Hunting Sawyer

I stood in my dingy little washroom, hovering over the tiny stained sink and staring mindlessly into the cracked mirror. I splashed some water on my face and patted it dry with a threadbare towel that was probably as old as I was. I then spent a few rushed minutes applying the very cheap, light makeup I owned. It wasn’t much, but it was what I had. Thankfully, things were picking up at the bar - my newest job in my attempts to make ends meet - and the owner seemed to be giving me the better shifts as I worked hard to prove that I could handle the rougher crowd. With a few minutes left to spare, I used the last of my lotion and body spray and grabbed my backpack. One last check in the mirror and I decided….it could be worse. I had light copper brown hair that, thankfully, fell past my breasts in soft beachy waves. I couldn’t afford a haircut and typically trimmed the ends with the dull scissors that lived in our barren junk drawer. Long days in the sun at my previous job left both my hair and my skin slightly freckled and sun kissed. I bit back a sigh as my mother’s blue grey eyes, heart shape chin, and button nose looked back at me in my reflection. I missed her so much and the empty ache in my chest burned with the dry remnants of that grief. But I huffed, letting my determination drive me. I gave myself one more look of confidence before strutting out the door and locking the deadbolt. Things had been shady around here, lately. My parents had disappeared after a date night two years ago. Their vehicle had been found, beaten to s**t and covered in blood, off a dirt road on the outskirts of town. But no sign of them ever surfaced. I was eighteen when that happened. So, I was left alone, without anyone or anything. We didn’t have much outside this little apartment in a shitty area of our small town. So, with the car destined for the crime scene junkyard, I was left with nothing but responsibility and overdue bills. I stepped into the bar, smiling at Joe, the owner, as I crossed through the dingy space. Joe was awesome. He was an older gentleman with a wild grey beard and bushy eyebrows, but he wore a busted navy blue ballcap over his bald head and always kept it pulled low over his eyes. He barely spoke. In the three months I’ve known him, I’ve heard him mutter a total of five words. “Don’t be late.” And “Good job.” But he loved this bar. It was consistently pretty busy, being that our town was a passthrough in a relatively barren area. We were right off a highway that connected some bigger cities. Cities I could only dream of seeing. But instead of daydreaming, I got to work. I bumped out Sue, who could only work the day shifts. I helped cash out her patrons so she could collect her tips and close out her drawer. Meanwhile, I did a wipe down of the worn bar top and the small hightops that scattered across the establishment. Several grimy booths lined the wall with tears in the vinyl seating and initials carved in the chipped wooden tabletops. A few dusty dartboards were left barely used on the far wall and a rickety juke box held down its fort in the corner. Neon signs lit the windows, drawing in weary travelers and antsy locals. Strangely enough, the minute I walked in here looking to make a quick buck to pay the electric bill – I knew I was home. I’d been working seven nights a week just to keep the rent paid and lights turned on. Joe let me shower in his little studio in the back when my water got turned off. But hey, it was a living. And having the better shifts hopefully meant I could buy some personal effects at the drug store around the corner. The door swung open and I didn’t look up but just called over to the newcomers – “Find a seat, I’ll be over in a minute.” That’s when I felt the air practically suck from the room, I heard several heavy feet and, my interest peaked, turned to find a slew of boys – no no – men, piling through the double doors. They were all massive, dangerous, angry, and dare-I-say drop dead gorgeous. So, I sucked in a breath of my own and put on my big-girl-pants. I needed to make some serious tips and I needed to prove to Joe that I could do this. They crowded the bar, the earlier patrons throwing side eyes and shifting uncomfortably in their seats. I secretly nodded towards the tables on the wall and whispered I’d bring another round in a few. They all smiled in turn politely and I got to work keeping up with the insatiable thirst of the mystery men who arrived in a flurry of muscles and dark clothing. However, amidst the group of twenty, one guy kept catching my attention. He sat in the middle of the group, who seemed to swarm around him. Our eyes locked a few times. And I couldn’t help but admire his piercing green eyes that complimented his longer dirty blonde hair that was pulled back from his face but kissed the top of his shoulders. He looked as if he knew things the world shouldn’t. But in a most mischievous and alluring way with his deepset brow and hunger in his stare. And I couldn’t help but enjoy the way he was looking at me…I knew I shouldn’t. I typically shut down every single advance someone attempted to throw my way. But there was something about this man that drew me in…no matter how much I knew he shouldn’t...simply by the company he kept. I knew it was ridiculous, and I was very aware of the way Joe kept shooting warning glances in my direction. So, I kept to my work. But I may have let my hips roll more than usual and when my shirt pulled up over my navel, I didn’t pull it down this time. By the end of the night, I was highly aware of the way the mystery patron held his eyes steady on me. Well, I can only imagine the entire bar was aware of his attention on me. His presence demanded control of anything in his vicinity. I poured their beers and shots of whiskey and prayed this night would be over soon. Little did I know it was just the beginning.