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Asher continued to watch Sam. The pub was empty, and unusually silent. Business was slow today. Last night Mr. Crowen had hosted a drinking contest; most of the regulars were probably still recovering. For the first time in his life, the silence taunted him. Asher waited until Sam was finished before attempting to speak to her again, “So you work here?”
She tossed the sponge back into the bucket, and turned to stare at Asher, “I live here.”
“Oh, really?” Asher wondered why he’d never seen her before. He blinked at her, feeling belittled and strangely intimidated. He felt compelled to find out more about Sam, but he didn’t know what to say, and he was far too shy… he admitted to himself. With curiosity gnawing at him, Asher rested his head back on the counter, sideways, so he could watch her wipe the tables.
Her gracefully slim arms were surprisingly sinewy and tough, toned from a hardworking life. Asher felt weak, frail, and pathetic beside this small, strong female, though he was considerably taller.
She spoke suddenly, “So I guess my father didn’t tell you about me, huh?” She smiled grimly, “I didn’t think he would.”
“Your father?” Asher asked innocently.
“Yeah, my father,” Sam spat viciously, “Mr. Crowen, to you.”
A cool autumn breeze rushed into the room as Sam opened the door, chilling the back of Asher’s neck. She leaned out to look up and down the dark, empty streets. “Might as well close up now.” She slammed the door shut and locked it.
Asher peeled his face off of the icy counter, wincing. He rubbed his cold cheek. Sam laughed.
They stared at each other for a moment, until Asher awkwardly looked down at her feet.
“I better get to bed,” She mumbled, “before he gets back.”
Asher nodded reluctantly, “Goodnight, Sam.” And he watched her disappear into the hallway.
Asher began to notice Sam now, she almost never ventured out of her room. How fragile she looked when she sat before her father, enduring his yells and curses and taunts. Her composure was amazing. So calm, so restrained, and yet so defiant. Mr. Crowen was not what he seemed. As Asher listened to his verbal abuse upon Sam, he began to realize that his friendly façade was only reserved for him.
Whenever Mr. Crowen went out for the night, Sam and Asher talked in the empty bar. Sam confided in him, Asher listened.
“He’s always been that way,” Sam had told him, “Why do you think my mother left?”
“I saw your mother on my first day here,” Asher mumbled, “She didn’t seem very happy.”
Sam scowled and puffed her cigarette, “Woman was trying to take me away. She does that ever so often. She’s trying to clear up her conscience by finally assuming responsibility for me.”
Asher blinked, taken aback by Sam’s cold tone, “Don’t you want to get away? I mean… you’re father doesn’t seem to treat you very well.”
“No s**t,” Sam laughed darkly, “But trust me, my mom’s a lot worse. Not only is she temperamental and bipolar, but she’s also a show girl.”
Asher sighed. Sometimes Sam could be so depressing. Her dark eyes flicked to his face and narrowed, scrutinizing him. “And what about you? You never told me how you ended up working in this dump.”
“I needed money.”
“Huh. Whatever,” Sam shook her head, disappointed.
“I ran away from home. I wasn’t getting an education anyways, so I figured if I didn’t start making money now, I’d never be able to leave.” Asher said, staring out the window into the rain.
“Your parents beat you too?” Sam sighed.
“No, they just ignored me,” Asher turned to face at her, “Mr. Crowen beats you?”
Sam shrugged, “Only when he’s on a drunken rampage.”
Asher stared at her, speechless. How blind was he? Looking at her face carefully now, Asher could see the side of her face was riddled with small scars. A faded purple blotch ran down her right temple. “You should call the police.” Asher muttered pathetically, feeling like he wasn’t much help at all.
Sam just shook her head, “Then where would I go? I have no relatives that want me. Crow Tavern is pretty much my only home.”
The rain beat down relentlessly on the roof and on the window. Midnight was drawing near, and Sam had already put up the ‘Closed’ sign. They sat in the dark, creaking pub, solemnly passing the cigarette back and forth.
“He probably won’t be coming home ‘til morning,” Sam said, her voice soft in the dark. “Are you tired yet?”
Asher shook his head. He put the cigarette to his lips and watched Sam’s face illuminate in the red glow as he breathed in. Her eyes were closed, relaxed. The room still reeked of alcohol, but it was toasty and dry. They were both leaning on the bar counter, watching the rain outside. They sat on their barstools, silently musing in the darkness for a long time.
 Syle_Violet · Wed Jun 25, 2008 @ 05:41pm · 0 Comments |
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