oneshot, pretty girls, pretty eyes, pity cries
It’s sometime after midnight when Jessica stumbles through the doors of the bar. The place is dim and to make it worse a thick cloud of smoke hovers below the ceiling; the only source of real light is pink and blue, directed toward the stage.
She keeps her head down and avoids the barman; there’s enough alcohol in her system to drown a rat, she doesn’t need any more. The music is something slow and sleazy, the bass labored in its beat like the breaths of a dying animal.
It’s virtually empty but she takes a seat next to an awkward looking boy at a table far from the front. He looks misplaced and instead of enjoyment, his smile at Jessica’s presence is uneasy. Jessica is too drunk to notice.
She melts into the faux velvet and runs a finger along a tear in the fabric of the arm rest. The song changes and from the corner of her eye she sees a few girls take the stage. Her stomach churns and she closes her eyes, pressing her tongue to the back of her throat. The smoke dulls her senses and sleep is beginning to gnaw at her tired muscles. Just as the music starts guiding her into a dream a harsh clinking (breaking?) of glassware shoves her back into reality.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jessica asks the boy, her eyes nowhere near the dancer on stage.
She doesn’t get an answer so she repeats, louder, “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
He clears his throat, it sounds like a croak.
“Y-yea.”
Jessica leans over to get closer to him, her body hanging loosely on the chair. She smiles in that way she knows is an icebreaker (drunk or not, years of practice have made it instinct), friendly and disarming. The boy relaxes and releases his hold on his drink.
“It’d be nice to take one of them home right? They probably know a lot of things we don’t,” she says with a sloppy wink.
He laughs, still a little jittery but not as tense.
Jessica’s smile falls and she watches him nod, the outlines of his face a messy blur. She blinks and tries to refocus but she’s too far gone to wish for clearer vision tonight.
He’s no longer unsettled by Jessica and jokes, “The things they know are most likely illegal in some states.”
If he knew Jessica he would immediately know how empty her laugh sounded, but he didn’t and Jessica didn’t care enough to pretend.
“Do you have a favorite?” she asks him.
His eyes scan the stage and he points to his desired girl. Jessica doesn’t need to look to see where he’s pointing.
“The things I’d do to her,” he says with a wistful smile, all in jest, but Jessica has been looking for a fight and he’s given her the perfect excuse.
Keeping her voice devoid of malice she asks, “Really, like what?”
“I don’t know but-” now he’s the one leaning over the table and into Jessica, like long lost buddies, “-I bet they’d do anything for the right price.”
That’s all it takes for Jessica to lose it. Her fist collides squarely into his jaw and the force sends him onto the floor. The table soon joins him as she hurriedly stands and falls at his chest, wailing on him with everything she’s got. For a moment she’s sober as her knuckles crack and pain shoots up her arms; in the background she can hear deep voices shout and in particular, “Who the hell let her in? Get her out of here!”
As she gets torn away from the boy with rough hands, his face, awash with fear and confusion, dizzies her. The bouncer pushes her once they’re outside and her palms and knees meet the cold pavement harshly.
“This better be the last time Jessica. No one pities you anymore.”
“Fuck you,” she spits as he leaves, drops of blood coloring the gray ground.
She sits on her knees and touches her torn lip. She can’t remember if someone hit her or if she hit herself when she was thrashing the boy.
She hears quick footsteps get progressively louder until she sees scuffed black heels in front of her.
“Jessica, what the hell are you doing here?”
With the anger now gone, all she was left with was the sorrow she had tried to drink away.
“Tiffany, please, you have to quit. I can’t let you do this anymore.”
The tears rolled down her face effortlessly. Nothing was holding her back-she had given up her pride and dignity when she fell in love.
Tiffany pulled out a napkin from her jacket and gently dabbed Jessica’s lip.
“Okay, come on, get up.” Jessica held Tiffany’s hand tightly and stood on shaky legs.
As miserable as she felt, there was nothing better than Tiffany’s smile for a broken heart.
“Let me just get my tips and we’ll go.”
