AMNESIA

Black Birds Tavern

The stench of alcohol, smoke and the mild undertone of vomit was soaked into the very walls and furniture of the tavern, as well as the delirious, drunken men that were our clientele. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, extreme slow motion, as they slowly drank themselves to death, and I suppose I was the bringer of death, in that I sold the bloody bastards their fix of poison.

I had always hated taverns and bars; they are damp, dirty and disgraceful. However, in these times, one can't complain, not when it's so hard to find one. What made the job even more depressing is that most of the clientele was from the destruction of New York City five years ago; I was only seventeen at the time when it happened, and living in New York. It was a horrible day; I scarcely escaped with my life. I'm not broken or traumatized too much, I got over it, now I'm just a normal girl with a fucked up job that serves as a constant reminder of the destruction that was that day. However, as I was able to get over it, many weren't, some lost family members and friends, homes and property. Now they drink to silence the memories for a little while. I am not opposed to drinking, just taverns.

I worked as a waitress in this particular shitty tavern called "Black Birds"; I had been working here since two months after my twenty-first birthdays. The tavern was on the outer edge of central New York, where all the lowlifes came to drink. Though, I lived a about an hour out of the city, New York is far too prone to attacks, however, it's the only work I could get.

I took a couple of beers from Dave, the bartender; he was a medium height, strong build kind of guy, with shaved hair and almond shaped brown eyes.

"To those guys over there, Alexis," he said, pointing to two men sitting by the wall of the tavern, hunched over their tabled and staring dismally into their empty cups. I placed the new cups onto their table, holding back my sigh, or was it snort of disgust? Their grimy hands snatched the cups and cradled them. I picked up the other two cups with one hand and turned to leave, only to have one of them grope my butt. I whipped around and trapped his fingers in my grasp and twisted it, using my elbow in place of my other hand to pin him to the table. His glassy, red-rimmed brown eyes went wide.

"We do not except that kind of behaviour in this Tavern, I am going to have to ask you to leave," I told them in an almost bored voice. Work in a bar long enough, you begin to get used to sexual harassment. I let his arm go and left with the glasses. I heard a general mumbling about me being a 'Bloody Bitch', but both of the men did leave.

The rest of the night was painfully dull. Sometimes I wished I could just sleep whilst I was doing the job, like going into a zombie state. I was not graced with such abilities. Of course, Dave, the cook and the other girls had to leave early, each of them begging me to close up for them. This was the same thing that happened every night, so I was always out by 2 am or later. I cleaned up, turned off all the lights and locked all the doors. Thankful to just be out of the dump, I didn't mind that it was slightly later than usual.

The cold night air nibbled at my skin like a teasing lover. I had always loved the cold; it's comforting and blissful. I barely even felt the cold, though my several trips to the hospital may try and disprove that. I have little self-preservation when it comes to indulging in cold weather; this usually leads to colds or, a few times, slight Hypothermia. Yet, I couldn't seem to want to rug up for winter. So I was simply in jeans and a light blue knit, long sleeve, top and a white beanie that sat over my long, wavy dark brown hair.

A shiver ran down my spine and I figuratively froze to the spot. Something was very wrong. The cold breeze carried with it the faint smell of vomit and masculinity. I turned to face the alley that sat parallel to 'Black Birds'. A stumbling figure was coming towards me. He stepped into the faint white glow of the parking lot. I instantly recognise him as the groper from before. His hair was choppy and sandy brown, and he was definitely more prepared to face winter than myself. His ruddy complexion showed signs of possible future sickness. Good.

"Hey, Mizz, you wouldn' 'appen ta be tha' lovely laaydey from inside the…the tavern, would ya mizz?" he slurred, getting slightly too close for my liking, and that was halfway across the parking lot, and he kept coming closer.

"No, I have no idea what you're talking about," I told him in an even, calm voice. He squinted at me.

"Nah, Mizz, ya def-def… ya gotta be 'er, bloo'y bitch nearly broke ma fingaarz 'n' ma arm…" he stretched his hand out in wonder, but still kept his pace towards me.

"Well, I'm sure she had her reasons…" I said in a threatening voice. I grabbed my keys as quietly as I could and backed into my car.

"Mizz, ya gotta be 'er. Ya look ju' like 'er. Nah, Nah, it is you! Ya broke me bloo'y fingaarz, Bish!" he slurred angrily, stumbling towards me. I whipped around and unlocked my car, only to have grimy fingers enclose around my shoulder and hair. I screamed out into the cold night.

"Get the bloody hell off me, dick head!" I screamed, kicking against him. He shoved my face forward so my brow and cheekbone smashed into the curve of the roof of my car. He stumbled slightly and I managed to get the heel of my boot into his crotch. He let go of me immediately as he fell to the bitumen in pain.

I scrambled inside my car and sped out of the dimly lit car park at lightning speed. My heart thumped like twenty galloping horses at the races. I was not cut out for this shit. I drove down the road at a slower pace once I put about five miles between 'Black Bird' and I.

