In front of him, a fairly short, orange-haired girl with equally fairly short hair with tornado curls at the shoulders looms over him—despite her height—as she eyes him with ferocious intent. He knows that familiar, angry face, and that familiar, orange hoodie.
"Rosa?" Mr. Yu asks. "What are you still doing here?"
Vince jumps back in fear, almost tripping. "Rosa! What the hell?! You scared the shit out of me!"
"What the fuck took you so long?! I've been waiting outside for what felt like a fucking eternity! My legs almost gave out, dammit!"
"Hey!" Mr. Yu slams his fist on to the desk. "Watch your language in my class, Rattray!"
Rosa gives Mr. Yu a slight scowl, shaking her head. "Bellarose. Not Rattray."
"I—" Before Vince can even form a sentence, she grabs him and pulls him outside, closing the door behind her.
Her annoyed face still lingers, her arms in her hoodies' pockets. "Didn't answer my question, dingus."
"I was finishing work! What are you even doing here?!"
"You owe me. Big time. Where's the root beer?"
'There's no way she still remembers that,' he thinks, backing up onto the lockers.
"You waited out here just for some damn root beer?!"
"Damn straight," she says, slamming a leg on to the locker next to Vince, pinning him down. Vince, however, rolls his eyes, effortlessly pushing away her leg as he walks away.
"Hey!" she yells, chasing after him.
"You just like walking home with me, huh?" he asks teasingly, a smirk on his face.
"Sure, buddy. Whatever you say. But who says we're walkin' home?" she asks, stopping in front of him. "Weren't we going to go to that abandoned house you found the other day?"
"That? You really wanna go there and potentially get killed by some homeless heroin addict?"
"It was your idea! You too pussy or somethin'?" she asks, tilting her head up slightly.
"Uh, no, dingus—it was idea to explore it! Why don't you go yourself?"
Rosa starts making chicken noises as they walk out of the main hallway, the sunlight piercing Vince's eyes all the way from the optic nerve to his corneas. Vince shakes his head in both pain from the light and annoyance of Rosa as he puts on his red sunglasses.
"You're a child. I'll go if it'll make you happy," he says, walking through the crosswalk with her.
Rosa instinctively walks closer to him as the car zoom by on the opposite lane. It doesn't help that the one's waiting for them stare at her like beasts about to pounce. Her heart begins to race, and the longer they take, the more she feels like she's in danger. Without warning, she grabs a surprised Vince's arm as she runs to the other side of the opposite sidewalk as quickly as possible—and with blazing speed. Vince barely keeps up, almost tripping with each step. He's not made for quick sprints. Though he's fast in the arms, his legs might as well not exist.
"What are you in a hurry for?!" Vince asks, panting as she walks in front of him, her black skirt flailing in the wind slightly. "And put some pants on, you dirty girl! I thought we addressed this the first time we met—"
"SHUT YOUR TRAP AND MOVE YOUR ASS! We got an abandoned house to check out. Might find treasure." she processes what he said at the end. "AND I WEAR WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT! I ain't doin' it for attention, loser! It's just comfortable."
"Blah, blah, blah," he says, walking after her. "All I hear..." he mumbles.
Rosa...his friend. His only friend. "Friends" were something odd to him before. Most of them will betray you in the end, and even if they don't, they won't resonate with you. Not a simple negative idea for Vince, as he's experienced half a dozen short-lived friendships in his life. Short-lived because, in their company, he couldn't help but feel an absence—as if they didn't exist. It'd be more accurate to say that they he was friend. No ill will towards anyone, but no affection either. He might as well have no one. For a time, he wouldn't have had it any other way. Starting Highschool, he wanted only to focus on his studies. Then she showed up...
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...Vince realizes something as he catches up to her, the day growing darker.
"Hey, wait a sec," he says. "Let's take Rosie. She's faster and more efficient."
"Absolutely not," she says, quickening her pace. "We're not taking that fucking death trap anywhere. Still can't believe you named it after me..."