“And never come back, right?”
Tiffany kissed Jessica’s swollen lip.
“And never come back.”
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She keeps her head down and avoids the barman; there’s enough alcohol in her system to drown a rat, she doesn’t need any more. The music is something slow and sleazy, the bass labored in its beat like the breaths of a dying animal.
It’s virtually empty but she takes a seat next to an awkward looking boy at a table far from the front. He looks misplaced and instead of enjoyment, his smile at Jessica’s presence is uneasy. Jessica is too drunk to notice.
She melts into the faux velvet and runs a finger along a tear in the fabric of the arm rest. The song changes and from the corner of her eye she sees a few girls take the stage. Her stomach churns and she closes her eyes, pressing her tongue to the back of her throat. The smoke dulls her senses and sleep is beginning to gnaw at her tired muscles. Just as the music starts guiding her into a dream a harsh clinking (breaking?) of glassware shoves her back into reality.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jessica asks the boy, her eyes nowhere near the dancer on stage.
She doesn’t get an answer so she repeats, louder, “Beautiful, isn’t she?”
He clears his throat, it sounds like a croak.
“Y-yea.”
Jessica leans over to get closer to him, her body hanging loosely on the chair. She smiles in that way she knows is an icebreaker (drunk or not, years of practice have made it instinct), friendly and disarming. The boy relaxes and releases his hold on his drink.
“It’d be nice to take one of them home right? They probably know a lot of things we don’t,” she says with a sloppy wink.
He laughs, still a little jittery but not as tense.
Jessica’s smile falls and she watches him nod, the outlines of his face a messy blur. She blinks and tries to refocus but she’s too far gone to wish for clearer vision tonight.
He’s no longer unsettled by Jessica and jokes, “The things they know are most likely illegal in some states.”
If he knew Jessica he would immediately know how empty her laugh sounded, but he didn’t and Jessica didn’t care enough to pretend.
“Do you have a favorite?” she asks him.
His eyes scan the stage and he points to his desired girl. Jessica doesn’t need to look to see where he’s pointing.
“The things I’d do to her,” he says with a wistful smile, all in jest, but Jessica has been looking for a fight and he’s given her the perfect excuse.
Keeping her voice devoid of malice she asks, “Really, like what?”
“I don’t know but-” now he’s the one leaning over the table and into Jessica, like long lost buddies, “-I bet they’d do anything for the right price.”
That’s all it takes for Jessica to lose it. Her fist collides squarely into his jaw and the force sends him onto the floor. The table soon joins him as she hurriedly stands and falls at his chest, wailing on him with everything she’s got. For a moment she’s sober as her knuckles crack and pain shoots up her arms; in the background she can hear deep voices shout and in particular, “Who the hell let her in? Get her out of here!”
As she gets torn away from the boy with rough hands, his face, awash with fear and confusion, dizzies her. The bouncer pushes her once they’re outside and her palms and knees meet the cold pavement harshly.
“This better be the last time Jessica. No one pities you anymore.”
“Fuck you,” she spits as he leaves, drops of blood coloring the gray ground.
She sits on her knees and touches her torn lip. She can’t remember if someone hit her or if she hit herself when she was thrashing the boy.
She hears quick footsteps get progressively louder until she sees scuffed black heels in front of her.
“Jessica, what the hell are you doing here?”
With the anger now gone, all she was left with was the sorrow she had tried to drink away.
“Tiffany, please, you have to quit. I can’t let you do this anymore.”
The tears rolled down her face effortlessly. Nothing was holding her back-she had given up her pride and dignity when she fell in love.
Tiffany pulled out a napkin from her jacket and gently dabbed Jessica’s lip.
“Okay, come on, get up.” Jessica held Tiffany’s hand tightly and stood on shaky legs.
As miserable as she felt, there was nothing better than Tiffany’s smile for a broken heart.
“Let me just get my tips and we’ll go.”
“And never come back, right?”
Tiffany kissed Jessica’s swollen lip.
“And never come back.”
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