I drove off towards Frankford, it was about an hours drive, but I didn't mind. My skin still faintly buzzed from the adrenaline.

I was just passing Lafayette Township when my high beams hit a staggering figure dressed in what seemed like rags, and covered in blood and dirt. His black hair was long and messy, coming to his shoulders, though I couldn't see the front of him. There were also no cars on the road, which was vaguely unusual. My heart kicked against my chest as my instincts told me to help the man. I was unfortunately in my nature. I was prone to help anyone in need, I mean, sure I wasn't a fancy superhero determined to save all of humanity or anything like that, but I had trouble turning away from anyone who needed help. Hell, I would probably take a bullet for a stranger. I hate myself for it, but it was just a part of who I am. I have absolutely no self-care when it comes to helping someone out. So, instead of driving past the clearly shady character, what did I do? That's right I stopped my car right next to him and wound the windows down.

The man jumped back from the car once he saw it. His light green eyes shooting wide and his face made more defined by the opening of his thin lips into an 'o' shape. The man narrowed his eyes quickly at the vehicle. I leaned forward so I could properly see him.

"Who are you?" he hissed cautiously. His eyes darted from side to side quickly, his fists clenching and unclenching.

"Alexis Chambers," I told him with a smile before leaning over and opening the passenger door, "Get in." He looked sceptically at me at first, but then his gaze changed to thoughtful, I could see the cogs turning in his mind as he evaluated all the possible options and paths. Eventually he folded himself gracefully into the seat, after a moments pause, he also closed the door. I stared at him expectantly.

"Uh, dude? You need to put your seatbelt on," I told him, grabbing my own and yanking at it to show him. His green eyes assessed the belt before taking his own and placing it around him. When he was finally settled I, I began to drive towards home.

"So, you got a name?" I asked lightly, focussing on the road. He shifted slightly.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, avoiding the question.

"My place, unless you'd like me to take you back to yours?" I offered. He frowned at the dashboard.

"No."

"Okay, my place it is, it's not too far now." I sighed, he seemed fairly out of it. Maybe he's on drugs or something, I'll see if he remembers his home tomorrow. Why did I always have to pick up strays? I was at a complete loss as to what to say to the man, so I drove in silence.

I pulled into the drive of my home, a two story wooden building that was really quite old, though I found it lovely enough. I got out and the Man followed suit. He stared at me, waiting for me to take the next move.

The man followed me to my front door, where I managed to fumble at my keys and eventually unlock the door.

The Man watched everything at once it seemed, he watched me, my hands, my face, my home, the road, the night…everything.

"Come on," I called as I entered the home. I threw my keys onto a small bowl by the door and lead the man to the kitchen.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, seating him down into a wooden chair.
"Yes." I quickly made him a sandwich and got an orange juice for him. He looked at the food dubiously with his assessing eye before eating. When he was done I cleared it away and got the first aid kit.

"Okay, so you seem to be pretty beaten up, anything hurting the most?"

"My rib," he informed me plainly. My eyes scrolled to where he was gesturing, a large bloodstain coloured his white shirt there.

"Uh, do you mind removing your shirt so I can get a look at it?" I asked him, getting the necessary materials out. He delicately lifted the shirt over his shoulders, leaving his pale, toned torso bare, it seemed his ribs were badly damaged.

"Oh, shit…" I mumbled to myself. Using a pair of tweezers, I pulled out small bits of rock from the wound.

"Did you fall?"

"Yes, I think so." I looked at him again, he was wincing at the tweezers in his side and had a general confused look on his face, but he was watching me work with extreme focus. I blushed and turned back to my work, trying not to notice how nice his torso was. Once I got all the rock out, I began sewing it up. I had done a small amount of training with medical things, not much, but enough to deal with this.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a horrified voice.

"Sewing you up so you don't bleed all over my nice furniture. Now hold still or I swear I'll tie you down!" I threatened, glaring at him. His thin lips turned up into a smirk.

"I might like that," he said in a low voice. I blinked at him a few times before blushing bright red and focusing more intently on my work. Once he was patched up I directed him to the shower.

The search began for any clothes I might have lying around the place for men. I had several…uh-male friends who have left clothes here before. I managed to find a black t-shirt and a pair of grey draw string pants; did I pick up someone at a gym? I took the clothes to the door of the bathroom and knocked.

"Hey, dude face, I have some clean clothes out here for you, not sure if they'll fit, but…you know…" I left the clothes by the door and scurried away from the bathroom.

An hour later the man emerged from the bathroom. The shirt was a touch too short for his long torso and the drawstring pants were a little baggy, but other wise they were fine. He slicked his hair back from the water and seemed to have a small smile on his face.

"Thank you most sincerely for the clothes, and the view of the wonderful assortment of…under garments," he smirked. My face paled as I realized I left a few pair of bras in there. He laughed when he saw my face and sat down on the couch. I got a close look at his face, his smirk and his general look and I suddenly realized who the hell I was looking at. Oh, shit, there's a war criminal in my house.