Chapter 1
Fiona
It was Friday night, and to my own surprise, I found myself at a bar. I was not one for social activities—definitely not a bar hopper—but my boss had invited the entire team out for drinks to celebrate a new account. I felt obligated to go, and an hour in, I was very much questioning my decision.
Murray’s Pub was a local joint. I had been there once or twice when we had lunch as a team, but it was my first time there at night. Their food was greasy and filling. The bar took up most of the space with a couple of booths lining one side. The seats were covered in a pine green vinyl material that always felt both sticky and slippery at the same time. Faded pictures and autographs lined the walls behind the crowd of unfamiliar faces. In the back, there was a pool table and a dart board.
I was nursing the same beer I had ordered when we arrived, nodding along, trying to keep some semblance of a smile on my face even though I couldn’t really hear what anyone was saying and was becoming increasingly overwhelmed as the place filled with more people.
Tyler, a fairly new employee from the sales team, stumbled over to me. His face was flushed with the telltale signs of impending inebriation. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and there were dark spots spreading under his arms on his shirt.
“Fiona! Can’t believe you’re here and drinking a beer! Crazy! Thought for sure you were a crazy cat lady.” I sighed, all too familiar with the Tylers of the world
“I’m allergic to cats,” I replied in an even tone. He looked confused by my response, but his dimwitted determination persevered.
“Okay, you know what I mean, though. Single, spends her weekends at home knitting. That sort of thing.”
“I prefer gambling, but once I got banned from Vegas, it never felt the same. Accounting is as close as I’ll get to life in the fast lane now.” His confusion increased twofold until the awkward silence became too much for him.
I waited him out, slightly enjoying the way he squirmed at the lack of engagement. I gave myself a silent cheer when he muttered an excuse before returning to the other end of the bar.
I watched as he joined a cluster of the more outgoing coworkers, no doubt ready to play phone tag with the rest of the team regarding my reaction. I was sure that, by Monday morning, I’d be receiving apologetic looks and possibly some pamphlets for Gamblers Anonymous. At least I amused myself.
Working as an accountant might have seemed boring to some people, but it was the safety of working with numbers that I liked. Numbers didn’t lie. They didn’t promise things they couldn’t follow through on. With that career path and the security it provided me, I could finally see the forest through the trees. I liked my job. It may not have been glamorous, but it was stable, reliable.
I had an efficient apartment. I kept the fridge fully stocked, the rooms tidy, and rent was always a day early. I had a nice nest egg in savings to hopefully put down on a house in the next few years. It allowed me to feel more in control. That job, my cubicle, and my schedule all gave me the structure I so desperately needed.
They allowed me to have three nutritious meals a day and to buy new clothes when they got ruined. I had gotten away from the sad excuse of a life my parents had, and although it wasn’t a fancy life, it was one I hadn’t even dreamed of as a child. The one promise I made to myself was that when I grew up, I wouldn’t be like my parents.
I would make sure I had the things I needed. I would have a clean and safe space to go to bed every night. I wouldn’t have an open-door policy for any stranger with a pill or a bottle. I might have taken that to the extreme, but not everyone had the luxury of dreaming big.
Shaking those thoughts off, I removed myself from the group and went to the bathroom, hoping for a break. The atmosphere at the bar was incredibly overstimulating, with too many smells and noises competing for attention. Not to mention that, with every step I took, the soles of my shoes clung to the ground for a second too long.
I stepped into the bathroom, grateful to see it empty, when a woman’s giggle rang out from the last stall. It was shortly followed by a man’s grunt, and I rolled my eyes. I hesitated for a moment, genuinely wanting to use the restroom now that I was there, but not wanting to intrude. I turned around, ready to head out, when the man’s shout had me jumping.
The door to the stall swung open, and a large man came stalking out. His white teeth stood out against his overly tanned skin, and his dark hair was slicked back with so much product it had an unnatural shine.
“Stupid slut can’t hold her liquor,” he muttered to himself before catching sight of me.
“The fuck you staring at, Velma? Mind your business.” I sighed. Having worn glasses my whole life, the Velma comparison was neither new or amusing. The man stalked pastme in a waft of liquor and too-strong cologne as the door slammed behind him.
“Uh, hello? Are you okay over there?” I asked.
I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the girl whose laugh was cut off. With a sigh, I ventured over to the last stall and found her splayed over the toilet, her head dangling perilously close to the water.
“Whaaat are youu looking atsh?” she slurred before quickly turning her head to vomit. With a sigh, I left the bathroom and went to the bar.
Slightly more aggressive than usual, I stood on my tiptoes and leaned over, waving my hand, trying to catch the bartender’s attention. He came over, looking especially annoyed when I asked for water and some towels. I was finally given what I asked for and made my way back to the ladies’ room.
The girl was still sprawled in the last stall. She had wriggled her tiny form between the wall and the toilet. Her head lolled to the side as she seemingly went in and out of consciousness. Holding my breath, I stepped in and tapped her awake.
“Fuck you want, bish?” she slurred before tilting to the side. I pushed the bottle of water into her hand.
“You need to drink this. Can you tell me your address, and I’ll call a cab for you?” I asked.
“Whose are you? Do you know who I am?” she asked as she clumsily gulped down the water.
“Slow down. Take tiny sips so you don’t throw up again,” I said. She gave me a mean look before lowering the bottle.
