Behind Your Eyes

In the corner of a dimly lit bar in the small town of Prescott, in the shadows, sat a lone man. His table top littered with many empty shot glasses, some right side up and others turned over. Scattered here and there were also empty beer bottles. In his hand was the remaining shot of the round, his gaze intently focused on it. He calculated how much the alcohol would burn his throat, in comparison to how greatly he felt he needed the intoxication it brought. His eyes closed and he downed the shot, flipping the glass over on the table.

What could make someone drink in such a manner, one might wonder. And as much as he tried to get his fast-paced mind away from his reason, it kept settling back onto the subject again. During his previous bender on the subject, a few weeks prior to this night, all he could think was: Am I not a loyal enough son? But this time he knew better, the truth was in fact much worse. After spending months traveling the world in search for his lost Father, he had failed. Or had he?

No, his Father was long gone and if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't. His Father no longer cared about his children and what was to come for them. He had washed his hands of everything and abandoned this sinking ship. This was the reason for his drinking binge, the reason he had sought out this tiny little bar in the first place. For the very first time in his existence he felt depression's icy grip constrict his chest. For the first time he understood exactly what that feeling meant.

His eyes opened once more, and began glancing around the bar, taking in every insignificant detail to try and keep his mind occupied. He began at his own table; counting the shot glasses (32 total), the total of those up and those down (12 and 20 respectively) and how many beer bottles (9). Then his eyes traveled to the bar itself; made of oak, seats 7 but currently occupied by only two middle-aged men in flannel coats (one blue, the other dark grey). They were chatting up the young female bartender, who seemed to be the only employee in sight. She wasn't like any girl he had seen before, so she stood out in his mind most clearly.

He then noticed her pick up a tray filled mostly with shots of different liquors and three beers, heading over to his table. He took in her complete visage as she approached and began placing items from the tray onto the table. Her skin was much fairer then he'd ever seen in the sunny state of Arizona, making her dark purple and black hair stand out even more. She was dressed in a Gothic fashion that he'd only heard of before, fishnets on her arms and legs, corset top, mini skirt (that was only visible from behind as her apron covered the front completely) and high heels. She softly sighed as she straightened up, placing her tray under her arm against her hip and before looking up at him.

“You looked like you were ready for another round.” She offered tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, her bangs moving just a bit to uncover her eyes. “Do you mind if I sit down? These things are killing me.”

He looked down at her footwear once more, noting they gave her at least 5 more inches to her height. He never quite understood why women wore such things if they caused them such pain. Then again, most men don't understand women in the first place. He shook his head to show that he didn't mind and grabbed the shot closest to him, gulping it down and placing the glass back on the table. As she sat down across from him his eyes began searching for details again. He was never good with people skills especially with the opposite gender.

“Mind if I drink with you?” She asked, pointing to the shots she had brought.
Again he shook his head to signal he didn't mind. This time, however, he could not refrain himself from asking an obvious question. “Are you not working though?”

She slammed down the shot and grabbed for a beer to chase it with before grinning and nodding her head towards those left in the bar. Just the men upfront and the couple across the way intoxicatedly trying to determine whom could stick their tongue farther down the other's throat (he had no clue who was winning at this point.) “It's 2. Last call around here is 1, these are just regular stragglers waiting to sober up enough to drive home. I'm not working.”

He once again nodded in recognition of her explanation and watched as she took another shot, taking in the details of her face now that it was up close. Her eyes were blue save for a small ring of green around the pupil framed with long lashes and dark eyeliner. The tip of her nose turned up just slightly like that of an anime character's accented on the left side with a purple spiked open hoop earring. Her mouth was on the smaller side, with pouty lips that were painted black. Just below her lip-line on the bottom right side was another purple spiked post earring. There were also two fine scars near her lips, one above the upper left side and another along the right corner.

Then he noticed her name tag and had to once more question the obvious. “Is your name really Pandora?”

Once more she laughed and shook her head. “No it's not. And before you ask, no you my not touch my 'box' either.” She insisted (putting air quotes at the word box) as though she got that question a lot, followed by the other.

“I don't get your joke.” He replied calmly before taking another shot, flipping the glass and reaching for his own beer. He studied the look in her eyes, and how while her face showed a bubbly, happy girl; her eyes showed something completely different. So he began to read her, his way of getting to know people without having to force chit chat. She was unhappy with her life and her job but also very nervous for some reason. Indeed after a several minutes of her sitting there she began to check over her shoulder every few minutes, as if she felt watched.

“Are you okay?” He asked, looking at the detached look in her blue eyes as if she was far away. He too began to feel as if something wasn't clicking in his mind, that he should be noticing something directly in front of him. But this is the point where the alcohol began to slow his thinking process down, as he had wanted earlier, however it was coming at a horrible time. She didn't say anything for a few minutes, but took two more shots and stood up.

“Fine. I'm just going to go out for a smoke, calm my nerves.” She said softly, giving him a smile that would have been reassuring if he hadn't been able to tell it was completely faked. The young woman headed for the door to the bar, grabbing her cigarettes from her apron pocket as she moved. His mind began to work overtime trying to piece together what he should know. The only thing that would surface were words he had said to a friend the last time he was this intoxicated.

'The name of every prophet is burned into my mind......'

And it was true, but why was it relevant to this girl and this situation now where something was off? Since his brain didn't want to properly function he settled for following her outside minutes later. But once he walked out the door he was met with a scene that he wasn't quite prepared for. Then again, fate always has it's ways of delivering good with the bad. Little did they know just how much fate had to do with this night, that it would set off a chain of events pre-destined for them many, many years ago.