Hail Mary

CHAPTER THREE

I was on the verge of giving up on the beer machine when Stig told me that I was going to start work the next evening. He probably thought it'd be in his business' best interest if one of his bartenders was not having the worst day of his life.

Fuck my life.

I found it funny, though, that after all the bullshit I went through, life would still send some little signs for me not to give up and continue living it. Even though I was f*****g miserable. Even though I hate most of the people around me.

Somehow, miraculously, I was still alive.

Cheers to me for gaining control. I laughed inwardly at the thought.

"Mate, you have the rest of the night. You can do some stroll or somethin'. Just get that head sorted out." In all our years of friendship, that was probably the longest statement I heard from Stig.

I nodded slowly and nursed my head a bit with my right hand, grateful for his thoughtfulness.

"Yeah, thanks, man," I said, lower than I wished I had.

He tapped my shoulder sincerely.

"Just stay away from alcohol in the meantime, you know?" He added, chuckling as he did so. I could sense that he was still being careful. After all, his friend had always been a ticking time bomb since they met.

I laughed a bit in response because it was funny, thinking about what came down the night before.

I hurried back upstairs. I had half the mind to go back to sleep as my sight lingered a little on the sofa. I decided against sleeping and retrieved my black leather jacket. Perhaps I'd take Stig's advice into consideration.

It wasn't my first time in London, but it was, indeed, the longest time since I was there. I doubted the place ever changed, but it was still worth exploring.

---

The pavement was wet with melted snow. I could hear the stomping sound as my boots hit the stones. It is colder now than when I arrived earlier this morning. I huddled in my jacket and pulled the collar up to my chin. I shivered just a little and watched as my breath fogged in front of me.

I hadn't really gotten used to the unpredictable weather of England.

The skylight was bright, and skyscrapers towered from afar, covered by the small establishments of the avenue. I passed over a lonely bridge and saw the water frozen down below. A man was hunched over a park bench, an empty bottle loosely held in one of his hands. I did not mind him, but a small thought crept its way into my mind: It's much too early to get so drunk like that.

But oh, well. Look who's talking.

I heard music all around mixed in with the commotion inside every bar. I was so preoccupied with my surroundings that I totally did not notice how my head was not hurting anymore.

I stopped at the sight of Big Ben not so far away. The clouds above cast shadows on the building.

I looked around even more, and then, just when I was about to take another step, a bump stopped me in my tracks all of a sudden -- a slight crash with another body, but it was enough to make me pay a double take at the person in question.

"Oops. My bad. Sorry." I heard her say in a rush, each word ending in the same note. She had on a thick brown ladies' coat, and a belt wrapped securely around her waist. Her mouse brown hair was haphazardly tucked in a red beanie.

She turned around without giving me a chance to say that it was nothing, her high-heeled shoes creating a rhythm as she went along her way, going even farther.

"Cliff."

I turned around and tried to locate the sound. Realization dawned on me that it was a sound from a distant past, a soft whisper.

A cry for help.

"Cliff."

"Millie," I whispered back, and looked from left to right. To an onlooker, I might have seemed like a crazy person. A panic washed over me.

"That girl is Millie."