AN: To Jaz who will help me rid the world of girls who get to sit in Kyan's
lap, Kate Spade handbags, Ipods, Ibooks and who will go to Italy with me.
And for waiting for me to write this.
School holidays prevented me from doing anything useful. Including updates. Sorry guys!
--- April 19th 2018 ----
She stands at the bar, watching the cliental wander around, sipping at the overpriced alcoholic beverages. She feels like a ghost here; something ignored until they want something. She may dole out the booze, slip the money down the top, tuck it away in her bra, where do guy dared to reach for fear of being kicked out. She is not the god of this place. She, like the other bartenders, are ghosts. They have no substance unless the patrons chose to give them it.
Maybe the bouncers were the gods in some other world. Choosing who came in and who stayed out, throwing out the people who unsettled the atmosphere in the bar. Not anymore. The bouncers were only there to protect the bartenders from any attacks, from any over flirtatious male. To enforce the cut off limit.
No, it's the patrons who rule this place. Maybe they don't know it. The owner can hope that the patrons believe the power is in the bartenders, guarding the expensive glass bottles, or the bouncers, guarding them all. No such luck.
An average looking guy steps up to the bar, all smiles. Jondy automatically smiles back; a coy, come-hither look she barely realizes she's making. He slides the money across the bar, gaze transfixed on her. Brown hair curling around her face, eyes heavily outlined, lips shiny with pink gloss. Her fingers slide across the bar, grasp the money, smiling at the order, slides the money back to her, smoothes the bills out and folds it, sliding into her bra, watching the guy's graze settle upon her chest, his eyes bulging in his head as she pulls the neckline of her top down enough for his imagination to run wild.
She knows how to tempt them, she goes through motions she doesn't remember learning. Sex, sex, sex. That's what it's about. Looking for that other half, the partner. The mate, even though she hates that word. She's not an animal, she's above that. It's taken her awhile to realize this, but she knows now. She's a girl – a woman, actually. Well, practically. She'll turn eighteen sometime this year. She's looking for a man, he'll be her boyfriend and then... what? Marriage? No, she can't do that. Trap herself. She can't have children, bringing helpless, vulnerable individuals into a world.
She hands the guy a pitcher full of beer and smiles prettily as he turns and stumbles back to the table, sloshing the beer down his shirt as he turns and looks back at her.
Another bartender sidles over to her. It's Emily, with curling red hair and a cute smile. "He's cute, Jo, you two should hook up."
All the girls know how picky Jondy is. In the beginning, they thought this meant she wouldn't touch the patrons. She wouldn't bother with the men who stumbled into the bar. No, that's not true. Jondy will take any loser who sidles up to her with the right words and slick moves. It's whether she'll go home with him again that really divides her from the others. Emily and the others fall in lust, giggling about James, Danny, Tim for days later.
They'd call her a man-eater but she's just not. She doesn't know how she's different to a 'man-eater' but she's just not.
Jondy laughs. "No, no. Go for it, Emily." She offers no explanation for why she doesn't go after him, but turns around to scrub at the greasy bar with a slimy cloth. It's a good job, really. There's money, sex, and sometimes free booze. It could be worse. It could be the strip club in Vegas, playing Jolene for the fat sweaty business men. She could be in prison, the teenage criminal. Or she could be back at Manticore. That makes her feel a little sick inside, so she manages to get herself a glass of water.
She's stacking more glasses when he walks in. Tall, he is. His tan is so perfect, he looks like he was dipped in a vat of honey or caramel. His light brown hair, almost lighter than his tan, falls about his face, looking softer than anything Jondy's ever seen. He has green eyes and long eyelashes and a grin that makes Jondy look twice. Tight fitting jeans and a black sweater ... Jondy's thinking bad thoughts.
He moves over to the bar, and maybe she leans on the bar so far that he can see down her top. He flirts harmlessly with her as he orders drinks for his 'posse', and by the time she's handing him the pitcher, she feels like she's tattooed 'take me' to her forehead.
There's still four hours until the end of her shift. She serves the alcohol, spilling more than she can afford, watching the guy in the corner. A few looks shot his way and he gets the message. Jondy briefly wonders what it would be like to be turned down by a man. At seventeen, this is the first time in her life she's been blatant about going after guys. Before now, she's been scared of something she can't identify.
Four hours crawls by and as she sling on her bag and starts down the street, she hears someone call out her name – Jo – and she turns around, crossing her arms over her chest.
He's there, kissing her like she's been kissed a thousand times before. Fiery, urgent. Not romantic or particularly caring. She's just a Bar Girl to him, and he's just... a guy. No one else.
They stumble back to her apartment, tugging at each others' clothes, stroking visible flesh. She can barely unlock the door before his lips are on hers, his arms pinning her body to his. Her satiny top is peeled off, and her jeans unzipped. She's standing in the lounge in threadbare underwear, flushed. He's wonderful and toned and she smirks at him as she approaches him. Kissing on the couch, tugging at the underwear. But she feels bare doing this in the lounge room, like people are watching. A few whispered words, and she tugs him towards her bedroom, where they fall onto the bed together, tangled limbs and whispered words.
