Page 86 of Lamb

My fingers toyed at the frayed holes of the seat, the slightly uneven legs rocking beneath my weight back and forth on the wooden floors. I smelt the bitter taste of beer, the sharp sting of spirits, and the sweet aroma of cocktails rising from the bar. Many drinks had been shared, spilt, and shotted from this bar, and it carried the chips, scratches, and stains from them. No matter how much they polished, buffed, or washed the wooden surface, it still had that tacky residue that many bars did.

I was not the only one to have drowned in a drink, many having wasted tears, pain, and bad memories into their glasses. Some made people better; others, worse. Either way, enough always promised a blissful oblivion, even for a night. It would be gone by morning, and I was among the many who would feel reality come knocking and would pick up another glass, not ready to answer the door.

“You okay?” A voice jolted me out of my thoughts, and I nearly threw myself from the chair. I had not realised how far my mind had wandered, and a jolt of panic rushed into my stomach.

I spun on the stool, eyes registering my surroundings once again, and I saw that not a single person was breathing in my direction, and the panic in my chest began to calm. All except for one, that is.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat, rubbing my clammy hands up and down on my jeans. “I am okay...”

I would be.

“You don’t look fine.” Pipe, I recognised, stood with a frown, his bald head gleaming even under the subdued, dim lightingof the bar. The few windows running along the outside wall cut through the dark shadows of the room, dust dancing in their dominion.

“I’m—”

“Pipe, honey,”a sharp, high-pitched voice cut me off. “Can you grab me a beer?”

I turned, staring at the girl leaning over the bar. Her long, false blonde hair hung in big, bouncy curls over her bare shoulders, pooling into her deep, round cleavage. She had bright red lips, black smudged makeup, and ice-cold blue eyes fluttering her spider-leg lashes at Pipe like she was having a seizure.

I did not recognise her, nor did she recognise me. She gave me a slow once-over, not even attempting to hide her pitiful, smug smile. I was unsure what she thought she won, but it did not matter.

Pipe’s eyes roamed over what she had to offer before reaching down beneath the bar to the fridge coolers. He extended it to the girl, who pressed her lips into a wide pout.

“You haven’t opened it,” she purred, running her fingers over the condensed sheen of the neck, eyes not leaving Pipe’s.

“And you ain’t paid.” Pipe smirked.

To my surprise, the girl popped up on her thick heels, pushing over the bar, her tits squashed into the sticky bar surface, and pressed a kiss to Pipe’s cheek. Then she slipped her hand around the beer bottle, pulling it back.

“You’re short,” Pipe grumbled, unsatisfied with the pocket change she offered.

“Put it on my tab.” She winked, pressing the neck of the bottle against the side of the bar and, with a deft slam of her hand, the cap pinged off somewhere into the room, and a cold fog rolled out of the open top.

She looked over at me, smug and revelling in the slightly impressed look I gave her before she offered the bottle towards me. “Cheers.” She winked, the scent of the beer wafting across my face before she turned and strutted away.

Badump.

The scent of the beer clung to my throat, and I could taste its bitter bite on my tongue. It shot straight to my stomach, which churned at just the smell.

Badump. Badump.

I fought to breathe in through my nose and out of my mouth, trying to control the nausea rising. I clung to the bar, my racing heart turning the world around me as my heart rate climbed and climbed. Every fibre of my being clung to the scent that had long since disappeared. I knew it was not real, but I could taste it on my tongue, could feel it pooling in my stomach, the warmth of a drink flooding through my veins and rushing over my mind.

Panic raced through my vessel, and my throat began to close as the darkness swept in around me and my chest tightened. My head pounded as that smell grew louder and louder in my mind.

“I am … I—” I could not get the words out. They were stuck, clinging to my throat like thick black tar.

I was not okay.

“You really don’t look good.” Pipe’s voice bounced around in my ears. “Let me get you a water or—”

“No,”I practically hissed at him. He stilled. and I was able to look up from the bar just enough to make contact. “I need wh—” I shook my head.

No.

“Whiskey,” I pleaded, my voice strangled. “Double. Triple.Anything.”

No!

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