Dalliance - Z.M. (An Exquisites Original Story)

9; Bad Habit

After searching my trunk for any gallons of gas sent from God, I slam the trunk shut, infuriated with my luck. For about five minutes, I stand outside in the shallow darkness, hoping for a nice car to come along and help me. Not even a mean car comes. No car comes, and I start thinking about the afterlife, and what it might consist of since I'm definitely getting viciously murdered tonight.

Through the darkness, I spot the bar I saw on my drive here, and I realize it's my only hope. Locking my car behind me, I stay fully alert walking in the rain towards the bar that was farther than it seemed. There are about seven or eight cars parked in the front when I reach it, and I start growing hopeful.

When I open the bar door, it chimes and everyone in the bar looks up and eyes me, completely drenched, it looks like I've showered with my clothes on.

The bar is old, rusty, and has terrible music playing. There's a woman behind the counter covered in tattoos, cleaning glass, and once she sees me, her pierced eyebrows raise in surprise. Smiling even though I'm sure my mascara is running and I look like a zombie, I walk up to her.

"Hi."

She chews on her bubble gum, her lips smacking loudly. "Rough day?"

"You have no idea," I sigh, tossing my damp hair behind my shoulders. "My car broke down."

"Sucks."

"Do you, by any chance, have a gallon of gas lying around anywhere? You know, in case you're an arsonist?"

She doesn't laugh at my joke, which I thought was really funny, but it's clear she doesn't think so. Piercing blue eyes narrow at me, and she just says, "sorry. I've got nothin'."

My shoulders fall. "You sure? Because - "

"I've got nothin'," she interrupts, looking at me blandly. I wonder if I've done something terrible to this woman to make her act this way towards me, but I know I haven't, but I definitely will now.

"You have a restroom?" I smirk, my lips turning in a wicked grin.

"Down the hall to your left."

Without thanking her, I follow her directions to the restroom, avoiding the gaze of drunken men as I pass, my shoes squeaking against the floor. When I reach the restroom, it's single, and it's not as nasty as I had imagined. When I look in the mirror, I wince at the mascara that is running down my face and the red lipstick that is smeared underneath my mouth. My hair is all over my face, my red tank top sticking shamelessly to my chest. At least I wore a bra today.

No wonder that woman didn't help me. I look like death.

After washing my face and squeezing some water out of my hair, I walk out of the restroom, feeling a little better than when I first came in. The bar is still filled with the same people it seems, so I look around for the friendliest face to ask for help. Nearly every person in the bar is a man, covered in tattoos, bald. There's only one woman customer, but she's mumbling something in Spanish angrily on her phone, so I realize that I shouldn't bother her.

Sucking up my judgment, I walk to a man who has gauges in his ears. He's looking down at the empty glass in front of him, seemingly distressed, but misery loves company, so I go for it.

"Hi."

He looks up very slowly from his glass, and once he makes eye contact with me, he frowns.

"I'm Raine."

He doesn't say anything.

"Uh, my car is out of fuel, so I was just wondering if you had any gas?"

He shakes his head no.