"Wait up there!" Vince pleads, almost sounding tear-stricken. "My noodle legs are gonna vanish into thin air, I swear!"
"Sick bars bro, but I don't care."
"Don't you dare—uh..." he pants, working up a sweat. "I got nothin'. And I didn't name her after you! It's my pops. Before he died, he told my mom that it'd be mine when I turned sixteen."
"Remember what I said in ninth grade?"
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"True..." he says, panting heavily. "Never told me why though."
"Why do you care? Anyway, house should be around here, right?" she asks as they arrive in another neighborhood, face to face with a gravel trail that leads into a thickly wooded area.
The entrance to the area is dark. They'll need flashlights. Luckily, Vince's phone is fully charged. He barely uses it, as he's usually too distracted with his studies and dodging Rosa's antics to ever properly clear off the annoying "Cook & Soup" app's endless notifications.
He clears the nearly one hundred notifications from his phone after pulling it out.
'Why are they all pasta-based?! I can't have gluten!'
"Alright, Rose," he says, turning on the flashlight, shining it into the abyss. "Be careful now."
"Don't call me that," her voice sounds farther away than usual.
"WAIT FOR ME, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!" he screams, running after her.
...Vince glances around; he could've sworn that the trees whispered his name. He could've sworn that the crows called out to him as they flew overhead. Gravel crunches under their weight, Rosa's footsteps being particularly heavier than his, despite her lean frame. Vince's legs wanted to rest—recover, but the 'Celtic mule' that is Rosa won't let them, he thinks. A chill runs down his spine as the wind blows in his face once more, seeping through the cracks of his clothes.
"Seriously, how are you not freezing?" he asks, looking down at her exposed legs.
"I'm just built different," she replies confidently, stopping for a split-second break.
"Finally!" he celebrates.
She begins her march once more.
"Oh, come on!"
"Need a piggy-back ride? Can't believe a 'boxer' like you has this little stamina."
"I'm not a boxer, dingus!"
"You punch a sack, don't you? Your dad was one too. You got pecs and everything. Useless, though." she notices the flashlight's beam lower to the ground. "Shine the way!"
"Cut me some slack! I don't have superhuman stamina like you!" he says, raising his arms once more to shine the path in front of them.
In doing so, they both stumble upon the house. It's barely visible in the distance—Rosa wouldn't have even seen it if not for Vince addressing it with the point of a finger.
"There it is," he says, catching his breath. "But we didn't bring any weapons or anything..."
Rosa flips around, walking backwards towards the house. "If shit goes south, you can just use your boxing skills. But you might wanna ask the attacker to give you some time to breathe, y'know?"
"Bite me!" he retorts, following suit. "How about you use your crazy kicks?!"
"Don't tempt me!"
Rosa is the first to step foot on to the old, decayed footsteps of the quaint, run-down wooden cabin's porch. At first confident, her nerve quickly finds its place as she sees the broken windows, graffiti and structurally unsound porch's ceiling. Still, she remains cool and collected on the outside. Vince finally catches up, resting a hand on the staircase's handlebars.
"What are we hoping to find here, anyway?"
"Oh, baby," she says, tapping the support beams with her foot. "Something that'll make us both rich..."
Vince squints, intrigued. "Rich?"
"Yep!" she says, walking up to the door. "Wanna know?"
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"Not really, but I kinda got no choice but to be curious."
"You're seriously sad, you know that?" she says, flipping around to face him. "We're gonna find..."
...
Vince gestures with his hands to continue, waiting for her response.
"Copper!" she says with a confident smirk.
There's silence for a second as the wind blows past them gently.
"...There's...there's no copper in a place like this."
"Yeah! Lots of copper. A gold-mine in the walls—" she pauses, processing what he just said. "Huh?"
"Nope. No copper in a cabins. I'm...not sure why you thought there'd be."
