Pulse

beat eleven

It was around three am and the bar was full; there was people everywhere, most of them either drunk, drugged or high. Suspicious people were walking in and out all night long, and all she did was stand behind the bar and serve drinks, trying to be unnoticeable.

"What does your daddy say to working here, huh?" A strange woman asked, leaning on the bar with one elbow and a drink swinging in her other hand. Eden eyed her. She had heavy eyeliner and really needed to tone down the cat eye. Her clothes were more decent than any other woman's there, but still revealing.

"Don't have one," Eden said over the music. It was a loud, obnoxious base. Every time she left here, she could feel it in her ears for hours.

The woman kept looking at her, her eyes squinted, like she was in a daze.

"I think I've seen you before," she said.

"I really doubt you did," Eden replied, walking away from the woman and giving another round of shots to the three men on the far right of the bar.

"Pick a number from one to twenty," one of the men told her.

"Seven," Eden said, not even looking at him.

"Tough luck," he told the other man. "You lose." His voice sounded familiar to her, though not as audible with the loud music, she knew she'd heard it somewhere.

"So seven, how come you're working here? You look young," the other man said. He had a round face and a mop of ginger hair on top of his head, looking older than he probably was.

Eden ignored him, cleaning the bar as people came and left. The man attempted to talk to her more, but she had just brushed him off.

"Could she be..?" Eden heard the woman from earlier say when she approached the three men.

"Nah. We searched everywhere. The girl's definitely dead," the man said. Eden stepped closer to them, pretending not to be listening in.

"Even Lee claims to have heard her voice, it couldn't be her. She should be a young adult now, I think."

"What's the whole fuss about her anyway?" The woman asked.

"She was Lee's daughter. You know how Lee is," the ginger man said, looking at his drink with a look of concentration on his face.

"Yeah well it wasn't the child's mistake anyway. I don't understand the sudden urge to find her. If she's still alive and Lee does find her, the girl will be in hell," the woman rolled her eyes, stepping away from the men and in front of Eden. She slid her some cash on the counter.

"I'm paying for these three," she said. "God knows they have no money with them. Hopeless drunks. I'll see you next Friday doll," the woman said.

"By the way, the name's Esma."

"Eden," she said with a small nod. The woman stopped in her tracks, eyeing Eden from head to toe; as much as she could over the bar table.

"No kidding," she said. "I will definitely see you again."

The rest of the night was uneventful; as much as it was there. No strangers tried to strike up a conversation, except the depressed drinkers that seek any sort of comfort. Eden just listened, nodding occasionally.

Wrapping her jacket tightly around her, she left the bar.

"You work a double next weekend!" her boss shouted and she gave him a thumbs up. He got drunk every night; she didn't think he even remembered who she actually was when he was sober.

"Eden?" A voice shouted from across the street. She didn't turn around. Someone called after her again and a hand wrapping around her left arm stopped her in her tracks.

Turning abruptly and ready to swing her fist, Eden's eyes met blue ones; his face was as blue as them, his lip bleeding, his eyes showing his soul out in the open.

Endless oceans of blue, drowning so the pain takes away the last breath from your lungs as regret bites at the tips of your fingers and insanity burns in your chest.

"Ace," she whispered.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I could ask the same," she said, inspecting his wounds. "What happened to you?"

"It's not important. Eden, you shouldn't be even close to this place. Working a double? Do you work there?" he asked, his voice laced with shock.

"I don't see that as your business, Ace," she stuttered, turning around and leaving.

"Eden," he called after her, catching up. "Talk to me. Hey, it's me."

"You can't just  do it like that," she said quietly.

"What?" he asked.

"Just appear out of nowhere and pretend to be my superhero," she said, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. She hated it, but she knew it was the truth.

"I'm not pretending anything, Eden," he said.

"Why? Just tell me that."

"What why?"

"Why are you doing it? What makes me so goddamn special that I'm suddenly under your wing?" she said, stopping in the middle of the street.

He looked at her, pained. She felt bad. She didn't know if she was hurting him or if it was the bruises, but any way, she felt guilty. She was desperate for an answer, though she was not sure what the question was. It was always like that.

So many unknown questions, and when you don't know a question, how do you get the answer? A blank sheet of paper is all she's ever been and she desperately needs her canvas painted.

She is a faded picture, the colors not even visible. She is nothing, nothing at all, only her scars reminding her that there was a before. A before she can't even remember.

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There is a picture, just next to the tree. A picture in a box. A picture, sealed, waiting ot be opened. Opened with memory.

It has no locks, this box. The memory is the key. All she needs is to remember.

But to remember she needs to see.

But how will know what to see with no memory?

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