Rose

Before The Year Started...(Part 2)

The bar I ended up at was a far cry from the more festive ones a few blocks over. I'd been here a few times before which was why I chose it. I knew it'd be comparatively quiet. Well that and other reasons.

A bar for lonely holiday souls.

It wasn't as packed full of people as one might have imagined on New Years eve but it was still pretty rowdy where tables of elderly men and women sat reminiscing and celebrating in their own way. I managed to find a seat at the bar, settling myself on one of the rickety stoles and ordering a beer from the bartender, Rob, as he drifted from one end of the counter to the other, taking orders, making drinks, and ringing up tabs all while watching the celebrations on TV. He was the only one really engrossed on the celebratory festivities. Everyone else in the bar, the patrons, all looked like they could use a stronger drink than the one's they were already having like me, looking for the answer to all of the world's problems at the bottle of a glass or bottle. I had yet to find any solutions there but I sure had fun looking.

I took a swig from my beer, wondering if I should dare order another, when someone took one of the last available stools next to me.

"Vodka," a man ordered as Rob idled over. "Strongest you have."

He settled one stool space away from me, his duffel bag sitting between us as he gulped the drink down in one gulp. He nursed the cup as the bartender poured him another and then instructed, "Leave the bottle."

It was a large bottle but, from the look on his face, I had no doubt that he was well on his way to polishing it off. Hmm. I guess a lot of people were having a rough night. I couldn't for the life of me understand why. It's New Years Eve. People either outrageously celebrate or quietly acknowledge it. I knew why I was so down. What was everyone else's excuse?

As if the universe had been waiting for a cue and found one, a reminder of why exactly I was having a drink alone in an out of the way bar ringing in the new year appeared beside me. Well, her perfume hit me full force first but then she appeared, her usual mix of annoyance, irritation, and drunkenness obvious on her worn face. I cringed, folding my shoulder's forward hoping beyond reason that I'd somehow had too many drinks, imagined her, and she'd just disappear. Of course I'd never had much luck with hoping. Of course she was here. I knew the risks when I came here to this bar specifically. I knew the odds of running into one of the frequent patrons who knew me. I came here any way.

I turned to face Celeste. The woman was in her late sixties at the least dressed in bright floral colors, jeans, and enough makeup to give me a run for my money. She took a long drag on her cigarette before billowing the smoke out of one side of her mouth before sipping at the amber drink in her other hand.

"Why do you keep coming here?" she greeted me, friendly as ever.

"Last time I checked I was an adult and living in a free country," I quipped back.

She scoffed. "Adult? You're disrespectful attitude says a lot. Childish as ever," she mutters, glancing away as though she couldn't be less interested in talking to me but not real moves to actually leave.

"I could say the same about you," I tossed back.

She shakes her head, her silver, fluffy hair swaying as she did so, narrowing her eyes over the rim of her glass. "I knew you'd end up like this: bitter, alone, living in the past..."

"Guess we really are related," I mumble, tipping the bottle back and hoping this swig will be enough for me to blacken out into oblivion. I haven't hear nearly enough drinks, though, and beer certainly wasn't strong enough. "Now if I could age myself a thousand years, get rid of any traces of my soul, and learn how to survive as a witch in everyday life we'd be twins."

"Little drunken bitch," I heard Celeste curse bitterly.

"If that isn't that cat calling the kettle black I don't know what is. I am definitely not drunk enough for this conversation." Without any cigarettes handy, I needed something to do the trick. To take the edge off.

"Just like your mother."

There wasn't even a second of hesitation as I tossed me beer up, its contents splashing out and onto my intended target. We really must be related because for an older woman, her reflexes were faster than I anticipated. Before the first drips of beer fell from her makeup laden face, her palm was up and whipped across my face unexpectedly hard for someone who looked so frail. At the risk of missing an opportunity to hit me, she had allowed her glass to shatter against the bar's floor, drawing even more attention from the spectators already watching us with rapt interest.

"Whoa! You know the rules, Celeste," Rob barked. "Out," he ordered. She didn't move. She stool still glaring down at me, the fierceness in her eyes unyielding and unwavering.

"Just like old times, huh?" I tossed at her.

