Disclaimer; Obviously, I dont own the Saw franchise. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: Italics = The Past.
Constructive Criticism encouraged.
Two - It's Just The Past And Me.
The thin brunette stared up at the tv as the people around her bustled hastily throughout the bar. Everyone was drinking, most of the people were dancing, some were making out against walls, others trying to help their friends to cabs outside of the bar. It seemed like everyone was socializing - except for her. The then twenty-two year old woman sat alone, sipping at a bright blue beverage that was likely some mix of kool-aid and rum.
Her eyes were fixated on the intense hockey game between the Red Wings and the Rangers. She was rooting for the Wings, but had an old friend who was dating one of the best players on the Rangers. Konstantine sighed, gathering her lengthy espresso-toned hair into a messy bun as that particular man accomplished a hat trick. The screen's closed captions read: CONWAY SCORES THIRD HAT TRICK OF SEASON AGAINST RED WINGS GOALIE DZICZEK.
"C'mon boys, we can win against these yuppie New Yorkers." She had murmured to herself.
The bartender smiled at her, "Red Wings fan?"
She nodded, sipping at the fruity drink again, "I fear that this just isn't their day."
"Rangers are good this year," The tender shrugged.
"Yeah."
"Barkeep!" A voice called to the end of the bar.
Konstantine sighed, laying her head on the bar in aggravation. It must have been half an hour before someone, a man, came to put his hand on her shoulder.
"Are you alright?" A voice asked.
She blinked her eyes open, her senses attacked by the sudden shock of being in a smoke-filled room, and realized that she must have fallen asleep. She turned to look at her wake-up call and smiled sleepily at him. He was a handsome man, probably a bit older than her, with dark hair and pale skin.
She nodded, dumbly, "Yes."
"What's your name?" The pale man, Adam, questioned, sitting down next to the attractive young brunette.
"Konstantine," She murmured, pulling the over-sized sweater over her hands as she shivered. The bar was old and drafty, and as they sat there, she felt the winter's bitter breeze blow past her, "Konstantine Harrison, yours?"
"Adam," He told her simply. They stared at each other briefly before Adam began to speak to her once again, "So what's an uptown kind of girl like yourself doing down here in this shitty southside bar?"
"It's cheap," She replied, "And this is the only bar in the city that shows hockey games instead of Monday Night Football."
"Game's been over for almost an hour now," He told her, checking the clock on the wall before turning to her again.
The bartender smiled briefly at her as he dried one of the chipped beer mugs at the end of the bar. The room's population had thinned considerably, leaving Adam and Konstantine as two of the only patrons anywhere near sober.
"Want to get out of here?" Adam grinned slyly at the brunette in front of him.
She stared at him, "Sure."
So maybe she wasn't that sober, nonetheless Kons got up from the bar and followed Adam out to what her father would have referred to as a 'hooptie'. An old Cadillac coupe deVille, and when she got inside she discovered that it at least still ran right. At this time of night, it was unlikely the cabs would come out this far and she was just thankful that she had a ride to - somewhere. She glanced over at her, eyes glazed over in slightly drunken stupor.
"My place, or yours?"
"Does it matter?" She murmured, obviously used to this sort of thing. That fact alone should have at least disturbed Adam, however, it only seemed to make him like her more.
At first, Adam thought of her as an uptight rich girl, but was beginning to change his mind as he drove from the bar to his shit-hole apartment. The only reason he was taking her there was because he knew where it was. He had no idea where she lived, and really didn't care at that point in time. All that mattered to him was what, he hoped, was going to happen in less than an hour.
"Where are you from, originally?" She asked, conversationally.
He shrugged, "Here and there."
"Well, if that's not vague I don't know what is."
"I'm from Michigan," He told her, "You?"
"Denver, Colorado."
"You go to college here or something?"
"No, I went to UCLA for a semester then I dropped out, you?"
"I went for photography," He told her, "At Eastern Michigan."
"Photography?" She said warily. The last photographer she went out with took nude pictures of her and sold them to a porn site for a few hundred dollars. Needless to say, a lengthy court battle ensued - in the end, Konstantine won and that was the only reason she could afford to live in the nicer neighborhood.
"Yeah," He nodded, "I mostly take pictures of rich husbands cheating on their wives for cash."
She laughed, "Really? How does someone get into that line of work?"
"Doesn't matter really. It's the only thing that pays the bills for me," He told her as he put the car into park and glanced up at the towering building in front of him. She looked over at him.
"This it?"
He nodded, "Not the nicest place, but it's better than the streets."
They got out of the car and she followed him up several flights of stairs until they reached his front door. When she got inside, she smelled the distinct odor of pot, cigarettes and whiskey. He went into what she presumed was the bathroom, and when she heard the distinct sound of a stream of piss hitting toilet water she knew she had assumed right. She heard a flush and then him washing his hands.
He reemerged and she smiled at him, "You have a bed?"
"Yeah, it's through there," He pointed through a heavily graffittied door.
"Good," She said, pulling her shirt off and throwing it on the floor as she walked towards the door.
He stared at her, befuddled.
"Well, are you coming or not?"
He smiled, and followed her into his bedroom.