AN: This is something of a new style for me. It starts out a little jerky, but it smoothes out after a bit. Anyway, please let me know what you think. Reviews are the best motivation to continue!
Got that feeling. The one that makes me wonder if I'm really awake.
I didn't have any choice but to get up when my alarm clock went off that morning. The option of hitting 'snooze' and drifting back into dreamland for a few more precious moments wasn't available to me after I chucked the damn beeping box across the room, and it smashed against the far wall, leaving a dent where it made impact.
So much for getting back my deposit, assuming I actually made it to the end of the lease without getting evicted.
The shower was rarely warm. That morning was no exception. Early wake-up, no hot water. By the time I sprinted out the door five minutes late, I, Zell Dincht, was starting to wonder if maybe I was going to have a bad day.
When the boss fired me for being late, I was sure.
I hit the bar early that day, even for me. It was only seven in the evening, and hotter than hell. I'd been standing out in the sun for hours, just wondering around, getting dehydrated before I even started hitting the booze. I was the first customer to enter that night. It was nice. Dark, cool, quiet. Things wouldn't heat up until it got packed later that evening. But until then, I enjoyed the solitude.
Took a seat on a stool that creaked when I twisted back and forth on it, trying to burn off a little anxiety. The noise was loud in such an empty place. The bouncers hadn't even arrived for work yet.
The barkeep was a girl my age, maybe a little younger. She was hot, and she didn't talk much. I liked that. Sometimes I even liked the little looks she gave me that she didn't give any of the other regulars. The one that said, 'if you want my number, it's yours.' I got the feeling she thought I might like her, and kept coming back to spend my evenings casting casual glances in her direction when I thought she wouldn't notice, trying to get up the guts to actually speak to her. She gave me good deals on liquor, so every once in a while when I got in a friskier mood, I'd support any fantasies she might have with a wink or a suggestive smirk. But that night, I wasn't in the mood for play.
I took three or four shots from her straight off, just txo get myself a good start. After that I slowed down, nursing a beer or two, letting the evening drag on. There was a game on. A baseball game. With a mild buzz going, I thought maybe I could've played baseball. It probably would've gotten me a hell of a lot farther than martial-arts had. Seemed like all those wonderful fighting skills had gotten me was yet another pink slip from yet another grueling construction job.
I wasn't quite sure if I should've beeen happy or depressed about that. No job meant no money. No money meant no rent, and no food.
I shrugged, tipping the bottle up to my lips. Hell, I had a beer in hand, what the fuck did I care? Something would turn up. It always did. If things got really bad, I'd pack up and go looking for a tournament somewhere to fight in.
It'd been a while since I'd kicked the shit out of someone.
Hours passed, and the place filled up. Figured it must've been Friday, considering the rowdiness of the crowd, and the fact that there was a real band playing. That was good news. If it was Friday I could pass out for two days before the landlady comes to hassle me about paying my balance.
I've got a bad habit of chewing on toothpicks while I drink. I chew um till there ain't much left. Quistis always used to get on my ass about it, told me I'd give myself appendicitis someday. She said it one too many times, and I snapped at her to stay out of my business, quit trying to be my mother. I'd already had one of those. She died. Nearly took me with her. Still not sure I've recovered from it.
I've started to doubt I ever will.
I drank steady 'til midnight. Didn't move from my seat. Should've ordered onion rings, or something. I was starting to feel sick, and the beer probably wasn't helping. Couldn't remember the last time I'd had real food. Fuck, was I an alcoholic? The more I thought about it, the more I started to think I was. That worried me, but I decided that the idea of living my life on the straight and narrow worried me more, so I'd better just keep knockin' um back as long as they'd take my money.
I never touched a drop of alcohol before I turned nineteen. Was proud of it too. Those were the good old days when I ran full tilt into everything, tryin' to be a hero. Fuck, I was stupid. Should've known better. All the shit that went down--I should've seen it coming, should've been on top of it. Might've been, if I hadn't been so caught up in my dumbass kiddy dreams about making a difference.
I'm not really sure what I was thinking when I went to Garden at thirteen. Dropped out of school, decided to become a mercenary. Can't believe Ma let me. Why didn't she force me to stay in school? Maybe then I'd be close to graduating from a higher level institution, instead of drinking my life away. Maybe then my mother would still be alive, and I wouldn't be an orphan...again. I seriously doubt I could've turned out any worse. And it was all because of a decision I made when I was thirteen fucking years old.
