Dirty, Rotten Bastard
Eight
Bridget kept her head up. She had to keep her head up. There was no one in her life to lift it back up for her when she felt like looking down was the only answer. Her gaze was focused on the middle-aged man on the other side of the bar she was stuck tending for another hour yet, and on the horrible things that were leaving his mouth.
“C’mon, 50 bucks for a quick peek?” He held out his hand, a filthy $50 note held between two fingers, and began to wave it in front of Bridget’s nose. “No one has to even know! We can go ‘round the back, have some privacy…”
Bridget didn’t know exactly what to do. This was only her second shift at a job she really needed to keep, and, well, she’d done worse. She thought back a few weeks to Billie Joe as he stripped her of her clothes in the back bedroom of his mansion, realising since then that there had been photographs of his kids in the hallway that, in her state, she hadn’t paid attention to. She felt sick. She’d certainly done a lot worse before. She jumped as someone lightly squeezed her elbow, relief flooding over her as she realised it was only Jonathon, the pub’s manager.
“Is this man bothering you?” he said in a low voice, his eyes quickly darting to the man in question who had taken his hand back and appeared to have given up.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” She took from Jonathon’s smile that he didn’t expect her to stay entirely true to what he’d said about his employees keeping his customers happy. She went to the other side of the bar, evading the man who would still glance her way every once in a while, realising that there were still normal people left in the world. Jonathon had been nothing but lovely to her since she’d started working for him, and he had yet to make any kind of move on her. Not that she was interested; it was just a lovely change, for once. She wanted to tell herself that it was because he was married, but no, that didn’t seem to make sense in her mind anymore. People still played around when they were married. She knew this as a fact and wished she didn’t.
Bridget got her bag out of Jonathon’s office and after taking a moment to breathe in some fresh air before she had to pass through the bar once more, she left. She passed a few people she’d served, noticing that they were now considerably louder and happier than then were a few hours ago, and felt a little better about her job being a means of getting people drunk. Alcohol never did anyone any good but it was still nice, she decided, every once in a while. Her eyes darted to the entrance where Billie came into view, just off to the side, and her feet began to take her there much slower. It might have been a natural reaction had she not noticed and slowed her walking down even further. He smiled, gave a short wave, and then began to run his fingers through his hair. As she got closer she saw his regrowth showing and the bags beneath his eyes, but she didn’t say anything about his lack of personal maintenance. She thought he’d looked… unwell. But, she knew how it’d come across if she mentioned anything. She didn’t want to seem at all interested in Billie Joe.
“Hi,” he greeted her, following her outside as she passed him by. Bridget let herself stop for just a moment. “I just wanted to make sure you got the job.”
“I did. Thanks.” And that was it. That could happily have been the end of their acquaintance with one another but things never worked that way for Bridget. Her life had always been full of the cruellest of people.
“So how about it honey? What d’ya say now that you’ve knocked off, hmm?” It was the middle-aged man from before, Bridget realised, as she turned around once feeling a warm, sweaty palm on the bare of her shoulder as it contrasted against the cold of the wind.
“I’m not interested.” The man took a look at Billie Joe and they exchanged a cold, hard stare.
“He’s too old for ya, love.” The man spat at Billie, who, though gritting his teeth, was relatively calm as he wiped it from his cheek. “Come on then, let’s see who’s more man!” Bridget sighed and rolled her eyes at the typical drunken behaviour displayed in front of her as the man raised his fists, though hadn’t expected him to actually take a decent swing. She heard herself scream as Billie took a step back, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the sidewalk. His head rose just a little, just enough to show the cold emotions that had appeared in his face. His eyes were a darker shade than normal and as his hands balled into fists, he could feel that he’d lost himself in the moment. Drunken fights over girls that weren’t his to fight for were never really his thing, but he was just so damn angry. It hadn’t been what the man had done or even what he’d said. Billie knew he’d left home with that attitude and now, with the chance to get it out of his system, he was revelling in the images that came to mind.
He was going to swing, hard, and he knew it’d feel good. He was going to kick him in his side as he was down, and he knew that’d feel even better. Billie’s thoughts were interrupted, however, by a sharp pain in his side and a strangely warm sensation to follow. He looked down, almost losing his balance, to see the end of something foreign sticking out from his side. Looking back up, his vision now a slight blur, he was just in time to watch the man’s fist collide with his face. He could hear Bridget screaming and pulling him away from the man for a little while until the sharp pain in his side became too much of an interruption. He wanted to feel for what was wrong but a pair of soft hands pulled him away then laid him down on the cold concrete. He could see the stars in-between Bridget’s worried face getting in his way as she screamed down her phone at someone.
Billie watched Bridget as she cried and felt a few tears as they hit his cheek, but things were getting very dark. He was vaguely aware of sirens in the distance, and a moment later Bridget’s hands were gone from his and her screams were all he could hear as she seemed to be getting further away. The sirens were suddenly closer, and different hands were touching him. He felt them on his face, moving his arms, and then down to his side. The scream he let out in pure pain scared himself, the last thing he heard before he passed out.
