Chapter 14

Of All The Gin Joints

The Bronze is dead tonight. It's just Sandy and me on the bar. Everything that needs doing has been done, and Sandy is serving the occasional patron whilst I lean against the cake display trying to think of something else to do so I don't need to think. I already ate half a big assed slice of black forest out of sheer boredom but my new metabolism refuses to let me finish it in one go. Ch-ch-ch-chaaaaanges.

Sandy has finally got the message that I don't want to talk about why I was in hospital, but it took a few of my best solid scowls to get through to her. But she backs off easy this time, trying, perhaps, the whole sympathy thing on or at least the closest thing to sympathy her universe has. She talks instead about her struggles with her boyfriend, Zane, who seems like a carbon copy of old me, and I fight the urge to just grab her and shake her and tell her to leave the jerk.

Perhaps I should take my own advice.

I take another fork full of cake because there isn't anything better to do and instantly regret it. Maybe my period is coming and I am in a worse mood than usual. I should probably start tracking it, but that is a whole level of acceptance of my situation I haven't been ready for. It comes, I deal as quickly and functionally as possible, it goes, I move on. At least I don't seem to get the heavy, disabling cramps I hear other girls complain about. My shark week is less Jaws more… well, Troll or Critters 2 or... God, I don't even know where I am going with this metaphor.

"Jack and coke. More Jack than Coke." A smokey, slurred voice comes from over by the bar. Then a beat, followed by a firm "What?"

"You got I.D?" Sandy says to the girl sitting at the bar wearing a black wife beater and leather pants. I put down my fork and plate and swallow back the thick, sickly sweet mouthful.

Yunno, I had just gotten to the headspace that said it wasn't Faith that had saved me. That I was delirious and on the edge of consciousness, and that it was just some girl who looked kinda like her.

"Are you being serious right now?" Faith slurs, leaning menacingly forward. Sandy crosses her arms, having no idea the danger she is in.

"It's okay Sandy, I got this." I say, walking over. "It's dead tonight, go take a free break." Sandy looks confused, but does as she is told.

I pour a Slayer-sized glass of Daniels and douse it with post mix. "On the house." I say.

Faith looks down at the glass. That wrinkle she gets between her brow when she is confused makes an appearance.

"I know you?" She says slow and slurred. I place my hand to my neck by way of demonstration.

"Still holding it in like it's my life." I say.

She squints at me a little while and then her face flicks through, well, a few emotions but I catch recognition, awkwardness and embarrassment, maybe the merest hint of smile and a follow up frown.

"Oh." She says. "You look better."

She places a long, slender finger on the glass and pulls it lazily towards her, like she doesn't really want it much. Those fingers brought my aching erection to her lips. Those fingers wrapped around my throat and slowly crushed the life from me. Those fingers held a knife to Willow's throat. Those fingers have taken lives.

Those fingers cut my bindings free and beat against my ribcage until my heart started, and tilted back my head so she could breathe life back into me.

"You look about the same." I said. Sure the lipstick and heavy eyeliner was back, but her skin was sickly and her eyes looked pink with exhaustion. She is also way too drunk to be drinking anything more.

She huffs that first note of a laugh and glares into her drink. I back off, leaning against the bar behind me, palms on the cool steel, staring at the girl who smashed a 'her' shaped hole through my life.

Or I should say his life. My life she saved.

"You seen a doctor?" I said.

"You ain't my ma."

"No. But my mom's idea of seeing a medical professional is adding Doctor Peppers to her daily bottle of vodka. Comparisons can be made. I am just trying to return that favor someone did me."

"This will do fine." She says, tilting her glass to me in a salute before taking a sip. She winces, screwing both eyes shut. One sneaks open. "Finally, a girl who knows how to pour."

"See above comment about my family life."

She puts the glass down and nurses it.

"Yeah, well. You ain't alone in that one, sister." She says. "Ma drank herself to death by the time I was twelve. You'd think it would have set me right. But, here we all are." She pastes on that familiar grin that never reached her eyes. "History repeats and all that."

I wave my hand around, indicating my profession. "Exhibit B, your honour." She chuckles at this. "But seriously, you don't look well at all."

"Would you beleive that I got stabbed in the gut, took a five story dive, and been in a coma for, like, nine months?"

"Hey, I was stalked, kidnapped and nearly turned by a 140 year old master vampire who thinks Sid and Nancy is the height of romance. You would be surprised by what things I am willing to accept these days."

She looks at me now, casually, calmly, her eyes are sad but her smile is easy and natural.

"You got a name?"

"No. My parents were weird that way." Another chuckle. "It's Alex. Alexandra."

"Well Alex, just a heads up. I saved your ass sure, but let's get this straight. I ain't the play nice type. And I ain't gonna be your friend or nuthin."

"Hey, I just pour the drinks." I say.

"But" she says, tipping her head to the side "you're alright."

"And you still need medical attention."

"Can't. No ID or insurance or nuthin." She says, dipping her finger into the drink and running it around the lip. I gaze at her whilst her head is down. Wrestling with the emotions inside me that are rolling over and over. I should hate her, fear her, want to hurt her like she hurt me. Strangle what little light is left in those sad, sickly drunken, empty eyes. At the very least I should let her leave. Bleed out internally or call the cops to arrest her.

I could always call Buffy.

"Blood type?" I say.

"What?"

"What. Is. Your. Blood. Type?"

"Why, you got a stash back there or..?"

"Because I am O positive. I am also caucasian, brunette, about your age and if you squint, your height and I do, in fact, have medical insurance. Now are you gonna let me help you out or are you gonna be a dumb ass?"

"I'm O pos." She says, somewhat baffled.

"Sandy! Take over. Lock up tonight. And finish this damn cake for me" I shout. I grab my coat and satchel. Faith looks warily at me. "Well? You coming or not?"