By Lauren
This is a short story type thing based on a scene I made up in my head one day. Hopefully eventually it'll develop into an actual book. This was really fun to write, and probably one of the pieces that I'm most proud of.
It was late at night; the bar was full of sad drunks using the weather as an excuse to not go back home. The wind battered the old building, singing through cracks in the windows to the steady beat of the rain on the roof.
The poor boy behind the bar hunted down yet another beat-up bucket to put under yet another leak in the roof. This one was right above where he normally liked to stand and watch the comings and goings of the small roadside Inn where he worked.
Over the racket of the rain and wind, he heard the roar of a motorcycle engine as it pulled into the carpark out the front. Through the small, grimy window next to the door he could just see the outlines of two figures getting off the bike, lit up by the headlights they hadn’t yet turned off.
He wasn’t expecting them to come in, they were probably just members of one of the gangs who used the Inn’s out-of-the-way location to make their dealings and trades. They were often huge men and women with facial hair, and tattoos covering the scars of a life consisting predominantly of drugs and abuse.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a sign that the storm was only going to get worse, and that he’d have to dig up more buckets.
He heard the creak and bang of the front door being blown open by the wind. The figure who opened it didn’t bother to close it again as they walked slowly towards the bar, their face entirely obscured by a scarf. Close after them came a boy, a few years younger than himself, brown hair dripping wet as he hurried over to his companion, closing the door they’d left open behind him.
The brown-haired boy caught his friend by the wrist, and the bartender saw that they were a young girl, still wearing a dress under the too-big leather jacket it looked like she’d borrowed from her friend.
The girl pulled out of the brown-haired boys’ grip, pulling off her glove in the process to reveal pale hands and chipped blue nail-polish.
Looking around the bar, he saw that all the sad patrons had looked up from their drinks to watch the brown-haired boy and mysterious girl.
Seemingly unaware of the attention, the girl approached the bar. He found himself backing away as she approached, but she only removed her other glove, placing it on the bench before unravelling the scarf around her head to reveal wet, dirty-blonde hair and red-rimmed hazel eyes flecked with gold. Those eyes met his across the bar, so full of anguish and raw emotion that he had to look away, feeling a sense of oily guilt at seeing this girl look so vulnerable.
The brown-haired boy came up behind her, reaching around her to place the glove he still had in his hand on the bench next to its’ partner.
“Lara,” he said into her ear, “Lara, talk to me.”
The girl didn’t even acknowledge that her friend had spoken, instead she undid the zipper on her oversized, sopping wet jacket and took that off too, laying it on a stool. This revealed an equally soaked pale blue summer dress totally unsuited to the current weather. It had spaghetti straps and a v-neckline, pulled in around her waist by a blue ribbon with a skirt flowing to her mid-thigh, revealing long legs.
Her brown-haired friend cleared his throat loudly, and he realised he’d been staring at her, frozen in place.
“Yes?” he asked, flustered
“Can we get a room please?” said the brown-haired boy, hand going to the girls’ shoulder as he gazed nervously around the room. All the drunks had leaned in, staring intently at the young girl with her long legs in all her vulnerability. They looked… hungry… too eager as they gaped at her silently. They were filthy, slimy people.
“Yes, of course,” he said, with sudden clarity and determination, grabbing some keys from under the bar, “come with me and I’ll show you where to go.”
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