What's his name again? She thinks as he pulls at her bra. He didn't tell her. She winces – and not just because he keeps scratching her with her bra clasp.
Just as the guy pulls off her bra, the bedroom light flicks on, and suddenly his body isn't a comfortable weight on top of her. He yells out and Jondy sits up, bracing herself with her hands. The guy is in the corner, his hands over his mouth, blood oozing from between his fingers.
And there's Zack, standing over him, visibly furious. No, furious isn't the word. He's past it. Murderous rage. Jondy squeaks, yanking the bed sheet over her body, almost falling off the bed.
Zack grabs the guy and half throws him out of the bedroom, yelling something Jondy can't understand but gets the drift of. She reaches over the back of the bed, for her bra, and tries to reclasp it. Put some clothes on. No luck, maybe the clasp is broken?
"Cover yourself up, soldier!" Zack yells at her. Jondy feels almost tearful as her fingers fumble with her bra clasp. Zack strides over and for the first time in Jondy's life, she's scared.
Zack's scared too. He's so angry, seeing that man clumsily grope his sister, his Jondy. Rip his throat and balls out, make sure that man never touches another woman in the careless, uncaring way he did Jondy.
She'll get emotionally attached, if they'd gone through with it. She'll care and be vulnerable. Zack's convinced himself that. She'll get them all killed. And she's sitting on the bed, so slender and tiny, tears in her eyes, fear written across her face. She can't get her bra done up and he hates seeing her so upset. He hates that he made her cry.
He wordlessly crouches beside her, and pushes her fingers away, doing her bra up for her carefully, so not to snag or scratch her skin. Angry red marks across her back show that they guy she brought home did not show the same courtesy.
She ducks her head after that, and they listen as the man gathers his clothes and leaves, swearing the whole time. After a time, he stands up and goes to her wardrobe and pulls out a t shirt and boxers, setting them beside her. She looks up, embarrassment on her face as she shrugs into them.
"You look cold," Zack says softly, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Nothing else."
Jondy nods and stands up, looking tired. "I'm sorry."
Zack shook his head. "Don't apologize to me. You would've been the one to regret it in the morning. I hate seeing this." His eyes look sad for a second. He's seen this with Tinga, Brin and Syl. They all did the men who were so ideal to look at and then cried on his shoulder the next morning. He wants to spare her of the pain they went through.
Jondy shoves her hair from her eyes and smiles at him. "You look out for me too much. You're too good to me."
Zack shrugs awkwardly. "It's my job."
School holidays prevented me from doing anything useful. Including updates. Sorry guys!
--- April 19th 2018 ----
She stands at the bar, watching the cliental wander around, sipping at the overpriced alcoholic beverages. She feels like a ghost here; something ignored until they want something. She may dole out the booze, slip the money down the top, tuck it away in her bra, where do guy dared to reach for fear of being kicked out. She is not the god of this place. She, like the other bartenders, are ghosts. They have no substance unless the patrons chose to give them it.
Maybe the bouncers were the gods in some other world. Choosing who came in and who stayed out, throwing out the people who unsettled the atmosphere in the bar. Not anymore. The bouncers were only there to protect the bartenders from any attacks, from any over flirtatious male. To enforce the cut off limit.
No, it's the patrons who rule this place. Maybe they don't know it. The owner can hope that the patrons believe the power is in the bartenders, guarding the expensive glass bottles, or the bouncers, guarding them all. No such luck.
An average looking guy steps up to the bar, all smiles. Jondy automatically smiles back; a coy, come-hither look she barely realizes she's making. He slides the money across the bar, gaze transfixed on her. Brown hair curling around her face, eyes heavily outlined, lips shiny with pink gloss. Her fingers slide across the bar, grasp the money, smiling at the order, slides the money back to her, smoothes the bills out and folds it, sliding into her bra, watching the guy's graze settle upon her chest, his eyes bulging in his head as she pulls the neckline of her top down enough for his imagination to run wild.
She knows how to tempt them, she goes through motions she doesn't remember learning. Sex, sex, sex. That's what it's about. Looking for that other half, the partner. The mate, even though she hates that word. She's not an animal, she's above that. It's taken her awhile to realize this, but she knows now. She's a girl – a woman, actually. Well, practically. She'll turn eighteen sometime this year. She's looking for a man, he'll be her boyfriend and then... what? Marriage? No, she can't do that. Trap herself. She can't have children, bringing helpless, vulnerable individuals into a world.
She hands the guy a pitcher full of beer and smiles prettily as he turns and stumbles back to the table, sloshing the beer down his shirt as he turns and looks back at her.
Another bartender sidles over to her. It's Emily, with curling red hair and a cute smile. "He's cute, Jo, you two should hook up."