"HUH?! YOU CALLIN' ME STUPID?!" she asks, slamming her foot on the floor. "There's no way! I saw some guy exploring abandoned places on YouTube! Dude said there'd be a shit ton of copper in the walls of abandoned places like these!"
"Yeah...abandoned places that cabins," he says, walking up to and tapping the wooden walls. "Not sure why there's such a rustic cabin in Bowie... And in twenty-seventeen, no less."
"Why didn't you say anything?!"
"How the hell was I supposed to know that you were after frickin' copper?!"
Rosa lets out a displeased and aggravated growl as she covers her face. She tries opening the door, but it won't budge.
"Oh, great...fuckin' great! It's jammed!"
"Whoa, calm down," he says, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's nothing to get upset about."
"Oh, this door's gonna open!" she says, slamming her body against it.
Vince backs away a tad, a little anxious now. He's been here before. Soon she'll enter full-blown tempter-tantrum territory... It'd be uncomfortable and off-putting to anyone else, but Vince is used to this. It doesn't always happen, but when it does, it's best to just leave her be until she calms down. Easier said than done for him.
"You're gonna hurt yourself...!" he says worriedly. "Just forget the copper! We can find some other place in the future when we're more prepared—"
Rosa lets out a roar.
Her foot effortlessly goes through the door, its hinges now on the ground, Vince's shocked masked by the loud sound of the bookshelf that was once blocking the door skipping backwards, breaking into pieces as it crashes into the living room's wall.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Vince yells, his tone one of anger and concern.
"Aaaaaaaaaaah!" she screams, pain coursing through her entire leg like penetrating knives. "My fucking leg!"
"What were you thinking?!"
"That door...pissed me the fuck off!" she says, trying to play off the pain with anger, not noticing her tears. "I think...I think...!"
"Just don't move! Let me see what I can do!" he says, crouching down to examine her injury.
"No!" she pleads. "I got it! Back off! It's...no big deal!" she tries pulling her leg out from the door, its sharp and jagged edges clawing deeper into her flesh like a tiger's claws warning its prey to be still. "Shit! Nope...I...FUCK!"
Vince firmly clings on to both ends of the door's newly formed fissure, gripping it as tight as he can. He's careful to interlock his fingers between the spikes as he pushes the hole apart carefully.
Rosa screams in pain as she feels the large spike that's imbedded itself in her shin slowly release itself from its spot. She grabs his hand, beaming him a vulnerable, pain-filled look. She shakes her head, the tears landing on Vince's hands.
A man, who's walking his dog past the entrance of the house, hears what sounds like the scream of a banshee. His dog is the first to react, darting away at amazing speed, nearly causing him to fall face-first on to the pavement from its fearful pulling force. . He quickly outpaces the dog.
"Nope! We're leaving this fuckin' town, Minx! I gotta call my wife!" he says, his tiny dog violently flailing in the wind behind him as he sprints.
Rosa's throbbing leg would probably thank her for allowing it to rest on the ground if it were alive. Blood floods down her leg and pools on the ground, feeding the grass, yet tainting it in a dark crimson lake. Though, if her leg alive, it'd probably be dead by now, Vince thinks. She bites her lip hard enough to draw blood, her eyes squeezed shut like vault doors. Vince remains by her side, unsure of what to do. The injury is grave—beyond that. He can see what looks like something white peaking out from under the skin. Thankfully, it's not out, he thinks.
"I'm sorry," he says sincerely. "I shouldn't have even found this damned house...!"
"Just shut up," she says, collapsing on to the grassy ground in-between chocked gasps, holding her leg. "Always piss me off...how easily you apologize for things that aren't even your fault."
"I'm going to call an ambulance," he says, unlocking his phone.
"No! Don't you dare! It's be cheaper to die!" she yells, slamming her fist on the ground. "Just...get me the curtain from that window..."
"Not a chance! You wanna get a disease?!" he says, taking off his coat and sweater, exposing his torso to the elements. "Use my sweater!"
