An Act of -

--Short Story

Samantha downed the rest of the glass, before returning to her fifth to refill it. Damn it, she thought hopelessly, why hadn't it worked? Why hadn't the procedure worked? It wasn't like the doctors had made her any concrete promises, but it still stung to know that she was stuck this way.

            "Hey, sweet thing," came a whisky laced voice from somewhere over her shoulder. Not wanting to acknowledge the rambling drunk, Samantha focused all of her attention on pretending to be deaf, while she emptied the rest of her glass. "You've been attacking those pretty hard," he teased. "Is it a man? Did your boyfriend kick you out on your pretty little ass, tonight?"

Samantha choked back the urge to laugh in the man's face; and although she said nothing aloud, she secretly wished, If only life was that simple.

"You know, seeing as how you and I are the only ones in this hell hole, and seeing as how I'm in such a gentlemanly mood at the moment, I'm going to give you, you voluptuous goddess you," Leave it to him to use multi-syllabic words while intoxicated. "I'm going to offer you a ride home. Now, I know that you've been eyeing my spectacularly amazing figure all night," 

Yeah, sure. Whatever.

" . . . and before you attack me out of overwhelming lust you should know something. If I'm going to go out of my way to give you a ride, then I'll need a ride in return." He giggled, actually giggled, as if his pathetic pass wan in ingenious play.

His words, as well as her now empty fifth, were beginning to have an 'effect' on her. 

A, girl, get the hell out of here effect. 

Before she could make an attempt to leave; however, two rough hands grabbed her waist and spun her and her stool in a complete 180. "Now, let me get a look at that pretty little face of yours." Samantha felt positive that this miserable mass wasn't looking anywhere near her face, and the fact she was still concentrating on her empty cup helped inform her that his boring eyes were examining the figure that resided below her chin.

Samantha fought off a smirk, Men, she thought, they are all the same. 

The inebriated man grew bolder, and his hands leisurely climbed upwards from her waist. 

Damn it! He was getting too friendly, and her alcohol poisoned thoughts screamed at her to run. Still she didn't want the fifth to dominate her fleeting pity just yet. She certain that any act of desperation would only edge the drunk on.

"Cool it, man," Samantha recognized the bartender's voice behind her and released an inner sigh of relief. "This lady was just trying to enjoy her drink, there's no reason to bother her."

Those wretched hands didn't budge. "Well if you just butt out of my business busboy, then I'll be able to give this young lady something so much far enjoyable than a drink."

Hah!

The bartender didn't say anything, and she assumed that he was about to back down when a firm and protective hand draped itself over her shoulder. Reluctantly, as if by a telepathic warning, the sweaty palms encompassing her body loosened. After he let go completely, the man attached to those horrid hands stormed out of the building.

Once her heart retreated back within her chest, Samantha began to withdraw as well. She was counting her steps out of the infernal place when a weary hand grasped her shoulder. Instinctively she glanced towards its owner. 

Damn it.  She thought for the third time that night as the bartender caught his breath; she could feel his eyes on her scars. 

Of course, Samantha what else did you expect? she informed herself. It's not like . .

"Let me call you a cab?"

What?! Where had that come from?

"I would offer to walk you to your car, or bike, heck even to the subway; but I don't think a woman should be out walking the streets alone, in your . . . condition." 

And there it was out in the open; he'd thought of her as a handicapped. The smooth talking protective bartender could now pity her and offer his support because he conscious would demand that he assist her.

Before she could continue her pity party of one however, her thoughts were interrupted by, "I mean anybody who can stand after indulging themselves in an entire fifth of Savvy should be awarded, I'll give you a medal myself, but I allow you to get yourself home. So, come back to the bar, try some of our shitty water, and let me call you a cab."

Samantha laughed. 

It was the first time in a long while that she been able to laugh at something. She had forgotten how refreshing it felt. She couldn't remember that last time that she was treated like the normal woman she used to be, and instead of the plane crash survivor she was. 

So fate . . . could be kind. 

Samantha smiled to herself and nodding in agreement while trying to stop the joyous tears that managed to find there way across her face. 

Feeling disorientated she allowed him to place her hand in the crook of his arm and lead her back to the bar. In the stat she was in, she wouldn't have trusted her retractable cane to get her back there safely. 

Maybe, old scars could heal.