He waved the bartender over.

"No," I said softly. Then I held my hand out to the bartender. "He won't be drinking anymore, thank you."

"Ignore her," Brendon said with a snort. "Pour some more."

"Don't," I said.

"Pour me more," Brendon suddenly snapped, grabbing the bottle out of the bartender's hand. I reached for it but his hand locked fast around my wrist, threatening to break it. The bartender leaned over and the two men in the pub were slowly standing.

"Easy on her now," the bartender said. I recognized his voice as him being the one who called me. "I called her to come take you home. Her name is Bree."

"I know who Bree is," Brendon slurred. "I don't care." He took a swig from the bottle. My arm was starting to go numb now. I pulled back but he kept his hand firm.

"I can handle him," I said. Brendon heard me and laughed, a chuckle at first. But then it broke into a maniac laugh, and the bartender frowned. Brendon was losing it. He grinned at me, his eyes dark but playful.

"You can't handle me," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "You could never handle anything. You're weak." He suddenly spat those words out with hate, snarling at me. "You're a liar. And a cheater."

"You're a fool," I said. "For trying to make the problems go away by drinking. You're weak for giving in." I yanked my arm back, rubbing my sore wrist. I was going to bruise for sure. I pulled out my wallet and handed the bartender a good amount to cover for the tab and the bottle Brendon took. "I'm sorry for the trouble. We're leaving now."

"No we're not," Brendon said, snorting rather unattractively, making a humorous face.

"Yes, we are," I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him off his stool. He easily came off and took another swig from the bottle. I opened the door and walked him up the stairs. He stumbled and nearly brought me down with him but I found my footing again and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, securing the other arm around his waist.

"Come on," I said. "You can walk up the stairs."

"Hey, you," he said. He grinned at me with that stupid woozy expression on his face.