Her stony exterior faltered. Just for a second but I saw it. When she didn't make to leave, Rob repeated his order. "Now. Out."

The fact that I had thrown my drink in her face didn't seem to matter. Rob had been tending bar here probably before even Celeste had been born. He was used to our encounters and her eventual outburst. He always allowed her back in though. I figured it was because he knew as much as I did that, much like me, she had nowhere else to go.

After one long, linger glare directed first at Rob and then at me she left, smoky cigarette cloud and all.

"Here," Rob tossed me the rag from his shoulder that he had been wiping the bar down with. Napkins were scarce here. I took it with an embarrassed and apologetic smile.

"Thanks."

He nodded once. "Just cool it next time," he warned. "You know better than that. Don't let her get to you."

I did know better. I should have been used to it by now but the women had a gift for knowing just what to say at the wrong time to get under my skin. I nodded my ascent and he tossed another rag on the floor covering the spot where my beer had spilled off of her face before he and the other patrons returned to what they'd been doing now that the brief excitement died down. A few of their eyes lingered as though they thought I might jump off my stool any moment and go after her. I didn't. I brushed my finger along my cheek and winced. It was more sore than I thought with a bit of a heated sting.

It hurt more than it should have. I almost wanted to cry. Not so much from the slap but everything that had happened in general. I sniffled once and straightened up as Rob slid another beer my way without even looking. After the last few minutes of trouble I was in definite need of a extra strength poison.

Without even thinking twice about it I slid my duffel bagged bar buddy's glass from his hand, poured myself a full glass of the Vodka bottle he'd requested, and chugged it like it was nobodies business.

Dimitri

It was an odd sense of relief, almost surreal to find out that while I'd been on the other side of the world, this side still had their share of problems. I also found it ironic that while trying to escape my own family problems, I stumbled right into witnessing someone else's.

For a moment, an instant so small that I think if I had blinked - and definitely if I hadn't been staring so blatantly at her - I would have missed it, the young woman looked hurt. Her obvious embarrassment instantly morphed from her face and darkened. She shifted from defensive to offensive by tossing the drink into the older woman's face.

She didn't just look hurt. She look angry, hardened as though another layer was just added to her rough exterior. It was only an instant. In the next second she blinked and her face was impassive, calm, her lips relaxed and her dark eyes shimmered with moisture before she blinked again and then it was gone. She sat there expressionless as though the last few minutes hadn't happened.

Her hand snaked out for the bottle I had asked for as though it had always been hers. She poured herself a drink from the glass she easily maneuvered out from my hands. I silently watched as she gulped the eighty proof Vodka like water, either ignoring or accustomed to the sting undoubtedly scorching her throat. If anyone deserved to indulge in this liquid slice of heaven and hell - even if the bottle wasn't hers - it was this girl. She set the glass down in front of her with an almost relieved sigh. She lifted her hand to touch the side of her face that had been slapped again. I reached my own arm out to stop her.

"Careful. I think she got you with her ring."

She turned to me, her face furrowed in confusion before she turned toward the bar, trying to catch her reflection in the mirrored wall.

"Is it bad?"

Old habits dying hard, I tilted her chin up, examining her the way a doctor would a patient. I prodded her cheekbone above and below the welt and the laceration on her face before deciding. "It should heal alright. Let's get some ice on it though," I advised.

The bartender had disappeared into the back room before I could ask for a cup of ice. I dumped the ice from my glass into the cloth he had given her, hoping the alcohol disinfected anything on it, and wrapped it into a small pack. I offered it to her and she accepted it with the barest of thankful smiles before pressing it to her face.

I was now seated in such a way on my stool that I was directly facing the dark haired beauty. Now that she sat quiet, thoughtful and lost in the memory of her previous interaction, she seemed like an entirely different person than the quick witted, fierce feline that I'd just witnessed before. Her gaze flicked up for a quick second, meeting my own. She smiled, almost shyly. The timid expression didn't match the aggressive being I'd observed moments ago. She lifted a shoulder in a shrug and heaved a heavy sigh.

"Family, amiright?" she murmured. "Oddly enough, this was one of our better encounters."

I couldn't help the brief chuckle that escaped me. "I'd hate to see one of your worse ones."

