runaway

TWELVE | NO ATTACHMENT

TWELVE | NO ATTACHMENT

The sun is barely set, night hardly fallen when Steve's shift at one of the local bars downtown begins. He arrives early, though not for any one particular reason, only to be greeted by the few remaining day-drinking stragglers and handful of early night-drinkers. Acknowledging the regulars, Steve prepares his space behind the counter and himself for all the night is sure to entail. Having worked at the bar for several of years now, not much in terms of indiscretions and so on surprises him, and yet, the sight of the young woman newly entered takes him rather aback for a moment.

Her slender figure is instantly recognized when Jett enters the bar, though regulars grow immediately confused at the sight. Her shoulders appear almost slightly slumped, her head a little lower, her steps a little lighter, her presence a little softer. She answers to her name when greeted by the bartender. Had she not, he would have sworn the woman is someone else entirely.

Steve has known the young woman since she first moved to Athens, was one of her first clients even. Never has he seen such a muted version of her, though. Concern grows within him while she claims one of the bar stools.

"You okay, babe? You seem a little out of it," Steve says, setting in front of her a full glass of a drink he knows she favors. Her eyes scramble to his, widening as if only now suddenly realizing where she is.

"Yeah, of course," Jett insists without a moment of hesitance, her voice stable and convinced as always.

For a moment, he almost believes her. Her entire demeanor shifts at the sound of her own words, transforming into the herself for which she is well-known. The remnants in her eyes, though, fail to comply with the change; Steve notices. She does not know how, but he notices.

Sensing his doubt, she wills her eyes to separate from his to acknowledge the glass he placed before her. She grasps it in her hands and brings it carefully to her lips. The stiff drink invades her taste buds, urging her to consume all of it at once. Somehow, unbeknownst to her, she manages to rest the glass on the bar-top with still half its initial volume. She turns her focus towards the rest of the bar's happenings, hopeful for a visual distraction.

Are you in?

The words pirouette across her mind, and before she can resurge any of her previous resistance, Jett downs the rest of her drink, desperate to wash the words from her mind. The alcohol waltzes with her bloodstream, yet no amount seems able to rid her of the memory of those words. She thought she could outrun the past, her indiscretions in New Orleans at least, and yet a message depicting three little words on a phone she believed forgot how to ring ruptured her chance.

"You sure you're okay?" Steve asks when catching sight of her downing the drink she would normally sip.

"Aren't I always?" Ahe forces her words to mimic their notorious uncaring sentiment.

The bartender sighs in defeat and pours another glass before venturing off elsewhere, recognizing a war lost before the first battle may even begin. Much in the same way as the first, the drink pours down her throat in a steady stream of desperation to rid her mind of the words and her soul of the past. The scratch of a stool leg against the wooden floor sounds beside her while she sets the empty glass to its previous place.

"Thirsty?" a new voice teases.

Jett sways on her bar stool, whether from the alcohol or the music or the words echoing within her brain, no one is quite certain. The barstool to her left's new occupant halts her sways momentarily as she turns towards him. She recognizes the tone of his voice, the intent behind its existence, resembling that of her other conquests. Without properly realizing, Jett feels herself return, feels her infamous smirk spread along her lips and devilish persona resurrect. Even still, she feels traces of the message lingering within her.