“C’mon, 50 bucks for a quick peek?” He held out his hand, a filthy $50 note held between two fingers, and began to wave it in front of Bridget’s nose. “No one has to even know! We can go ‘round the back, have some privacy…”
Bridget didn’t know exactly what to do. This was only her second shift at a job she really needed to keep, and, well, she’d done worse. She thought back a few weeks to Billie Joe as he stripped her of her clothes in the back bedroom of his mansion, realising since then that there had been photographs of his kids in the hallway that, in her state, she hadn’t paid attention to. She felt sick. She’d certainly done a lot worse before. She jumped as someone lightly squeezed her elbow, relief flooding over her as she realised it was only Jonathon, the pub’s manager.
“Is this man bothering you?” he said in a low voice, his eyes quickly darting to the man in question who had taken his hand back and appeared to have given up.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” She took from Jonathon’s smile that he didn’t expect her to stay entirely true to what he’d said about his employees keeping his customers happy. She went to the other side of the bar, evading the man who would still glance her way every once in a while, realising that there were still normal people left in the world. Jonathon had been nothing but lovely to her since she’d started working for him, and he had yet to make any kind of move on her. Not that she was interested; it was just a lovely change, for once. She wanted to tell herself that it was because he was married, but no, that didn’t seem to make sense in her mind anymore. People still played around when they were married. She knew this as a fact and wished she didn’t.
Bridget got her bag out of Jonathon’s office and after taking a moment to breathe in some fresh air before she had to pass through the bar once more, she left. She passed a few people she’d served, noticing that they were now considerably louder and happier than then were a few hours ago, and felt a little better about her job being a means of getting people drunk. Alcohol never did anyone any good but it was still nice, she decided, every once in a while. Her eyes darted to the entrance where Billie came into view, just off to the side, and her feet began to take her there much slower. It might have been a natural reaction had she not noticed and slowed her walking down even further. He smiled, gave a short wave, and then began to run his fingers through his hair. As she got closer she saw his regrowth showing and the bags beneath his eyes, but she didn’t say anything about his lack of personal maintenance. She thought he’d looked… unwell. But, she knew how it’d come across if she mentioned anything. She didn’t want to seem at all interested in Billie Joe.
“Hi,” he greeted her, following her outside as she passed him by. Bridget let herself stop for just a moment. “I just wanted to make sure you got the job.”
“I did. Thanks.” And that was it. That could happily have been the end of their acquaintance with one another but things never worked that way for Bridget. Her life had always been full of the cruellest of people.
“So how about it honey? What d’ya say now that you’ve knocked off, hmm?” It was the middle-aged man from before, Bridget realised, as she turned around once feeling a warm, sweaty palm on the bare of her shoulder as it contrasted against the cold of the wind.
“I’m not interested.” The man took a look at Billie Joe and they exchanged a cold, hard stare.
“He’s too old for ya, love.” The man spat at Billie, who, though gritting his teeth, was relatively calm as he wiped it from his cheek. “Come on then, let’s see who’s more man!” Bridget sighed and rolled her eyes at the typical drunken behaviour displayed in front of her as the man raised his fists, though hadn’t expected him to actually take a decent swing. She heard herself scream as Billie took a step back, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the sidewalk. His head rose just a little, just enough to show the cold emotions that had appeared in his face. His eyes were a darker shade than normal and as his hands balled into fists, he could feel that he’d lost himself in the moment. Drunken fights over girls that weren’t his to fight for were never really his thing, but he was just so damn angry. It hadn’t been what the man had done or even what he’d said. Billie knew he’d left home with that attitude and now, with the chance to get it out of his system, he was revelling in the images that came to mind.
He was going to swing, hard, and he knew it’d feel good. He was going to kick him in his side as he was down, and he knew that’d feel even better. Billie’s thoughts were interrupted, however, by a sharp pain in his side and a strangely warm sensation to follow. He looked down, almost losing his balance, to see the end of something foreign sticking out from his side. Looking back up, his vision now a slight blur, he was just in time to watch the man’s fist collide with his face. He could hear Bridget screaming and pulling him away from the man for a little while until the sharp pain in his side became too much of an interruption. He wanted to feel for what was wrong but a pair of soft hands pulled him away then laid him down on the cold concrete. He could see the stars in-between Bridget’s worried face getting in his way as she screamed down her phone at someone.
Billie watched Bridget as she cried and felt a few tears as they hit his cheek, but things were getting very dark. He was vaguely aware of sirens in the distance, and a moment later Bridget’s hands were gone from his and her screams were all he could hear as she seemed to be getting further away. The sirens were suddenly closer, and different hands were touching him. He felt them on his face, moving his arms, and then down to his side. The scream he let out in pure pain scared himself, the last thing he heard before he passed out.
♠ ♠ ♠
This chapter started out waaaaay different in my head.