"It's pretty much a nightmare," she described.

This girl and I had a lot in common. "I know the feeling," I sympathized as I refilled our shared glass and took a sip before handing it to her. I knew the risks of sharing a glass with a stranger in an unknown bar. I just didn't care at the moment. After spending months working out of tents, treating open wounds sans gloves and proper sterile equipment, sleeping on nothing more than solid dirt that acted as both a public bathroom and farm animals' pathways, this was nothing. She didn't seem to mind to much either because she drank from the glass, sipping it this time.

"Thanks for letting me snag a drink from your bottle."

"Didn't really feel like I had a choice in the matter," I responded. She smiled, the barest wisp of a smile. "But you're welcome. Considering the way your night seems to be going, if there's anyone that needs to steal a drink from a thirty dollar bottle of Vodka, it's you. Plus you're on the small size. How much of this large bottle could you possibly put away," I teased, hoping I didn't offend her in some way.

Her face split into a coy smile. "You'd be surprised. Lemme buy this round and the next and I'll prove it to you."

I shook my head adamantly. "It's on me."

"I'll pay half then," she offered.

"No, really, it's fine."

"I'm sure you didn't come here to share a thirty dollar bottle of liquor with a stranger and treat her wounds," she insisted.

"Treating wounds is my job so don't feel too bad about that," I answered. "As for the bottle, I didn't plan on sharing," I admitted. I looked her over, taking into account who I was sharing with, I definitely didn't mind. "I don't mind, though," I said aloud. My night could be going much worse. All things considered, I think it's going fairly well."

She exhaled another small laugh and nodded in agreement as her eyes roamed over my face. "I think it's going fairly well too."

The noise from the television and the small group of patrons talking animatedly in two far corners of the bar dulled to a low roar in the background as we sat there. For a while, neither of us said anything. We'd take turns sipping the Vodka from the same glass despite the bartender sliding us another one. Her taste lingered on the glass, reminiscent of the beer she'd had before and the sweet flavor of the gloss adorning her lips. The scent wafting off her was just as sweet and permeated the air around us, mixing with the faint aroma of cigarettes, peanuts, and staleness. If there was ever a scenario I imagined myself spending my first night back, it certainly wasn't this.

I couldn't complain too much. Regardless of the setting, the circumstances, and the previous incident, I was having a drink with a beautiful woman. What more could I ask for?

After the first few passes of the glass we continued talking.

"So you're a doctor." It was more statement than question since I'd given myself away earlier.

I nodded. "Yes...well...I was. Not so much anymore," I rambled. "As of today, I'm taking a break for a while."

"Can you do that?"

I laughed, the innocent intonation in her voice amusing. "Yes. We can do that," I answered.

She shook her head as though realizing how odd a question that had been. "I meant, just because you're taking a break for a while, does that mean you stop being a doctor."

"For the time being, I certainly hope so," I answered tipping the glass back before going for another refill. I was worn down and worn out. I needed this break and the last thing I wanted was to identify myself as a doctor at the risk of anyone asking me for treatment.

"Well then I'm sorry you had to put your skills to use your first night off duty," she apologized, hanging her head as that layer of shame clouded over her eyes. Just like before, the hurt and embarrassment was fleeting. She blinked them away, replacing her emotions with a hardened stare.

"It was for a good cause. Patching up a gorgeous woman? Of course I had to put my skills to use," I replied, hoping to ebb any underlying doubt away. This conversation was supposed to be light and fun. I intended to keep it that way, far from any heavy emotions like the shame and embarrassment she was masking so well. Or my own issues for that matter.

Her head tilted up at my compliment but she didn't react right away. A beauty like her probably heard things like that all the time.

"Gorgeous woman," she repeated before gracing me with another smile, the slightest bit bigger this time. "You don't know what it means to hear that right now." No I didn't but I had an inkling. I'd heard everything her relative, Celeste, spewed, and none of it had been kind. My self esteem had been knocked down a peg or two by the old woman's words and she hadn't even been talking to me.

"It's the truth," I shrug as I slide the glass her way and she sips. She holds it between her hands, resting it on her knees as she stares down at the clear liquid and I stare at her. She's small in stature, especially slightly folded in on herself like this, but she had been so aggressive and full of strength when she stood up to the woman who cursed her, I knew this couldn't be the only side to this woman and I was curious to see more of it, see more of her.

