Page 100 of Sapphire Tears

A smarter woman would have listened. A smarter woman would have jumped off the damn bar stool and high-tailed it out of here.

But the lesser June just fixes me with hopeful, desperate eyes.

“You don’t have to—”

Before she can finish her sentence, I follow my instincts and rip my hand away from her. She gasps and pulls her hands up to her chest.

“I told you once already to go,” I spit. “I’m not the kind of man who repeats himself.”

I say it loudly enough that the bartender looks our way. So do the two girls he’s still flirting with. I realize suddenly that I’m slightly unsteady on my feet. How much have I had to drink? One, two, three, four…

Across from me, the poor man’s June is on the verge of tears. She has the hand that was touching me clamped tightly to her chest as if I burned her, and she’s whimpering like a helpless little lamb.

That one little sound seems to break whatever resemblance I thought she’d had to June.

This woman is nothing like mine.

She may be pretty, but June is beautiful. A dancer who lost her legs, but is no less a dancer for it. I wonder if I’ve ever told her that.

“Yo! That’s no fuckin’ way to treat a lady.”

I turn around to find myself face to face with a burly guy in a cut-off shirt and a dark, unkempt beard that hides most of his face. Prison tattoos ripple over his shoulders.

“I’ll treat you worse if you don’t get out of my way,” I sigh, feeling suddenly woozy and exhausted of all this bullshit. The violence and tedium of my life.

“I don’t think so, buddy. Not ‘til you apologize to the girl.”

I wasn’t really looking for a fight when I walked in here. But now that it’s knocking on my doorstep, I realize it’s just the thing to take the edge off.

My fists are aching for contact.

My soul is crying out for blood.

I answer the wannabe white knight with a sharp jab to the nose. He goes down like a lead weight. I hear the crunch of cartilage and I feel satisfaction race through my body. It ticks all the same boxes as an orgasm.

A chorus of gasps rings through the bar, as if everyone here is taking their last desperate breath before the rest of the oxygen is stolen away. All I see around me are deer in the headlights. Feeble. Useless.

“Okay, man, you’re drunk,” the bartender says, coming around the countertop. “And I don’t need the hassle, alright? Just leave.”

But before I can, the bearded knight lunges up from the floor. He grabs me around the waist and tackles me against the bar. He’s just big enough and I’m just drunk enough that it takes me a minute to get my bearings.

But no more than that.

I grab his jaw and twist until he screams. Something in his neck snaps. Then I ram a knee into his ample gut, smash an elbow into the nose I already broke, and send him right back onto the floor where he belongs. He’s a whimpering, gibbering mess.

I sigh, stand, and straighten the cuffs of my shirt. Then, with a cheeky salute to the bartender who’s standing transfixed a few feet away, I saunter out of the bar.

But I don’t feel any better than I did when I walked in.

43

KOLYA

The drunkenness doubles down when I hit the outside world. Signs shimmer and multiply, lights refract a dozen times over, and the ground heaves like a concrete ocean.

I’ve just turned the corner when I hear the roar of sirens.

Someone must have called the cops on me. Tonight would have turned out a little different if they’d gotten here a few seconds earlier. As it is, they’re going to be sorely disappointed.

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