Sinners and Saints

Introduction

"Hey, kid, come in here for a minute," someone calls. considering I was the only one on the street, they had to be talking to me. I almost don't stop, ready to breeze by and not do as he asks. But, I was out of breath and exhausted. Which is embarrassing if I thought about how little exercise I actually had done. I'd sprinted from the building and down a side street, and wandered for almost an hour before someone spotted me and I had taken off sprinting again. Having a popular face was something I was regretting, something I have been regretting for almost seven years now. So, I decide to follow the man's demand and step into the building, immediately recognizing the bar setting.

I can see the man clearly now. He had black hair in a high ponytail, with streaks of grey or silver in it. He was shorter then I was, and much skinnier as well. I'm shocked when he flips a switch and the neon signs turn off before he motions me to the bar.

"What the hell?" I manage to ask as I follow him. My voice is hoarse, and dry, and I realize that I must look like death. I know I've been crying recently, and the running probably wasn't helping. It was also freezing outside according to my phone, before it had died 30 minutes ago.

"Sit down and I'll get you something. You're that kid that they're having the concert for tomorrow, right? My daughter made me buy tickets, and then a suit so I could go with her," He informs me as he moves around to the other side of the bar.

"I...What?" I ask as I sit down almost robotically on the stool across from him. He laughs at me.

"Azarias Llewellyn, right? My daughter's 16 and aspires to be as good as you at the piano one day. She's even applying to go to Rosary's Musical School after she graduates," He tells me. I'm not sure how to respond to all that information, so I don't. I watch him move around at ease, until there's a brown liquid sat in front of me.

"That's Going to be- "he starts, but I ignore him, downing the glass immediately. The burn of the liquid almost covered the burn in my throat from the sobs and crying I had been doing. He seems almost surprised that I could down it in one go, and I wait for him to get me more without speaking. As I watch him, I realize that he's really only a few years older than I am, making him barely thirty something. I only take a gulp this time before clearing my throat.

"Thanks."

"You looked cold," He muses, but there was humor in his voice. I was cold, I realized. I knew that it was cold, of course. My phone had informed me of it, as did the few text messages I'd received that I had bothered to read. I'd watched myself breathing white puffs of smoke for over an hour, but I'm just now noticing the numbness in my fingers and the stinging in my cheeks and along my ears. How long had they been like that? My hands start to shake slightly and I slide them from around my glass to my lap. I know that he saw this as well.

"So, why are you running around town when it's 7 below, and with your eyes puffy and red? And you sound like shit. I know you usually don't, because my daughter blares your music, so what the hell happened?" He asks.

"Not a question you want to ask," I mutter, and down the rest of my second drink. I don't think that he would push me, but to my surprise he laughs.

"I asked, didn't I? and I closed my bar. Admittedly, there wasn't much of business tonight, because everyone is still at the movies or whatever it is they do before midnight. Still, I think you owe me some kind of story," He tells me when he's done laughing at me. I'm annoyed at that logic, so it's silent for almost a full minute before he sighs.

"Fine. Tell me about the ring, then. Clarise never said anything about you being married." He asks. I want to go back to the last question now, but sigh instead. He was way too curious and slightly annoying, but he had given me a place to hide out briefly and this alcohol was actually very good.

"It's a promise ring, actually. Like being engaged to be engaged," I admit. Though, technically, that wasn't even legal. I don't tell him that though, because he seems to be thinking. After a moment he just pulls down a glass from behind the bar, and hoists himself to sit on the bar, sitting crossed legged with the bottle he's been pouring into my glass between us.

"Engaged to be engaged, huh? Sounds like commitment issues more than anything," He says in a matter of fact way. I laugh. The alcohol must be getting to me for me to find this situation funny.

"something like that," I agree, and he looks surprised again.

"Oh? This might sound like a better tale then why you're running around at night. So, tell me, who's the one with the issues, and why do you put up with their shit?" he asks, downing his own glass of brown liquid. I shrug.

"He helped me out a lot about seven years back. I was having a .... Rough time before all this fame and glory started, and he helped me out a lot." I tell him.

"You sound like you don't like that attention you're getting."

"I never have, not really. I hated it at first, and I tolerate it on good days. On bad days... I wander the streets at 7 below until a friendly bar owner lets me invade his space." I try to make a joke about it and he chuckles at me for it.

"So anyway, you put up with his shit because he put up with yours?" He questions. I'm surprised he isn't asking about the 'he' portion, even though I am a male as well. I've learned to be careful with who knows about that detail of my life, but he doesn't seem to mind in the slightest.

"Pretty much, yeah. He dealt with my attitude and fits, so I give him the same treatment."

"What kind of fits did you throw?" he asks, filling both of our glasses again.

"Bad ones." I say, my voice suddenly dropping to a sheepish tone. I hated reliving those moments, especially when I recall how they were handled.

To say I was a mess was a bit of an understatement.

"So, seven years huh? That's a big commitment. I didn't make it to four with my wife, so at least you've got that," He says after a short pause. I shrug at him, not wanting to say anything else about it. He lets out an exaggerated sigh and I grin at his dramatics.

"Common kid. Give me Something otherwise I'm going to get drunk with you for nothing." He pushes, again filling my glass. How many was that for me now? I knew that I could down alcohol very, very well. And it would affect me quite suddenly after so much, and then just as suddenly I'll be horrifyingly sober with only a dull ache in my head. I have no idea how my body handles the alcohol I've thrown at it over the years, but it does well and I won't ever complain about it. But right now? I was feeling that fuzzy haze that always made me feel warm and encased in a blanket that made anything bad go away.

"Fine, I can tell you a story."

~*~*~Authors Note~*~*~

This is a story line that I came up with a few weeks ago that my friends and I seem to enjoy. However, this will basically be my rough draft. Do not expect it to be polished and perfect until I've edited it all, which is a long way away. Also, the title may change depending on a few factors that haven't happened thus far. 

I plan to update often, but I am a college kid working a full time job during third shift, so that may not happen as often as I want it to. 

I don't mind helpful criticism. I'm not perfect, nor is my writing style. And during this stage of any story, negative feedback is just as important as positive. However, please be considerate when doing so. You don't have to be hateful to get your point across. 

Thanks for reading the introduction and any further updates,

Emily Fay