Saint
1176 Words
I walked slowly to the table, forcing myself to keep my composure. My grip on the tray was steady, but inside, I felt anything but.
Then, his eyes found mine.
Those blue eyes burned as they raked over me, slow and deliberate, taking me in from head to toe. A shiver ran down my spine, my skin heating under his gaze.
I set the tray down smoothly, keeping my movements controlled, as if I wasn’t hyper-aware of him watching me.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice low and lazy, that damn smirk still playing on his lips before he turned back to his conversation like he hadn’t just sent my heart racing.
I swallowed hard, spinning on my heel and making my way back to the bar, butterflies kicking up in my stomach. My face felt warm, a heat crawling up my neck to my cheeks.
Blushing. I was blushing.
I hadn’t felt that in years.
As I neared the bar, I caught Kat’s smug grin. She leaned back against the counter, polishing a glass, her eyes full of mischief. She had watched the entire thing, soaking in every second of my reaction.
I groaned internally.
I already knew she was going to give me hell the second I stepped behind the bar.
“See something you like?” Kat teased, her smirk widening as she set down the glass she had been polishing.
“What? No.” I scoffed, but the heat rising in my cheeks betrayed me.
She raised a brow. “You know, you’re not married. You could—”
“Kat, no,” I cut her off, my voice sharp.
But the moment I said it, Shawn’s face flashed in my mind, dark and full of rage. My stomach twisted, and for a second, it was like I could feel his hands again, gripping, punishing.
I winced, my body instinctively tensing. My fingered slowly sliding over my bruised neck. I tried to swallow down the bile threatening to rise.
Kat’s teasing expression faltered. She saw it—she always did. The way I recoiled, the way my entire demeanor shifted the moment his name existed in my thoughts.
She set the glass down, her voice softer now. “I’m sorry.”
Before I could respond, the bikers called out for another round.
“I’ll get it,” Kat said quickly, grabbing the bottle of whiskey before I could move. But I shook my head.
“I just need some air,” I muttered, already stepping away.
Kat didn’t argue, just nodded knowingly as she started making the next tray. “I got it. Go.”
I slipped out the back door, the cool night air hitting my overheated skin. I took a deep breath, my hands gripping the railing of the small step outside.
I just needed a minute.
Just one minute to breathe before I had to go back inside and pretend I wasn’t drowning.
I crouched behind the building, lighting a cigarette with shaky hands. The cold autumn wind cut through my clothes like a blade, but I didn’t care. It was a relief to feel something that wasn’t the constant tension in my body, the ever-present weight of Shawn's control.
I hated feeling like this.
The way he still held power over me, even when he wasn’t here, gnawed at my insides. It wasn’t just physical—though that hurt, too—but the mental torment, the constant fear of what might come next, what he might do if I stepped out of line.
I inhaled deeply, the smoke filling my lungs, but it didn’t help. It didn’t drown out the suffocating thoughts swirling in my head.
I couldn’t spend my life like this.
The mental and physical pain—how it drained me, how it made me feel small, weak—was exhausting. I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it felt like I was slowly losing myself.
I flicked the ash from my cigarette, my hands trembling as I let the cold wind sting my face, hoping it would wake me up, snap me out of the numbness.
But nothing changed.
My cigarette burned down to the filter, and I knew I couldn’t stay out here much longer. I took one last drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs before I exhaled slowly, as if it could somehow clear my mind.
I had to go back inside.
I let out a deep breath and shook out my wild curls, trying to reset, to pretend like everything was okay. It was fine, I told myself. I could handle this. I slapped on the best fake smile I could muster, the one that didn’t give away how exhausted I felt, how much I was breaking inside.
I opened the back door and returned to the bar and went through the motions—stocking bottles, refilling the shelves, making sure everything was just as it should be. Kat was out in the crowd, moving from table to table, flirting with the guys, making them feel like they were the only ones in the room. She was good at that—at making people feel special, like they mattered.
I stayed behind the bar, tending to the customers up here, my focus narrowing on the glasses, the orders, the routine that kept my mind occupied. I didn’t have to think about anything else.
Just a few more hours to go.
Then I could go home. I could pretend like everything was fine for a little while longer.
I was pouring a couple draft beers when I noticed the group of bikers all stand up and leave the table.
"You coming, Saint?" a big burly man asked, slapping the guy from earlier on his back.
"I think I'll have one more and meet ya'll there, alright?" He said glancing quickly up at me before turning to the man.
"Suit yourself! I'll save a game for you and the pool table then." he replied back before following the rest outside.
The sound of engines roared in the background as I watched "Saint" walk over to the last barstool, his boots making a soft thud against the floor. He sat down smoothly, like he belonged there, and placed his half-empty glass of whiskey on the counter, the amber liquid swirling lazily inside.
He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at the glass, his fingers resting lightly on the rim. The silence between us stretched for a moment, but I didn’t mind. It felt like he was in no rush, like he was waiting for something—maybe for me to speak, maybe for the right moment to break the quiet.
His presence lingered in the air, the energy around him different from the usual crowd. It was magnetic, though I couldn’t quite place why. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, that quiet confidence.
I wiped down the bar, taking my time, letting the moment hang there. I didn’t ask what he wanted. Not yet.
- Writer