Fuckin' stupid, that was. Really fuckin' stupid.
Sure, it'd been great for a while. I did nothing but train to fight for five years. A teenaged boy couldn't have had it better. Especially a kid like me. I was never too 'bright.' Math, reading, writing. None of that shit came easy to me. Fighting was the only thing I ever succeeded in doing. And I was good; damn was I good.
But 'good' doesn't pay the bills when you're washed up. Having real skills, an education, that's what makes money outside of being muscle for hire.
Not sure what time it was when the big jerk with long hair and about five buddies following in his wake started giving the bartender shit, but I sure as hell wasn't sober when it went down. I'd gone with a shot for that particular stretch. Hard shit. The hardest. That was what I'd ordered. I wasn't sure how it would feel going down my throat. Might've sobered up enough for it to register. Then again, maybe not. I was still thinking about it, taking my time, lighting up a cigarette so I could make my own contribution to the poisonous haze filling the place. Figured I was breathing the smog anyway, so I might as well get a shot of nicotine to go with it.
The big guy walked up to the bar a ways down the line. It said 'Tod' on his shirt. He looked like a mechanic, judging by his clothes. I was probably staring at him without realizing it, wondering if I could be a mechanic--thinking that fixing things might be right up my alley. I sure was good at breaking things.
"How's it goin', Sweetheart?" he asked the girl behind the bar, a freakish sort of grin on his face. I couldn't really hear him, just make out the words by watching how his lips moved, reading his body language.
I took a hit off my cig, replacing my toothpick with it as I inhaled deeply, watching the drama unfold.
The girl smiled at him, but it was fake, forced. She pretended she was busy wiping down the bar where some people had just left, but by the way she stood, kept her shoulders tight, I knew he was bothering her. Didn't know if it was because they had history or what. Didn't really care. Still didn't mind watching though. Figured things might get interesting. Hell, maybe the bouncer would have to come over and things would get real interesting for all of twenty seconds. That'd probably just about make my week.
He kept talking, and her fake smile slipped off her face. I think she asked him to leave; she might've told him she was busy. It exploded into a short yelling match before she tried to walk away, coming down toward my end. She smiled at me, but her eyes were pleading, begging me to talk so she'd have an excuse not to go back down there and talk to that man. The guy was fuming to his friends about what a bitch she was, and since so many people were watching him, it was starting to sink in through my drunken haze that he might just try to start shit.
Real shit.
"How's your night going, Zell?" she asked, catching me a little off guard. I didn't remember telling her my name. Couldn't remember if I'd given her my real ID or a fake one the first time she'd carded me.
I shrugged. "Goin' better than my day," I started, leaving the door open for small talk, if only a very little small talk.
What could I say? I was a sucker for a girl in trouble. Must've been left over from my hero days.
Her brow creased slightly with concern that didn't look quite so forced, and she cocked her head slightly to one side as though ready to listen to the whole story, no matter how long it was. "Oh, yeah? Why's that, hun?" she asked.
Because I was stupid. I'd gotten fired because I was stupid. It also was probably the reason why 'Tod' was suddenly towering over where I sat, staring down at me coldly, ready to start shit...with me.
A quick glance at the horrified look on the girl's face told me both bouncers had taken their smoke break at the same time, so I didn't waste the motion in turning around to see if they were on their way over to toss these guys out. I was on my own. Hadn't decided if I was fucked or not yet, so I wasn't sure if I was going to try to worm my way out of trouble, or dive in swinging.
Then again, I really couldn't remember a time when I'd actually been smart enough to try to keep myself out of a pickle.
Since I'd been drinking for so long, I didn't have to remind myself to put on a poker face. I became the picture of malaise when my BAC got high enough over the legal limit.
I twirled my toothpick absently around the fingers of my right hand, holding my cigarette with my left as I leaned back on my stool to take a long look at them. "Something I can help you boys with?" I asked, blowing a stream of smoke in their direction.
Big and Ugly leered at me dangerously. "Yeah, you could say that, Pretty Boy."
I sighed, feeling suddenly deflated as I put out my cig in an ash tray and picked up my drink, finally throwing it back, finding that it didn't go down quite as smoothly as I'd hoped it would, especially since I knew I was majorly fucked.
I'd been called a lot of names in my life, from Chicken-Wuss to Faggot. But there was nothing that got my goat like 'Pretty Boy.' Knowing my own temper, things were about to get rough.
And all things considered, I really didn't have any complaints about that.
