Sweet Rush

Thirteen

It's Halloween. 

Under normal circumstances I would have been chilled but considering that I work at a bar and live in New York, I'm terrified. I've always had a fear of clowns and for some reason you never fail to see someone dressed like 'It' as if their lives depend on it. Not only is my fear of clowns causing this angsty feeling but also the bar being packed like a sardine can. It's about to be the busiest night of my life. To add on top of all of this anxiety Jane freaking Pritchard has not returned to the bar and hopefully there's not a new list coming for the day. Everyone needs to be at a hundred percent tonight including myself and I'd hate to have 'office duties' messing me up. Given that it's going to be packed, I'm taking full advantage of all the tips that can come in. This obviously calls for a devious costume. 

For girls my age, Halloween is the time to be the sluttiest you've ever been in your life. Each year gets worse as you age. The costume fabric becomes lesser and lesser and the innocent establishment just becomes a reason to party hard. Am I like girls my age? 

Of course. 

I take out my costume that's been sitting in my closet for about three days now. I decided on being a dark angel. It's the simplest thing I could find that would be flattering in black. I pull on the mini skirt that doesn't even go half way past my thighs and slip on sheer black tights. The tightness of the bra makes my As look close to a B which is perfect. What girl doesn't want her tiny tots to look much bigger than what they are? 

There's an attachable pair of tiny wings and a halo that I piece together. I let my tight coils flow in its layered nature around my face before applying my matte red lipstick. I shrug on my black trench and leave for my journey to the hell hole. 

It's now shy of evening and the bar has already steamed up from the capacity. I log myself in then scurry to bar to tend to anyone who has been waiting. A few individuals at the bar comment on my costume as I walk by causing me to flash a smile. I can taste the tips coming in. It's such an imperative thing that you dress the part as a bartender, well at least if you're trying to make some coins. I've observed that when I wear my hair out I tend to get more attention. I don't know if it's the volume or the curls but whatever it is, it has made me more in one hour  than the money I invest in keeping it healthy. 

Before I know it, I'm engulfed in the rush of  serving drinks, talking, and restocking the alcohol. The moment I'm completely capable of taking a break my eyes glance at the overhead office where I'm almost certain that the ghost of Jane is residing. My lips part without intention as I see the silhouette of this gorgeous man pointed in my direction. It's too dim to see his eyes but I can tell he's looking. The shape of his shadow causes goosebumps to rise on my arms; it's as if he got buffer while he was away. 

He never told me he'd be back tonight. 

As if to sate my desire of confirming that I'm not imagining things I quickly look away, picking up an empty bottle of Vodka from the shelf and storing it in the bin under the counter. I attempt to glance again and there he is in the same spot. After about two minutes of observing he turns away from the glass and walks away where I wouldn't be able to see him. 

A feeling of happiness..??

A relieved feeling comes over now I know Jane is back. I'm not sure if relief is what I feel but I refuse to say happiness or excitement. I guess I've just been looking forward to not having the responsibility of the bar but also there's something else that lingers. I know for sure I hate being around him but there's a tiny magnetic thing about him that makes me giddy in his presence. I so badly want to see him but at the same time I despise his guts. It's as if I've been anticipating his return and now that he's back, I'm overjoyed but not for the reasons I thought I'd be.