Page 22 of Lucifer's Hounds

"Yes. I am. But I don't see how it is of any concern to you," I say, dismissing him. "Now what can I get y’all to drink?" I ask, with that signature fake smile plastered across my face.

The men order what they want and the one who asked about Darren approaches the bar a little while later.

"I didn't mean any harm in my question. I was just curious about the woman who finally gave him a good blow to his ego. He needed that," the guy says, offering what appears to be a sincere and apologetic smile. I smile back, accepting his strange apology.

"Thanks."

I reach my hand out to him. "I'm Lilly.”

"Scott. It's nice to meet you," he says.

“So how long have you been working here, Lilly?"

"I've been here for about two months. Not long. What about you? How long have you been in construction?"

"Well, I've worked for the same guy for the past six years."

"Really? You must have a good relationship with your boss then,” I note.

"You could say that. He's a real good friend of mine.”

"I think that's awesome. I don't even know my boss yet."

“Really? Wasn’t he in earlier today?” Scott inquires.

“Yes, but I wasn’t here,” I shrug.

I spend the next two hours talking to Scott. He seems like the kind of person who would make a good friend, one that you could confide in and tell all your secrets to. Not that I’m going to, but that’s just the kind of person he presents himself as. At eleven-thirty, everyone has left except Scott.

I finish closing up the bar while he sits at one of the barstools.

“All right darlin’, I’m almost all done here. You can go ahead and get out of here. I won’t be far behind you,” I say over my shoulder as I finish counting down my register.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

“Yes, I’m sure. Thanks, though. I’ve done this plenty of times by myself,” I say, giving him a smile.

“Anytime.” And with that, he heads out the door.

It doesn’t take me long to finish cleaning and put my paperwork in the office and the money bags in the safe. Once my work is done, I sit at the bar and scan the liquor shelf. My eyes land on the bottle of Crown Royal on the bottom shelf, next to the tire part of the display case. Feeling sorry for myself, I huff awhy the hell notas I get up and grab the bottle. I pour a shot into one of the new purple shot glasses and stare at it for a moment. Knowing it’s a bad decision, I pick up the shot glass and toss it back. The whiskey burns and my mouth waters. I love Crown, but sometimes it is not my friend.

I turn the jukebox on and play different pop songs to try and lift my mood. I play a plethora of songs that make me happy, especially the ones that I can sing at the top of my lungs. I take shot after shot, each one burning less than the one before. After a few more shots, I fix myself a mixed drink. The bar is empty, the doors are locked, and it’s just me here to enjoy my own company. I look at the pool table and start to think about the last time I shot pool—with Cass. A smirk etches its way onto my face.

In the store room, I locate the case that houses my pool stick. I open it and put it together. With music blasting through the bar as loud as it can be, I dance around as I rack while singing Zac Brown Band’s “Different Kind of Fine”, and using the pool table to help balance as I sing into my pool cue.

I lean down to take a shot and miss. I giggle at myself. This is a lot more fun than I thought it would be. I have got to do this more often, and by this, I mean get drunk in a completely empty bar room and make an absolute fool of myself, for myself.

I stumble to the bar and grab my drink, take a hefty gulp, then pour another shot. The Crown doesn’t burn anymore, but at this point, nothing does. I’m getting hammered and nothing hurts. I won’t let myself get lost in a hole thinking about things that will only bring me into a downward spiral. Right now, I’m going to enjoy the ignorant bliss. The jukebox playsUptown Funkand I can no longer sit still in this chair. I jump up and sing into the empty shot glass, dancing around the entire bar, putting on an elaborate show for a crowd of the ghosts that live here.

With that in mind, I let go. I let go of the insecurities I cling to so heavily that keep me in a shell. I let my personality shine for the pity party of one, and have the absolute best time being a fool in this bar.

I step forward, but my foot catches on the back of my other heel, tangling my feet beneath me before I tumble to the ground.

“Ouch! Son of a bitch!” I cry, sitting up quicker than I should have.

The room begins spinning and I push myself from the floor, sprinting not-so-gracefully to the bathroom behind the bar. I pinball off of multiple walls and surfaces before I somehow make it to the toilet without puking everywhere.

I spend the next hour throwing up everything but my memories. I pass out on the floor of the bathroom at some point, flat on my back. I don’t know how long I was asleep for, but I don’t think it was very long. I’m still drunk when I begin to wake up and I still feel terrible. I nod in and out of consciousness when I feel someone lift me up and place me onto what I assume is the couch in the lounge. Whoever it is puts a blanket over me and turns the light out. I can’t even open my eyes good enough to see who it was, but Mindy is always saving me, so she’s the likely culprit. It must be morning already and she’s in for her shift. I make a half-coherent mental note to thank her when I wake up and that’s the last thought I have before a deep sleep finally consumes me.

---