"Don't fuckin' kid me! Only disease I got here is my damn anger...and you," she says, taking the sweater from Vince.
"Your leg's almost gone and you still insult me. Good to see you're still hanging in there," he says with a stress-filled sigh.
"Don't be so sure," she says, getting ready to wrap the fabric around her leg.
'I'm strong,' she says in her head. 'I'm strong...'
"Let me do it," he pleads.
"I'm strong," she says out loud, gritting her teeth. "I'm... strong!"
She starts tightening the sweater...
But that's where she stops. She can't proceed. The agony won't allow her. Too embarrassed to look over at Vince, she tries tugging on the clothing once more.
No luck.
Too much pain.
Once more. This time, she fights through the pain, perhaps out of a need to prove her strength.
No luck.
She's too weak to tighten it enough. The worst possible time for her weak arms to be put on full display.
A river of both physical and emotional misery streams down her cheeks. She lets her head hang low, unable to do anything. But then a hand presses itself on her shoulder. And then another gently settles itself atop her own hand.
"You strong," he says gently. "Come on. Let's do it."
Pure conflict swirls itself inside of her. But before she can dwell on it, paralyzing herself, her body acts for her. She braces for the next wave of pure anguish.
...But it never comes.
Vince carefully ties a knot, fastening the sweater even more to her leg. A tight, even audible squeeze—yet no pain. It's as if his hands decided she'd feel no pain. Her mind? Is it playing tricks on her?
"What...what did you do?" she asks weakly.
"Helped you out. See? You didn't die."
"Usually, you're the one that needs my help..."
"Can't go ego tripping every day," he says, getting up and offering her his hand with a worried smile.
She looks at the hand, unsure of what to do. Without pain to stop her, she remains paralyzed...
"Come on," Vince says warmly. "There's no shame in it."
She smacks his hand away, getting up on her own. The pain really is all but gone. But in its place, a familiar, dull pain in her heart sprouts once more.
"Let's just...go to the Sovereign Service. I could use a root beer," she says, walking away from the house, towards the entrance.
He looks back to the broken door and bookshelf. The entrance to the house is pitch-black. The wind picks up, and the whispering starts once more. He walks after Rosa, leaving the house behind. Sighing somberly, he puts on his coat, looking up at the faint stars as they glisten under the sunset's orange and purple hue, his red hair swaying in the wind, his bangs no longer covering his baggy eyes.
'What am I gonna do?'
..."Hah!" she exults, walking through the double doors of the Service. "I come out unscathed again!"
"No thanks to me," he says, rolling his eyes. "Now shut up, we're entering the Service."
"God, I hate that I have to tone it down in front of these corporate wannabes," she says rather loudly, hoping that some of the clientele will hear her.
Rosa scans the room as they walk, noting the warming smell of coffee and tea in the air, along with the faint red glow of Japanese lanterns floating over their heads as they bob around like goldfish in an aquarium. Soft, pleasant electronic-jazz music assaults her ears. She would rather it be Limp Bizkit, but whatever. It's a cafe, she thinks. Boring.
"What time is it?" Vince asks, looking at his phone. "I might get the special service."
Rosa raises an eyebrow as they both walk towards the main counter. "Special service? Someone gonna suck your—"
Vince covers her mouth. He chuckles nervously, scanning the area, seeing the dozens of facing silently addressing their disturbing presence.
Rosa smacks his hand away, her teeth a little saddened that they didn't get to bite down on it. Vince shoots her a surprisingly stern look and she quiets down, albeit reluctantly and with attitude.
"My dad was good friends with the owner," he says, walking with such a careful gait it's almost creepy. "Helped that owner fight off some angry 'corporate wannabes'. Except they weren't wannabes at all, they were the real deal. As a thanks, the owner gave my dad—and by extension me—a special seat and menu item. But only if it's passed four PM."
