The Bar

4. Long Nights

Clara walked to her front door, unlocking it with her key. She took one last look at the black camaro before hurrying inside, closing the door and locking it.
What the hell did he mean by, just yours?
She looked up the staircase in front of her and sighed, taking a few steps up the staircase she wondered whether her parents noticed she wasn't home yet. They didn't know she worked at a bar, to them bars and alcohol was a terrible sin.
She went up the stairs and down the hall to her room, closing the door and locking it. She began to strip, desperately needing a shower.
She tosses her clothes into a hamper and goes to the bathroom, locking the door that leads to her sister's room. Clara turns on the shower and as it warms up she strips herself of her undergarmets.

She tells herself not to look but she betrays herself. Her eyes look down at the scars on her skin. On the front of her femur, very close to her pelvis, close to her inner thigh. The marks on her right leg would be there forever, just like the memories of that night. She takes a deep breath and moves into the shower, forcing herself to not cry and to put the thoughts back in a box in her brain.

Flint parked his camaro in his driveway, desperately needing a release. He turned off the engine and slammed his hands against the steering wheel regreting everything he had said. She would probably quit on monday because she felt uncomfortable. He cursed himself and finally gave up his anger, stoping his hands from hitting the steering wheel.
He left the camaro after locking it. Walking through the gate and through the courtyard behind his garage. He moved to the left onto the small wooden bridge that crossed the koi pond to his front door.
He unlocked the door and slammed it closed behind after walking into his foyer. He tossed his keys and wallet in the bowl on the side table next to his coat rack.
He took off his jacket hastily, feeling constricted. He tossed the leather jacket onto the chair in the sitting room then took a right to his kitchen. He opened the fridge looking for a drink.
'Beer is water.' He thought.
He went to the seperate sitting room off the back of his kitchen and shifted through the chair and went to the cabinet by the fireplace. He poured himself a glass of scotch. Wondering out the back door onto his deck.

He had bought the house solely on the view of bis back deck. The river curved around the city, the lights of the buildings and traffic gleamed in the distance. The Freeman bridge in view. The cables lit up from their guiding lights. The stars barely visible which made his stomach clench. The moon did have a spark but it wasn't as bright as it was back home. Not in the Enlgland, but back in Scotland.

Tonight, however, he felt nothing of the view that usually swelled his heart of beauty. The view was nothing in comparison, it was plain. The colors of the lights weren't bright enough, the water wasn't the same, the bridge was dull, the sky was darker than before.
He downed his smooth Scotish drink. The coolness of the drink turned warm like usual. However instead of feeling the biterness of the sweet Scottish drink he tasted a sourness that was terrible. He looked at his glass thinking that maybe he had poured the wrong drink. It tasted different. He returned to his sitting room, poured another glass.
He went back to the deck and poured the malt into his mouth, swallowing slowly, tasting the bitterness as his tongue tingles. Once the last gulp of necter slowly falls down his throat, he is dumbfounded. Anger rises in him. It just isn't the same. He grips the glass then swings his arm back, throwing the glass over the railing down to the rocks below.

Once dry, Clara swiftly walked through her room, shifting through her dreaser drawers to find her black oversized Beatles t-shirt. Once found, she let the towel fall and the old fabric shifted over her head. She opened her top drawer pulling out a pair of black underwear then pulled them over her legs.
She went to her bed. Pulling the covers to her neck  she leaned into the soft comfrot of her bed, trying to forget the mess that occured two years ago. She questioned herself; Why am I doing this? Is this what I need right now? What will this prove? How will this help me?

She turned over, her eyes watering as she felt herself fall into the painful reminders of the man from two years ago. The phantom pain of her scars curved into her, she took a deep breath. People in her position had fallen into drugs, alcohol, sometimes suicide. The pain of it subsided as she put her mind on a current issue. Her boss.
He was attractive, that was for sure. He was intimidating, had anger issues, was protective, honest, sometimes blunt. He was unlike anyone she'd met, but then again most of the men she knew were from church or aquiantances from school that just assumed she was stuck up due to her shyness.
Clara felt her stomach turn into knots as Flint's face came into her brain. The way his arms comforted her, the way he smelled like bitter sweet alcohol. She loved the way he had moved his hands through her hair. She loved the protective feeling of his rock hard chest. She loved the way he yelled at her because he was worried. All of it sunk in.
'He is my boss! Stop it now!' She thought.
But she couldn't stop, she wanted to know more of him. She felt a tingling sensation between her legs, the kneeding sensation she had never felt before.

Flint gripped the railing for dear life. His body tensed as his imagination got the best of him.
He wondered how it would feel to grip a hand full of her golden brown wavy hair. He wondered if she'd yelp if he tugged on her hair or if she'd gasp with pleasure. He imagined her back arching and her mouth agape, letting out a moan.

He pushed himself away from the railing in anger. He stormed into the house, shifting through the chairs of his sitting room and through the kitchen, past his front door and up the staircase. Hastily, Flint walked through the hallway and into his bedroom. He stripped, tossing his clothes on the floor, leaving a trail to his bathroom. He hurriedly turned on the shower, wanting the water to be cold.

Clara woke up to the sound of knocks on ber bedroom door. She rolled over and leaned up, dangling her feet over the bed. She groggily stepped up and stumbled toward the door. She opened it and turned around not caring who was at her door. She went to her bed, laying down and pulling the covers over her head.

"Worked hard last night?" Her dad asks as he sits at the edge of her bed.

"Yup, manager had us deep clean the pizza ovens. They are having some inspecter come today," she lies.

"Do you work tonight?"

"No, I don't work saturday nights or  sundays."

"Good...will you join us for brunch with the Morrisons?" He asks cautiously. She knew that when she heard the nuance that he was trying not to tell her what to do. This nuance was a tell tale sign that in actuality he was telling her to do something.

"Yes, of course, wouldn't miss it," she says.

"Good. Well, I'm leaving, please watch your sister," he says walking out the door. She sighs and pulls the covers tightly around her.

Flint wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing on the floor in his pants pocket. He groans and ignores the phone. The damn things awoke him from a dream of pure bliss.
He wanted nothing more than to go back. His phone rang again, the sound made his head ache and thus anger arose.
He sits up and moves his legs over the  side of the bed. He stands up, nearly stumbling in the process. He leans down and grabs his jeans from last night, pulling his phone from the pocket.
2 missed calls from Najeem. Flint groans as the phone begins to ring again. He swipes his finger across the screen and pulls the device to his ear.

"What?" Flint barks. Once the phone is answered, Najeem begins to speak rapidly.
"Slow down, whats wrong?" Flint asks as he begins to rub his aching head.

"I just walked into the bar to open. It's trashed, bottles and glasses are broken. Some chairs are broken, theres spray paint on the walls," Najeem explains.

Shit.