All the girls know how picky Jondy is. In the beginning, they thought this meant she wouldn't touch the patrons. She wouldn't bother with the men who stumbled into the bar. No, that's not true. Jondy will take any loser who sidles up to her with the right words and slick moves. It's whether she'll go home with him again that really divides her from the others. Emily and the others fall in lust, giggling about James, Danny, Tim for days later.
They'd call her a man-eater but she's just not. She doesn't know how she's different to a 'man-eater' but she's just not.
Jondy laughs. "No, no. Go for it, Emily." She offers no explanation for why she doesn't go after him, but turns around to scrub at the greasy bar with a slimy cloth. It's a good job, really. There's money, sex, and sometimes free booze. It could be worse. It could be the strip club in Vegas, playing Jolene for the fat sweaty business men. She could be in prison, the teenage criminal. Or she could be back at Manticore. That makes her feel a little sick inside, so she manages to get herself a glass of water.
She's stacking more glasses when he walks in. Tall, he is. His tan is so perfect, he looks like he was dipped in a vat of honey or caramel. His light brown hair, almost lighter than his tan, falls about his face, looking softer than anything Jondy's ever seen. He has green eyes and long eyelashes and a grin that makes Jondy look twice. Tight fitting jeans and a black sweater ... Jondy's thinking bad thoughts.
He moves over to the bar, and maybe she leans on the bar so far that he can see down her top. He flirts harmlessly with her as he orders drinks for his 'posse', and by the time she's handing him the pitcher, she feels like she's tattooed 'take me' to her forehead.
There's still four hours until the end of her shift. She serves the alcohol, spilling more than she can afford, watching the guy in the corner. A few looks shot his way and he gets the message. Jondy briefly wonders what it would be like to be turned down by a man. At seventeen, this is the first time in her life she's been blatant about going after guys. Before now, she's been scared of something she can't identify.
Four hours crawls by and as she sling on her bag and starts down the street, she hears someone call out her name – Jo – and she turns around, crossing her arms over her chest.
He's there, kissing her like she's been kissed a thousand times before. Fiery, urgent. Not romantic or particularly caring. She's just a Bar Girl to him, and he's just... a guy. No one else.
They stumble back to her apartment, tugging at each others' clothes, stroking visible flesh. She can barely unlock the door before his lips are on hers, his arms pinning her body to his. Her satiny top is peeled off, and her jeans unzipped. She's standing in the lounge in threadbare underwear, flushed. He's wonderful and toned and she smirks at him as she approaches him. Kissing on the couch, tugging at the underwear. But she feels bare doing this in the lounge room, like people are watching. A few whispered words, and she tugs him towards her bedroom, where they fall onto the bed together, tangled limbs and whispered words.
What's his name again? She thinks as he pulls at her bra. He didn't tell her. She winces – and not just because he keeps scratching her with her bra clasp.
Just as the guy pulls off her bra, the bedroom light flicks on, and suddenly his body isn't a comfortable weight on top of her. He yells out and Jondy sits up, bracing herself with her hands. The guy is in the corner, his hands over his mouth, blood oozing from between his fingers.
And there's Zack, standing over him, visibly furious. No, furious isn't the word. He's past it. Murderous rage. Jondy squeaks, yanking the bed sheet over her body, almost falling off the bed.
Zack grabs the guy and half throws him out of the bedroom, yelling something Jondy can't understand but gets the drift of. She reaches over the back of the bed, for her bra, and tries to reclasp it. Put some clothes on. No luck, maybe the clasp is broken?
"Cover yourself up, soldier!" Zack yells at her. Jondy feels almost tearful as her fingers fumble with her bra clasp. Zack strides over and for the first time in Jondy's life, she's scared.
Zack's scared too. He's so angry, seeing that man clumsily grope his sister, his Jondy. Rip his throat and balls out, make sure that man never touches another woman in the careless, uncaring way he did Jondy.
She'll get emotionally attached, if they'd gone through with it. She'll care and be vulnerable. Zack's convinced himself that. She'll get them all killed. And she's sitting on the bed, so slender and tiny, tears in her eyes, fear written across her face. She can't get her bra done up and he hates seeing her so upset. He hates that he made her cry.
He wordlessly crouches beside her, and pushes her fingers away, doing her bra up for her carefully, so not to snag or scratch her skin. Angry red marks across her back show that they guy she brought home did not show the same courtesy.
She ducks her head after that, and they listen as the man gathers his clothes and leaves, swearing the whole time. After a time, he stands up and goes to her wardrobe and pulls out a t shirt and boxers, setting them beside her. She looks up, embarrassment on her face as she shrugs into them.
"You look cold," Zack says softly, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Nothing else."
Jondy nods and stands up, looking tired. "I'm sorry."
Zack shook his head. "Don't apologize to me. You would've been the one to regret it in the morning. I hate seeing this." His eyes look sad for a second. He's seen this with Tinga, Brin and Syl. They all did the men who were so ideal to look at and then cried on his shoulder the next morning. He wants to spare her of the pain they went through.
Jondy shoves her hair from her eyes and smiles at him. "You look out for me too much. You're too good to me."
Zack shrugs awkwardly. "It's my job."