"Why so frickin' meticulous? What, is the secret item illegal or something?" she asks, walking with a relaxed and own-the-place manner.
"Very funny," he says with drooped eyelids. "No, my dad set the time condition. He wanted to test his speed and time management. At least, that's what Finlay told me."
"Finlay?" she asks, sitting down on one stool next to Vince.
"Me." A shockingly booming yet quiet voice sounds from the right of Rosa, behind the counter.
She nearly falls off her stool, only saved by her hands clutching the bottom edge of the counter like a cat. Vince lets out a quiet chuckle, hoping she didn't hear it.
"Hey, Fin," Vince says, waving to a red tuxedo-wearing English man in front of him. "How are things with Marthy?"
"That a question?" he asks, taking out his notebook and pen. "She might just eat me at this point purely out of spite."
"Who the—" Rosa catches herself, her composure coming back. "Who are you?"
Finaly peers at Rosa with a slight judgmental look, but he too composes himself. Though she's never seen him, he's seen her at the Service every once in a while—and none of those times were pleasant.
"I'm the owner—Finlay," he says, looking back to Vince. "Now, would you like to order?"
Vince scratches the back of his head, looking up at the menu on the wall. There aren't many items, but each one is sure to tantalize even a food-fearful person like himself. All very pricey, too. But all very worth it.
"I'm not sure," he says. "Do you have root beer?"
"Hey, are you gonna pay?"
"Seriously?" Vince shoots her a slight look.
"'Cauase gonnapay," she says confidently, pointing at her chest with a thumb.
"No, no," he says, looking back at the menu. "I'll pay. Now, let's see..."
ENTRéES AND APPETIZERS
* CHILIROONS (RANGOONS FILLED WITH SWEET CHILI SAUCE)
$14.99
* TASTE A' BRIGHTON (FISH/CRAB & CHIPS)
$24.99
* AGGY'S SPECIAL (SECRET INGREDIENT RAMEN)
$49.99
* MEDUSA'S TREAT (ALFREDO FUSILLI PASTA + MUSHROOMS)
$29.99
* MARTHY'S DOG DINNER (A GRILLED CHEESE & TOMATO SOUP)
FREE
DRINKS
* BUDDHA'S COFFEE (ITALIAN & CUBAN COFFEE FUSION)
$14.99
* FAIRY'S MELODY (MATCHA & CHAMOMILE ELIXIR)
$19.99
* HIRES BE DAMNED (ROOT BEER + CREAM & GINGER ALE)
$9.99
* CLEAR MARRY (ALCOHOL-FREE BLOODY MARY) $14.99
5. WATER (FREE)
"She'll be having two root beers and I'll be having the gluten-free Rangoons."
"Hold on," she says. "I want some rangoons, too."
Vince leans in to Rosa, using Finlay's notebook-focused gaze to whisper something to her. "I don't have enough money for that... But don't worry, I'll share mine."
Rosa rolls her eyes.
"That'll be all, Fin."
"Righty," Finlay says, tearing the page from the notebook. "It'll be ready in a couple."
Finlay taps on a metal window on the wall. Seconds later, a man with a long, thin, brown beard slides the window open with force. The man is holding a large knife with a red substance on the edges of the blade. He scans the area with shifty eyes, and when he sees Vince, his expression changes to one of pleasant surprise. Taking the page from Finlay, he slides the window closed, sounds of cutting and brewing heard muffled beyond the wall.
"Say," Finlay says, leaning on the counter casually. "Why does your misses have a nasty injury on her leg? What'd she drag you into?"
"Drag into...?!" Rosa snaps a look at Finlay.
Vince puts a hand up to her. "We went to an abandoned house. It was my idea. She tripped..."
Finlay raises an eyebrow. "Your idea, huh?" he looks over at her leg. "My God, what did she land on?"
"A wooden spike under the grass. She didn't see it when we were approaching the house."
"What were you even doing there?"
