Beauty of Darkness (Elijah Mikaelson)

Chapter 2

I hadn't been outside for almost two weeks; at least not since move-in day. The light was as amazing as I remember. All of my memories of embracing beautiful days had been pushed down so far that I wouldn't even know where to start looking for them. The darkness had made it so easy to push down anything that made me feel any sort of warmth anymore.

I know it might seem crazy that I keep saying "darkness." Well, to myself and every medical professional this side of the Mississippi, thats the only thing I CAN call it. I've tried every medication to "turn that frown upside down!" courtesy of at least seven different doctors. Sertraline, Prozac, you name it. That's not even brining up the fifty brain scans I forced myself through. Absolutely nothing would work to a point where it felt like my sadness was something from a cliche horror movie: clinging onto me just to see me suffer. But, then again, according to my mother, I'm just dramatic.

My stroll of existential crisis continued when I finally saw it: the French Quarter. The beautiful architecture, slow and smooth wails of an adjacent trombone, and the endless isles of art and smiling faces almost put me in a good mood. Almost. 

After weaving through crowds upon crowds of people rubbing their euphoric happiness in my face and the urge to curl up in a ball, I finally made it. Hidden between an almost ancient building adorned with gorgeous metal arches was Rosseau's. No wonder they hired me with a gap in my resume spanning enough time to draw concern: this place looked like an absolute dive. The bold white letters against a faded blue background made a supposed bar look like an apothecary from the 1700s. Leave it to me to find the negative in anything or any place. 

Despite my hesitations, I drew up the courage to touch the creaky, wooden door that definitely harbored at least seventeen diseases. Despite the immediate smell of hard liquor that hit me like a right-hook, the atmosphere was rather comforting. The darkness and near silence was a welcome sanctuary from the booming music barely braking through the door. 

Even in my darkest hour, I always found history comforting. The shelves holding bottles upon bottles of dusty liquor bottles were framed with handcrafted, ornate detail. The beautiful wooden detailing that circled the counter looked almost withered, which meant this place was probably the place-to-be in the Quarter some time ago. Must've been more than some time, judging from the singular old man leaning on a cup of whiskey-sour in the end seat. 

"...Hello?"

Of course, being the anti-social and inattentive observer that I am, I didn't realize my boss was right behind me. I quickly turned, jumping a bit from the sound of the unexpected voice. After tripping mid-turn, making my boss' first-impression even worse, I got a glimpse of her. She was an absolutely beautiful young woman: couldn't be more than thirty. Her short, blonde hair was tucked behind her ear, and she was wearing a coat of red lipstick that had obviously faded from when she first put it on.  I couldn't observe more than that without realizing I had been staring at this woman for almost thirty seconds without a response to her greeting. Without thinking I whispered a soft hello and stuck out my hand for a handshake. The woman seemed puzzled by this, but being a normal and polite person unlike myself, shook back with a smile.

"You must be the new bartender, Wynter?"

I nodded, too afraid to open my mouth after that absolute dumpster fire of an introduction.

"Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"

All I wanted to do was sit down, actually. Sit down, not talk, and just be alone. It was so much easier to just sulk, turning away from anyone stupid enough to want to comfort me. However, in a moment of unknown and unexpected courage, I murmured a reply.

"Yes, hi - I'm so sorry, I have had a horrible morning. I'm alright, sorry for acting like a lunatic"

She laughed, and I was absolutely prepared to walk out the door before this job even began. just like at Monica's Italian Bistro,  the Pharmacy on West Avenue, and my grandfather's own shoe store. I had a pattern of choking before I would do anything. 

As I barely shifted my weight to head towards the exit to hide myself again, the woman stopped me. 

"I am so sorry, that was so rude of me. I just totally understand not having the best mornings," the woman claimed as she cracked a pitiful smile. Something about that smile was so comforting, almost like I knew it my whole life. I quickly chuckled in response, hoping that this whole interaction had never happened.

"Well, I am SO sorry, again" the woman chuckled as she went to wipe a tear of joy from her eye. "God, I am a mess. Name's Cami."

She thought SHE was a mess? 

"Wynter. Wynter Simmons" I replied, flashing the most charming smile I could falsify.

"Well," Cami said sarcastically while raising her arms to the sky, "Welcome to a slice of New Orleans paradise!"