I Have Never Seen Myself, Only My Reflection

I walk into the bar accompanied by Mike, Jesse, and the rest of my band. The lights are bright and colorful; they flash erratically, causing me to wonder whether or not I am going to experience symptoms similar to that of a seizure.

Gazing around the bar, I notice two dark-skinned bouncers standing in front of an ancient-looking, chipping door. Above it is an obviously Roman-inspired arch, giving that section of the drinkery a  more serious aura.

I apparently look longer than socially acceptable, because right as I begin taking my eyes off the oddity, Jesse yells at me over the bar chatter, a little louder than necessary in my opinion.

"I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE THINKING! AND I JUST WANT TO SAY THAT YOU'RE MY BESTFRIEND, AND I WANT YOU TO HAVE A GOOD NIGHT OUT! SO, OKAY DUDE!" The volume level seemed to lessen as Jesse screamed this, but he didn't seem the least bit concerned by that. He simply smiles that goofy smile of his, and brushes a few orange, stray strands of hair over his shoulder. If I didn't know any better, I could swear that he was already higher than an eagle.

As I ponder whether or not to confront Jesse with a lecture on why it is bad to drink before six p.m., he manages to slip from site, into the crowd of drunk fools trying to impress "single" blondes. 

"Ay, mate, don't I know you from somewhere?" I hear a strong, British accent behind me. I manage to turn my body clockwise to see who I might know, or, in the off chance, might know me. What I'm met with is a tall, thin, probably twenty(one?) year-old man with medium-length brown hair and deep brown eyes. Well, I guess it would be more accurate to say that my eyes met his collarbone; I had to look up for the rest of the information.

"Oh, sorry er' mate; I cocked up." I look up at him incredulously. 

"What?!" I exclaim in disbelief, but after it comes out I quickly begin to realize how much it sounded like a squeak.

"Calm down 'er mate. I mean I made a mistake."

I'm sure the look of relief was evident on my face, and the thought made my face get warm.

Right as I was about to say something stupid like "Oh, okay. Well, good to know it wasn't your dick that was telling you I was familiar," I felt two people grab either of my arms.

"What -"

"COME ON JUSTIN! PULL LIKE A MAN!" Jesse unneccessarily screamed from my right, tugging my arm to the point where I was worried the ball might disconnect from the socket joint.

"I'M TRYING, GODDAMNIT!" I heard Justin slur from my left. Drunk. Both of them.

I attempt to get out of their grasps, and honestly I probably could very easily do so, but my curiosity is getting the better of me, and I give and allow them to drag.

We made our way through the crowds of  intoxicated persons, with me, of course, making the expedition backwards.

Where the hell could they be taking me? Is it to that group of blondes I know Jesse was eyeing earlier or - the door. That's it. 

I felt a chill envelop my body as I slowly began theorizing what could possibly be guarded from the outside world by two men that could each be mistaken to be The Rock. There's most likely a prostitute who will give any man, or woman for that matter, with a twenty dollar bill a blow job.

For some reason, I don't feel as excited as I initially had. My hands are becoming extremely cold, and salty beads of sweat form on my forehead. The room seems too packed for my liking - not enough air, not enough air at all. 

I shouldn't have come. I should have just gone back to our van like I usually do and took a nap, or read, or -

"HERE YA' GO DUDE!" At first I think that's Jesse talking to me, and I look over my shoulder to see what in the world he could possibly be trying to give me.

Not as surprising as it should be, Jesse is holding out a wad of money to the space that used to be filled by one of the bouncers, but neither of them were in sight now. Jesse put the money away in his back jeans pocket.

"WELP, DIDN'T COME ALL THIS WAY FOR NOTHIN'! JUSTIN! DOOR!" Justin quickly opened the door while Jesse got behind me and proceeded to push me through the open doorway. I didn't want to go. I may have been a little curious before, but I never wanted to go in. 

I fell to the ground due to Jesse's impact on my back; however, he did succeed in getting me almost completely into the room. I'm pretty sure my foot is sticking out in the doorway. 

I feel someone kick it in, hear a muffled "YOU'RE WELCOME," and the sound of the door shutting and locking. My heart drops, and I sit up from my downward-dog position on the floor.

The hard floor is a maple-wood color, and really had hurt my elbow. Jesse had not only used some force to get me through the door, but his entire body weight. I'm sure this will bruise.

I get up, my plan being to find someone, most likely the anonymous prostitute, and ask for her to let me out. I'll explain that all of this was a mistake, and pay her for the inconvenience. 

I'm shaking, but I don't want to seem frightened in front of her. Now I can kind of see where Jesse is coming from when he calls me a pussy.

After standing up and running a hand through my hair, I begin to walk. I put my arm across my stomach and onto my forearm. Slowly, I sink my nails into myself. I can feel a bit of blood beginning to surface, and that's good.

What I'm walking through seems to be a hallway. I notice that the walls look to be composed of drywall, unlike the ones in the open bar. 

I turn to my right around the first corner I spot. It leads to an open, square room. Chains hang from the walls and sex toys litter the floor.

My breathe gets caught in my throat. I think I've forgotten how to swallow. In the very center of the room are three men, all looking of Italian descent. They are short, have choppy black hair, and two of their faces are adorned each with a mustache. 

In front of them lay a girl - dead. She was most likely the hypothetical protitute I had conjured up in my head due to her clothing, or lack there of I should say. The only thing covering her body is a black, lace piece of lingerie that resembles a short dress. 

Blood pours from a fresh wound in her skull. The metallic smell is enough to make me nauseated.

A muffled scream escapes my lips, and the shortest of the three, the only one without a mustache, looks my way.

"Hey!" He cries out at me. I turn to run, and then hear a gunshot.

I'm dead. I know I am. I knew it was a bad idea to come here, to listen to Mike, Jesse, anybody.

I hear a door open, and wind slam it shut. I guess there was another way out other than through the bar.

The thing is, getting shot doesn't really hurt. To be honest, I couldn't tell you exactly where I was hit. Because, apparently, I wasn't.

At the inside corner where I had come out from stood two men that could have been mistaken for secret service. Both wore sunglasses and all-black suits, and both were holding up their guns - not toward me, but angled in such a way that I know it was at the Italian men - the murderers. 

I turned over my right shoulder, only for my eyes to be met with the sight of one of the taller men with a mustache face-down on the floor, almost on top of the dead brunette. 

"State your name." I hear said from behind me, in a deep, serious tone.

I turn to face them, hoping they had put their guns down. They had. 

"Ke- Kellin Qui- inn," I manage to stutter out. I can't believe how shaky my voice came out. They probably think that I am part of the guilty party and had a part in killing that girl. "Wa- wait. Listen t-to me. I ha- had noth-"

"Follow us. Keep your head low. Don't breathe another word unless we tell you to," The one on the left said. He has short, bleach blonde hair; however he looks just as deadpan as the one with longer, brown hair.

I nod to show that I will comply with the directions I've been given. My face, however, feels warm. I have no idea why, but I wish the feeling away. 

They both nod once, and turn toward the alternate-exit door that the other two Italian men had escaped through. I walk behind them, and notice the blonde looking over his shoulder in my direction.

My face is getting hot again. I know he's checking to make sure I haven't run off. I'm probably just embarrassed that I'm being treated either like a child who's done something very wrong or a prisoner. That seems accurate enough.

The brunette opens the door and walks through into the night. The other secretservice-looking man catches the door, and holds it open for me, then walks through himself. 

I blush again.