This story is rated Mature for adult themes and language.
Disclaimer: I did not create Resident Evil or it's characters. I own the games...but sadly, that's it. Still doesn't mean I can't use my imagination.
A hot, muggy day in August. The ceiling fan turned lazily as he watched people chatting on about nothing in particular, the jukebox partially drowning out the conversation. Not that loud, he noticed, it managed to reach just above the noise level - probably due to its age and excessive play.
Just the same shit. On a different day, he surmised, as he tilted the glass back. His thought pattern was disrupted at the sound of a familiar voice.
Or maybe it wouldn't be after all, he wondered, observing the scene before him. He took another swig, because he knew he needed it. Hell, he was pretty good at holding his liquor.
He pretty much retained the same, sullen attitude after he survived hell. Everything else seemed mundane. Move to a new town, start a new life, forget about the one left behind. Forget everything, a fresh, clean start. Got a job as a janitor where he could put his talent of assembling and fixing things to use. A pretty normal life. No wife, no kids…no strings at all for that matter; nobody to bother him, nobody for him to keep up with…or keep interest in.
For the most part he spent his nights here in the corner booth observing people who came in. Some were regulars trying to escape their normal routines. Others were passing by, excitedly talking about future stops on their way to this or that, mostly talks of exotic places.
He watched and took in the scene. This dreary bar was the only place he could feel normal without getting involved or socializing with anyone.
He fingered the lighter in his hands and placed it on the table. A finger down, he spun it circles somewhat mimicking that of the slow turning of the ceiling fan. He tended to do these things as he thought, and those memories seem to always creep back in.
He never really was one to talk much, even before the incident. There's not much room for idle talk, he thought. Even now.
It was another night he woke drenched with sweat, clutching at his own throat. All those people; their faces contorted, color drained from their faces. The flesh literally falling off of their bones and the smell was enough to turn his stomach. Those damn freaks, he thought. For the fourth night in a row he dreamed about them. Their hungry faces, clawing and biting, trying to pull the meat from any living thing close enough to reach. It was too real to be a dream.
The man traveled to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Twisting the cap off of a bottle, he settled down at the table and drank. It had been two years since Raccoon City, and he still thought of those damned beasts. Their eyes (granted if they still have them both) rolled up in their sockets, drool falling from their open mouths, tongues wagging in anticipation…
Enough, he told himself. Working up the images would only do worse, and he needed to be at his job tomorrow. He downed the rest of his beverage and sauntered back to bed. It was eerily quiet - or was he just noticing because of the nightmare? Dismissing all of the nonsense he settled into bed to finish out the night. Even if getting a good night's rest was bleak, he still needed sleep for work tomorrow.
Work was dull, as usual. Fix a computer, make sure the electrical wiring was routed properly. Same shit. The most he could hope for was the pleasurable release of some alcohol.
He found his way to his usual spot soon after and scooted into the corner. With a full glass, he drank liberally and listened to the normal, everyday affairs that somehow eluded his own life. He didn't need to have these trivial relationships, he concluded. It's not that it mattered to him; he didn't need to have anything. Trying to engage people in small talk didn't seem to hold water, because nobody acted the way they truly were. Idle talk was just more bullshit. That's why he didn't socialize. Here, he could at least watch and listen; relationship problems, plans for dinner, a new raise at work. He didn't have to feel the repercussions of lying or cheating, because it didn't involve him. Just as easily as he started, he could stop listening or turn to a different conversation.
Even today on this muggy August day, everything seemed so bleak and regular. The day in, day out routine seemed to have been getting the best of him. Same shit. Different day, he thought to himself. He almost hoped something new would happen…but he didn't like change.
Just then 'he' stumbled in. It was like a bucket of ice water slapped right across his face, and the wave of recognition was just as cold as he immediately knew who it was. Nothing so profound had ever been etched on his memory like those two years ago, and here was a living reminder that it did happen. Two years ago, after all, wasn't that long ago.
"How do I have to lay to get a beer?" he said, already way past intoxicated. He was sure the man meant 'who' but at this point, it probably didn't matter.
The waitress looked up at the grisly disheveled man and frowned. "Not you again, Kevin." she protested. "Go home and sleep it off."
"But eym not tyerd" he managed. "Aye want to PARTAY!" he swaggered to the jukebox and kicked it. He wasn't satisfied when there was silence; he hadn't planned that.
"Does any'bdy have any qortrs?" he asked apologetically.
"Get out, and stop kicking my jukebox like somethin's going to happen!" the bartender yelled. She looked pretty steamed.
It was then that in all honesty he could not say why, but he moved from his fortress of solitude and sauntered up to the bar. In all honesty he could care less. In all honesty, he wanted to finish his drink, go home and get ready for work the next day.
For some reason, he decided to intervene.
Just the same shit on a different day. Or maybe it wouldn't be after all, he wondered.
"Linda, a beer for my friend here." He gestured.
"As if he hasn't had enough already," she grumbled. But if the man was paying, and he has been a long time patron – why should she complain?
Kevin's vision swam through the beer goggles to find out the courteous man offering him a beer. It seemed as though he sobered up for a moment when he recognized him. "David?" Kevin smiled widely. "Hey man! How'z life treatin' ya'?"
He had almost forgotten that southern drawl Kevin had. It brought back more than a few memories, some he didn't necessarily want.
"Good, pal. And you?" David quizzed back.
"Absofrikinlutely horrible" Kevin managed, and David was startled at his own laugh. He always did appreciate Kevin's honesty.
Notes:
This story is me having fun. I had been playing around with the idea of a Kevin and David pairing for some time, so I just threw it out there. Don't worry, my other story won't suffer, I just needed some creativity release. I'll probably post a couple more chapters soon. Enjoy!