Remnants of Evil

3

"Damn ma, who'd you manage to piss off this time?"

"Morning to you too," I rolled my eyes, shoving my purse underneath the counter. Kevin moved to stand closer to me, leaning against the dark oak bar, his lips turned up in a smile. His dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail, his short skinny frame swimming in a t-shirt that was easily two sizes too big and a pair of adidas sweats.

"C'mon, tell papa Pou your problems."

"I swear to fucking god if you ever call yourself that again you're gonna be the one with a problem." He continued smiling at me, forcing me to break my serious act and laugh, the movement causing my face to hurt. He turned to start drying the glasses that he'd brought from the kitchen.

"I'm serious though, the fuck happened to you?"

"You know how things are with Scott," I exhaled, taking the inventory sheet and marking off each bottle of liquor we had.

"Scott did that to you?"

"Nah, he just did some dumb shit and it made someone else do this to me," I shook my head. "Can't wait for all the douches to come in today 'n tell me 'Get with me baby, I'll never beat you like that'." I poorly imitated the stereotypical jock, already annoyed with the anecdotal customers.

"Maybe you can get some pity tips out of it," he shrugged, "dudes love to feel like they're helpin' a damsel in distress."

"I can hope so." The bell above the door dinged, signaling the arrival of our first customer, a short guy who kinda looked like Danny Devito. Kevin turned to help him, leaving me counting stock and cleaning up.

The day dragged on, the hours inching by as tourist after tourist came in for drinks. Nothing out of the usual, making the shift extra boring. We had thirty minutes to close, and Kevin had gone to the back to finish washing up glasses. I stood wiping down the bar, only raising my eyes once I heard the bell ding.

My breath caught in my chest as I stared down the barrel of a gun, held by a man in a ski mask. His brown eyes catching mine, squinting as though he was smiling. I recognized those eyes, and the way he held my gaze led me to believe he recognized me.

Time slowed, hours passing with his gun still aimed at my head, my ears ringing in the silence. Then he pointed to the register, dropping a garbage bag onto the bar. My hands fumbled as I shoved the money into his bag, the gun cocking when I took a second too long. There was movement in my peripheral vision, quickly flicking my eyes over to see a distressed Kevin pulling out his phone, but it was too late. The man took off with the money before the cops were even called.

I was questioned for what felt like hours, but likely was only twenty minutes, having to take breaks wipe my eyes as tears trailed down my face. Kevin was more helpful with the physical description, even though he'd only seen him for a minute. All I could think about were those eyes.

Sorry it's so short, but you know how it be