"I thought I could find something interesting in there," he says, looking over to Rosa. "Like copper in the walls. But I forgot that old cabins don't have copper...!"
"Should've been more prepared," he says, getting up. "Especially since those houses definitely have copper in them."
A single drop of sweat trickles down from Vince's forehead. He's caught. 'Oh, boy,' he thinks. 'Here we go.'
"What do you mean? You said cabins don't have copper in the walls!"
"I, uh...that's what I heard." Vince taps the counter anxiously.
"Yeah, that house definitely has copper. I know the one. But you kids shouldn't be snooping around there."
"Vince..." Rosa says with an aggravated grin, looking at him. "That's the last time I listen to you."
"I'm sorry!" he says, scratching the back of his head.
"Stay away from that house, Vince," Finlay says, a tad stern. "You never know what might be lurking in it. There's a reason it was abandoned. Joel might be there."
"Wait, what reason?" he asks curiously.
"Reasons."
"Who's 'Joel'?" Rosa asks.
"Heh, he's this town's nuisance. A homeless person with a knack to screw with everyone and everything he can," he says, his expression and tone changing to a more serious one. "He's dangerous. Breaking people's doors in the night, stealing packages, and worst of all—vandalizing."
"He vandalized my cafe's sign the other day too," Finlay says, his arms crossed.
"What?! Do I have to chase off that naked maniac off again?!"
Rosa, who up until now was refraining from drawing attention for Vince, bursts into laughter at what she's just heard. Clutching her stomach, she laughs so hard tears stream down her face.
"Hahahah! The image of some naked hobo being chased by you!"
Vince shushes her, embarrassed. But no luck—she laughs even harder. Finlay shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. Rosa notices, slowly releasing her laugh, though not enough to suppress the occasional giggles.
"Anyway, it's nice to see you here again, Vince," Finlay says. "I'm off."
"Really? So early?" Vince asks.
"Yeah," he says, buttoning up his tuxedo further. "I gotta go to my little sister Aggy's dance recital."
'Huh,' he thinks. 'I hope he too doesn't cause an accident in a hurry.'
"Be well," Finlay says, walking away towards the main entrance.
"Take care!"
Rosa silently watches him leave.
"Prankster hobo..." she says, biting her lip to suppress further laughter. "Sooo dangerous."
"Will you drop it?!"
"I'm gonna go check out that other area while I wait," Rosa says, pointing to a passageway to the far left of the Service, leading to an unknown area.
"No, you don't," Vince says, grabbing her hand before she gets up. "That's the bar."
"Bar?! No way! Really?!"
"Rosa! Don't go!"
Rosa gives Vince an evil smile before shaking off his hand and darting to the bar. Before Vince could even say anything or run after her, the waiter—a young man with black hair—comes with a large plate of rangoons and two equally large mugs of root beer on the same plate. They balance it carefully as they place the root beers in front of Vince, before carefully placing the plate of Rangoons neatly next to the root beer.
"Here you go, Mr. Bright," he says. "I hope your girlfriend enjoys the root beer." he notices the empty stool next to Vince. "Speaking of which, where is she?"
"She ran off to Marthy's bar..." he realizes. "Wait, she's not my girlfriend!"
"You gonna go for it, though?" he asks in a hoping tone. "You've known her since you started highschool, right? I could plan your wedding if you want."
"That's not gonna happen. She'd probably eat all the cake and make a mess before we could kiss."
"Didn't sound outright opposed to the ideaaa..." he says with a mischievous chuckle.
Vince sighs, worried. "I better go check on her..."
"Nah, you're better off staying here," he says, looking over to the Sake's entrance. "All jokes aside, she's trouble. I overheard what you and Finlay were talking about, and I know that house wasn't your idea."
"Eavesdropping again?" Vince retorts, taking a Rangoon. "She's not as bad as you think, Del. She's just got her...complexes."
"You can't fix..., Vince. No offense. I know you know her better than me, but I've had my fair-share of the victim-types."
