Scars
"Aye, Holly. That'd be another rum, ey?" The barkeeper, Jerry, said as he spat out yet another cherry pit. The man was obsessed with his cherries. I nodded, running my petite hands through my long brunette curls. I needed to take a brush to it when I got back to the plantation; my fingers were actually getting snagged in my hair because of how borderline matty it was. Slamming my hands down on the bar, I leaned forward against the counter, sending Jerry a wicked smirk and a wink.
"Of course, Jerry." I practically purred before leaning back onto the stool on which I was currently seated.
The older man chuckled, hooking me up with my fourth drink of the night. Or was it my fifth? I honestly couldn't remember. I sighed, protectively crossing my arms across my chest as a young man who was probably around my age sat - actually, more like plopped - down on the bar stool next to mine. He was stressed, I could tell that much. I hoped he wouldn't attempt to strike up a conversation. If he left me alone, I'd leave him alone. My mind drifted off as I stared straight ahead.
Barts wasn't at the plantation and I'd, once again, managed to sneak out to the local pub after he mysteriously vanished. I was young - too young - at nineteen years of age to be getting drunk off my bloody ass every night, but it was the only thing that kept me sane. I'd figured out that Jack Barts was a vampire a long time ago, although he had no idea that I knew. He'd killed my parents, taking me from my home at thirteen years old. That was a night I'd never forget. The thick smoke, the heat of the fire that had set ablaze in my home, and - worst - the bloodcurdling screams and wails of my mother and father as they burned an undeserving death. I could do nothing but watch and cry and yell as Jack Barts held me to him.
He took me in as his ward, dirtying my purity later that night. What Jack Barts wanted, Jack Barts got. And, he wanted me.
I shook my head, a scowl appearing on my pale face. Since that god forsaken night, I was taken every night. My legs were sore. My back was sore. The deepest part of me was aching, and definitely not with need. My skin was covered with human bite marks. I knew he was careful not to bite me too hard, and that was the only thing I was grateful for. I had scars on my legs, arms, and neck. The only way to conceal them was to wear long, high necked trench coats, tunics, and trousers. If I did not conceal the marks, Jack would kill innocents. I knew he still killed, however. How could he not? It was how he kept himself alive. I couldn't stop him from feeding, but at least I knew it wasn't because of me. That's probably what he was doing when he was gone every night, returning at the latest hours of the night to torture me. Still, though, I didn't want to know what would happen if I went against his command.
I never learned to dance or do my hair. I didn't know how to do anything but read, write, clean, and cook. I'm honestly surprised that I hadn't gotten myself killed. My temper was out of control and I had a huge attitude and next to no manners. A part of me thought that I turned into such a rebellious beast in an attempt to actually get killed, so I didn't have to live through this hell anymore. Of course, it didn't work. Barts liked the fight in me. Now, it was just an ugly habit.
I shook my head, hand blindly fishing around to find the shot of rum that I had ordered. I found it and brought the glass to my lips, chugging down the violently harsh alcohol. I was at the tavern. There was a bar fight raging on behind me, for christ's sake. I couldn't be seen moping around like the helpless shell of a girl that I was. I had to be strong. I had to be fierce. No one would try to get to me as Barts had if I looked intimidating. Everyone in town shied away from me. They were scared. The only person that would talk to me was Jerry, although we never spoke about anything extremely important. He just gave me my countless drinks.
I hadn't realized that I'd been swaying until Jerry's hand shot out to grab my shoulder and steady me. I flinched away, finally breaking out of my revery. My dark brown - almost maroon - eyes snapped to his face. What did he want?
"I think it's about time you had your last one, Holly." Jerry stated, chuckling as I swayed again. I glared at him, making him immediately shut his mouth. I had to do what I did, so I wouldn't scream bloody murder as I was raped. So I wouldn't break down in tears as I saw a happy family walk past me. No one knew what I went through, especially not him. He had absolutely no right.
"Shut up, Jerry. Stop talking." I growled, defiantly reaching behind the counter. I grabbed the bottle of rum and started to chug the drink. No glass, no nothing. Just the drink straight from the bottle. No taste, just alcohol. I couldn't help but to get as drunk as I possibly could, stealing money from Barts' stash to do so. It was the only thing that could wash away the horrid memories from the night. The awful hangover was worth it.
Jerry wrestled the rum out of my grip and I pouted childishly, my hands falling to my lap. I swayed again, this time ending up bent over the bar, splayed out like the drunk I was. My eyes wandered the bar, discovering that the young man who'd been next to me was now gone. How long had I been sitting here? Upon having that thought, my eyes darted to the window. Oh shit. It was late. Too late. I should be back at the plantation by now.
I pushed myself up, glancing over at Jerry. The panic in my eyes must have been apparent, as his gaze softened.
"On the house." He muttered. I nodded awkwardly, not used to showing any gratitude. I tried to smile, but it turned into more of a grimace and then I bolted. I ran, oh I ran. I ran for my life. It was that moment that I realized that...I really didn't want to die. There was so much more than this for me to accomplish. I finally made it to the outside and was met with quite the unwelcome sight. I must have forgotten to tie up Lucy, my brown horse. She'd run off, I know not where. I kicked at the ground, stirring up a small cloud of dirt as I yelled out a very unladylike word.
I would have to walk home. And I'd never make it in time.