I leaned over the stool separating us, shoving my duffel onto the floor in the process, and took the glass from her hands. I set in on the counter top and took a chance that I wouldn't come off as too forward or aggressive as I slid my palms under her own. She looked up, both surprised and confused as what move I was making. She stood, seeming to sense what I wanted and making it even easier for me to reach for her as she rounded the stool between us and slid onto it. She was close enough that the ends of her waist long hair brushed against my forearms, ticking my skin. Her eyes were even darker up close, warring between the darkest shade of chocolate and sable; her skin tone matched my own, surprising considering how little sun these parts got, especially this time of year.

"You're stunningly beautiful."

Her reaction was immediate this time around. I don't know if she could hear the sincerity in my words or if she just needed to believe them right now. Either way she embraced the compliment with glimmering eyes and the biggest smile so far. And, in a welcome and brazen move, she embraced me. She leaned forward, our difference in height such a hindrance even with the aid of her bar stool. She ended up standing and I welcome her warmth with open arms. Her lips were as smooth as I'd imagined them to be, full and feather like against my own. She pulled back too quickly for my liking and for me to have time to react.

I kept my eyes level with hers, barely resisting the urge to allow my gaze to linger downward, drifting to where cleavage was visible now that she was standing close and straight up and her coat had shifted open slightly. I could see that her dress was skin tight beneath her thin overcoat, revealing every curve imaginable underneath. I must have slipped up my gaze failing because she shook her head bemusedly smiling at my lack of willpower. While my hands wrapped around her waist, she tilted my chin up the same way I'd done to her before so that she'd have my full attention.

"At the risk of sounding like every woman in every bar ever that's ever kissed a stranger...I don't usually do this," she hedged, nervousness inching into her voice. She stepped as close as the stool and my legs would allow before I opened them and she stepped forward. Her hands slid easily around my shoulders and up behind my neck. When she spoke, she had the confidence of the same woman that had faced the older woman head on, her lips a paper length away from my own. "Do you have any specific plans for you first night as an off duty doctor?" She immediately fell into a fit of laughter as the question left her mouth. "That sounded like a really bad pickup line."

I laughed along with her, the lightheartedness and the alcohol getting the better of me. "It sounded fine."

Before I could give her my answer, one of the older gentlemen, a trucker from the way he was dressed that had been sitting in the back had apparently approached the bar, waiting as the bartender mixed a couple of drinks and uncapped a couple of bears. He gave the unnamed woman in my arms a slow appraisal before he spoke.

"I certainly wouldn't mind your company, sweetheart," he started. "If he don't take you up on it," he grinned with a hoarse cackle that increased in volume with the glare I shot him over her shoulder. I glanced down at her. She was nonplussed barely even sparing him a glance from the corner of her eye, focusing her unblinking gaze on me.

"I don't think he's that stupid," she responded still without even a glance his way. That confidence, the lust in the depths of her eyes and coy smile was all the push and convincing I needed. Eventually the trucker took the hint and ambled on, leaving the two of us in our locked gaze. It was up to me to decide how this would end. There was certainly no way I was going to give the opportunity up. I wanted her as mine for the night.

"So, Mr. Off Duty Doctor. Any plans?" She pressed herself closer against me, as though I may need anymore convincing that I already had. I gave her waist the slightest squeeze in affirmation and her gaze brightened, pleased, before I gave voice to my obvious answer.

"No, I don't have any plans, other than with you I hope."

Now that was a bad line. If her amusement was anything to go by she seemed to be in agreement but a dark cloud of desire danced in her eyes, hopefully matching my own.

Maybe this is what I needed. My last irresponsible hurrah before I faced everything I've been running from. It is New Year's Eve. I know this wasn't even the slightest bit close to what I had in mind when I'd told Tasha I'd need some time. But this was something I wanted, craved, and definitely needed. This could be my own, private, welcome home party. What's a couple of hours more of distraction, a little bit more time to run and hide, even just for a little while? Because it didn't matter now that the rest of the evening was looking up.

I can resolve myself to a fresh start tomorrow.