Vince's head, with a cold and death-eyed look, slowly looks at Del, before quickly changing to one of ease and humor before Del could notice. "Hah! She's anything but the victim. It's the contrary, honestly."
Del shakes his head in disapproval. He looks at Vince, who's chewing on the Rangoons.
"Cheff made em' gluten-free especially for you. I hope you like em'," he says, blushing slightly. "You gonna be okay eating?"
"I'll be fine," he says flatly, focusing on the food. "You better get back to work before Finlay kills you."
"Right," Del says, feeling unwelcome. "See you around."
Rosa steps inside of the bar. The strong smell of cheap alcohol instantly hits her, almost as hard as hard as the sight of the cockroaches scurrying off to hide under the wooden stools. The pinewood floorboards bend under her weight, causing her to grow a bit anxious as thoughts of it caving in and her falling to her death briefly pass her mind. She notes the one, sole man—a middle-aged Latino—sitting in the corner of the place on a broken-looking chair, downing a Captain Roger like it's nothing. It's gross.
It's filthy, grimy and derelict. But above all, it's got rock music quietly playing through the speakers that sit on the corners of the walls. Not just any rock music, but music from her favorite band: PUMCH!
Her kind of place.
'This is what I'm talkin' about!' she thinks, standing in the center of the bar.
"Kid," a raspy, female voice sounds from behind her. "Get the hell out before I turn you into Swiss cheese."
She's taken aback by the woman's rudeness. That's how she treats customers?! No wonder there's no one here!
"Huh?!" she says, walking towards the bar counter, eyeing the blond woman in the green, cozy-looking dress. "Excuse me?! I'm a customer?!
"And excuse me," she says, placing her hands on the counter. "You look like you just turned fourteen! Let me see your ID."
"Could'a led with that!"
"But I didn't. It's my bar!" she barks back.
Rosa's face shows irritation—fury, even. But on the inside, she feels right at home. She'd rather live here than with her "pig-faced" father. Rosa lets out an attitude-filled "", taking out her wallet from her pocket, making sure to take her time to further piss off the bartender, who's not taking the bait; she can wait all day if she has to. Rosa takes out her ID, sliding it over to the woman while looking away with a punkish pout. While she's verifying her age, Rosa can't help but draw her eyes to the small picture that lays under the plastic ID cover of her wallet. She doesn't know why she's looking at it at all, but her eyes remain glued...and so does her heart. Dumb of her to keep it there in the first place, she thinks. Memories of a happy time flood her mind. Mellow memories. Memories ofA saddened frowned forms on her face, and her heart pleads for her to look away.
But she can't.
The picture is of her when she was all but a toddler. She's smirking smugly, in-between two adults as she holds their hands. Rosa remembers being impatient, not baring another second that passed by without the flash of the camera indicating that she could go back to causing mayhem. She also remembers how their hands felt. Still... Her father's—tough and flaky. Her mothers...soft and welcoming. It's like she can still feel their embrace hugging her digits through the tough leather of the wallet. The aroma of roses still permeates her nose, even though it's been years. If only she could've talked to her once more...said something different. Been a better daughter. She'd still—
"Right," the woman says, giving the ID back to Rosa. "Get out."
Rosa snaps back to reality; she had forgotten that she's in a run-down bar. She stores the ID back in her wallet and puts it back in her pocket.
"Can I at least get a glass of water?" she asks softly.
She notices the shift in mood and she softens a little. With a reluctant sigh, she fetches a surprisingly fancy glass from under the counter, cleaning it off with a wet towel before turning on the faucet.
"Gonna cost ya'," she says half seriously. "Name's Marthy."
"WELL, MARTHY, WHO THE FUCK SELLS TAP WATER?! IT COSTS MONEY?!"
"DAMN RIGHT IT DOES! THIS AIN'T GOOD-WILL! THIS IS THE 'SOVEREIGN SAKE'!"
"RIGHT, IT'S A SHITTY, RUN-DOWN BAR!"
