Xavier’s Obsession

Audrey Watson. “A shot of whiskey, please,” I hear a voice say behind me as I clean the shelves. I'm startled a bit, because I didn't hear anyone come in. It has been a slow night if I can even call it that. The Golden Bar where I work is normally the most popular bar in Jefferson—a small town in Texas—where the old men sit to wind down after a long day at work. But lately, our customers have been dwindling until at last, we barely get a customer per night. Which is why I'm surprised when I turn around and am greeted with the sight of a young man. He's literally the most beautiful man I've ever seen, which is saying a lot because I don't easily notice men. I must have been staring for a while because he snaps at me in an impatient tone, “Do you usually scare your customers away with those deadly eyes of yours, or am I just special?” I immediately turn back to the shelf to get a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, breathing deeply to calm myself down before facing him again. I pour his shot and pass it to him on the counter. I watch as he grabs the shot and downs it in one gulp, his Adam's apple moving up and down quickly. I quickly avert my eyes when he slams the glass on the table and demands, “Another.” As I pour the second shot for him, I chastise myself internally for checking him out. The handsome guys are always bad news. I know that first hand, but sometimes I tend to forget. Well, I'm not going to forget that anytime soon, I tell myself as I pour the third shot for him. His rude behavior is more than enough to snap me out of my daze. After seven shots of whiskey—yes, I counted—he raises his hand to stop me when I start to pour the eighth shot. After that, he gathers his head in his hands and sighs heavily through his mouth. “Had a rough day?” I ask him as I place the bottle of whiskey back on the shelf. No matter how rude he was at the beginning, he's still human. “You have no idea,” he replies in a gruff voice, dropping his hands and looking up at me. I sigh as I reach forward for his hand and squeeze gently. “You’ll be fine,” I tell him. It's a routine I've picked up over the months that I've been a bartender. Sometimes, people come in to drink away their sorrows and most times, the sorrows always come back the next day and then, they're back the next night—drinking away their sorrows again. Most people in this category are alcoholics anyway. But I've realized that some people just need comfort—someone to talk to—and as long as they sit at the bar, I try to offer that comfort. And when given the opportunity to rant, most of them go on and on, talking about what went wrong. Which is why I'm surprised when the stranger in front of me asks, “What about you? Rough day too?” “More like a slow night,” I gesture to the empty bar and he scoffs, making me laugh. He joins in and I stop laughing due to shock. Isn't this the same guy that insulted me some minutes ago? He also stops laughing and I realize he's checking me out, not like there's much of me to see—considering the long shapeless white dress I'm wearing. Anyway, I use the opportunity to look him over as well. His black hair is ruffled, like he had run his fingers through it multiple times. A handful of hair falls over his face and it's long enough to cover his eyes so I move on to his lips—cherry red. It almost seems like he uses lipstick. My eyes continue their movement to his neck where I see the glimpse of a tattoo but unfortunately, the rest is covered by the black shirt he's wearing. He sucks in a sharp breath and that's when my eyes shoot up to his face. He has moved away the hair covering his eyes to the back, and is now staring at my wrists. I immediately pull on my sleeves while cursing under my breath. I already have enough problems to deal with, without anyone poking their nose into my business. His gaze leaves my wrists and makes contact with mine. I gasp as I stare into his green eyes. They’re clear and so mesmerizing it seems like I'm looking at a pure piece of emerald, enchanting and drawing me in. His face is scrunched in concentration and it feels like we're playing a staring game—one that I'm not about to lose. That thought jinxes the moment because a hand slams down on the far end of the counter and it effectively snaps me out of the spell that was cast on me. I glance sideways to see Brandon standing with his hands on the counter, anger burning in his eyes. He's glaring at me with such intensity that it makes my stomach twist into a knot. I scurry over to him. “Brandon…” I manage to say before he cuts me off. “What's going on here?” I glance over to the stranger who's watching us curiously and in the back of my mind, I say a prayer that Brandon wouldn't humiliate me in front of him. But I clearly take a long time to answer, because the next thing I know, my head snaps to the side as Brandon backhands me. “Stupid cunt. What do you think you're doing, seducing my customer when you should be doing your job?” He yells. “I'm sorry. I… I…” I see his hand coming to slap my face again and I brace for the impact. I should be used to it already since this is what a normal day in my life looks like. But is anyone ever truly used to pain? I wait for the slap but then, I hear a fist meeting skin and when I open my eyes, I see the stranger standing in front of me. I didn't even notice him coming closer. “Are you okay?” He asks as he turns to look at me. But the words won't leave my mouth because all I can see is the bruise starting to form on Brandon’s cheek as he punches the stranger in the face.