Devoid [Bruno Mars]

Chapter thirty-two

Chapter thirty-two

I sat in the back, stuck ear buds in my ears but played no music, and leaned my head against the quivering window. Whenever I closed my eyes the sky turned blue, and the bus became loud and crowded instead of quiet and empty. A rather short guy would step up the stairs, wearing these same shades, stride down the aisle, sit next to me. . .

If only I could rewind.

I should have never let him sit next to me, or walk me home. But what difference did it make? He did not go to Grim because of me. He went because of who he is.

If only I could rewind.

I should have protected him from Josephine. In Grim, he had protected me, why hadn't I done the same? I could have done something. I should have done something. His life wouldn't be on the line right now if I just—

The driver spoke, voice booming and cutting off my thoughts. She probably thought I was playing music. My nails retracted themselves from my palms and I let the ear buds drop into my lap.

“Why don't you come up here? Hurry, too. Right when this light turns green I'm hitting the gas whether you're sitting or not.”

I moved down the aisle as quickly as I could. When the light turned she kept her word and stepped on it. I had just made it to the seat directly behind her and flew back into it.

“Take off them glasses.”

Complying, I folded them and slid them inside Bruno's hoodie pocket. She eyed me overhead, in the rear view mirror, and made a triumphant sound in her throat. “I knew you were troubled.”

I shifted in my seat. “Life is stressful.”

“It never stops being,” she agreed. “The important thing is, is that you're still standing at the end, wounded and all. Now, I know it ain't wound you in the mouth. Looks like you need to eat.”

I just realized I had forgotten to. “I will,” I promised. “Thank you.”

She deliberately dropped me off in front of a diner. Very few people were here. My waitress was a chubby ginger. Setting a plate of fries and a burger in front of me she inquired, “No date?”

“I knew I wasn't the only one who couldn't see him.” My teeth tore at a bundle of fries, forcefully. I had no appetite.

She laughed. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

At one AM I stared at a plate full of scraps, killing time. Where would I go after this? My waitress, noticing I was finished, sauntered over and picked up my plate. She sighed. “There's always fights going on over there.”

I followed her gaze out the window. Across the street was a bar. The wide window made the inside visible from the outside, and you could see the fracas, even from here. My heart gave an unusual wild thump. I stood, my waitress’ eyes sharply following the movement. Her mouth opened to protest—

“Closing time,” the assumed boss chimed from behind the counter. Bangings of pots and pans came from the kitchen.

I took out my wallet. The waitress smiled tightly, looking at me then out the window. “Have a good night.”

I hurried across the street. Barging inside the franchise, I was immediately smacked by hot air that reeked of sweat and bodies, stale alcohol and smoke. Tables and chairs had been pushed and piled against the sloping walls. The light bulbs that hung from flimsy cords were flickering, threatening to give out any second, dimming the place. The jostling crowd was hollering and a man in a formidable suit, the owner he looked like, was holding a hat out to them, collecting money.