Marthy slides the glass of water over to Rosa, the cup almost tipping off of the edge of the counter. Though Rosa catches it, Marthy didn't worry for a second.
She's the 'world's greatest bartender, as she calls herself, after all. Rosa notes how clean and pleasant-smelling the water is, despite the state of things. She drinks it all it in one big chug.
"Whoa, slow down," Marthy says. "You're gonna choke."
"Aaaaah...nice." Rosa says, a look of satisfaction on her face. "Can I get another one?"
"You're that thirsty?! Stop stallin'," Marthy says. "I'd probably get fired if I weren't the boss. Now go."
"Hold on, lady!" she says, reaching for her wallet. "I gotta pay first, don't I?!"
"Forget it," Marthy says, rolling her eyes. "It's on the house."
Rosa tilts her head in confusion. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," Marthy says, eyeing Rosa up and down. "I just realized who you are."
"Huh?"
"Your dad's our number-one patron. That man lives and breathes alcohol—second only to corruption."
"You know my dad...?" Rosa asks, leaning on the counter.
"I wish I didn't. I remember him yapping on and on about pointless shit night after night. Drives me up the wall, but I can't complain. He practically pays for the pace with how much he chugs," she says, cleaning a glass with a white cloth. "When he mentioned he has a daughter, I almost called CPS."
Rosa remains silent.
"Knew it was you when I saw that swirly tattoo on your cheek. Pissed me off how poorly he talked about his own daughter. Described you in vivid detail. Didn't mention your name, though."
Rosa tightens her grip on the glass.
"But you know...judging by the way he was talkin' about you," she leans in further, now face-to-face with Rosa. "I say he was projecting. You seem alright, kid. Did you take that black tattoo without sheddin' a single tear?"
"It's sharpie," she says, looking at her own reflection on the glass. "Just...sharpie."
"Is that right? What's it mean?"
"Strength," she says, gripping the glass even harder. "Are you pittying me? Is that why it's on the house...?"
"No, kid. Listen," she says, taking the glass from her. "If you ever feel afraid or in danger, don't be afraid to call someone. The police—though...that might not do much, since he's the Sheriff of the county—but CPS is still an option." she notices the injury on her leg. "Did he do that?!"
"JUST STOP TALKING ABOUT MY FUCKING DAD, ALREADY!" Rosa shouts, slamming her fist on the counter.
Marthy grows silent, backing away slightly to give her space. "Sorry, kid."
"'Preciate the free water," she says, getting up to leave. "Hope I never come back here again."
Marthy watches her leave. She sticks a hand out. "Is it somethin' I said? Kid! Hold up a sec!"
Just when she thought she had left, Rosa sticks her head back in the bar, saying one last thing before leaving.
"Since he didn't mention it, I'm Rosa. Just payin' back the introduction."
Marthy sees her head dip back out of sight, hearing her footsteps fade away. With a , she looks at the glass of water Rosa had drank from in her hand.
"Nice goin', Marthy," she says quietly, washing the glass in the sink. "First Aggy, now her..."
"I'm going home," Rosa says quietly, walking past Vince. "I'll pay you back for the root beers whenever I can."
"Wait! What happened?!" Vince asks, eating his half of the Rangoons. "You're not gonna touch any of the food?!"
"Lost my appetite."
"Then wait for me! It's pitch-black outside!"
Rosa leaves, the swaying doors singing about her absence with squeaks.
"Rose..." Vince says, looking at the root beer in front of him. "They're gonna get warm..."
He feels a vibration in his pocket. Reaching into his pocket and taking out his phone, he sees a text message.
FROM ROSA:
"I'm hitting that house again tomorrow. You coming?"
Vince lets out a deep sigh before reluctantly replying, his screen gathering oil from his Rangoon-covered fingers.
"Yeah."
"Ah! Here we go..." he says, pain boiling up in his stomach as he clutches it.
"
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