Please note: The narrator in this story expresses her contempt for a certain type of man, a wannabe hero who sticks his nose in her business. She knows not all men are like that, but if it will upset you to read this story, please click the back button. If you do decide to stay and read it, please enjoy and take any expressed opinions with a grain of salt.
I don't know why I'm sitting here. I could be nursing this same slowly-growing-lukewarm drink, for a fraction of the price, on my couch at home, in my comfy pjs, rewatching one of my favorite shows on Netflix. Instead, I'm all dressed up, sitting on this debatably comfortable stool, wincing at the noise level in the room, and trying to ignore the game of sportsball that is playing loudly on the TV.
But being at home would also mean a lack of heroes, those true saviors of humanity. Oh what would I ever do without them?
And right on cue, like he heard my thoughts, here comes another one. Backed by his posse, armed with a cheap beer ― definitely not his first, given the slight wobble as he walks ― he approaches. He stops, standing too close to me, and even though he's to my right and slightly behind me, I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he begins to speak.
"Hey, lady."
I stare forward, ignoring him, hoping that unlike the other two tonight, this one will just walk away when I don't respond. But I know it's pointless, because someone like me is a magnet to someone like him. He just can't resist it.
"Lady, I'm talking to you."
He takes another step closer, and now he's practically standing on top of me. I hear a shuffle, which is likely his buddies ― who are presumably slightly less drunk than he is, but were still unable to talk him out of this ― moving forward to make sure he doesn't do anything regrettable. But he's already past that point. He's made up his mind to do this, and there's no going back.
The hero's hand darts out and pulls my shoulder, his grubby fingers pulling slightly on my braided brown hair. His buddies grab him and pull him back, but not before the stool I'm sitting on swivels toward him. Traitorous stool.
"So it's true," he slurs, before taking another swig from his bottle. He points to my midsection. "What the other guys said. It's true."
I reach out to grasp the edge of the bar and spin myself back around. Dex, the bartender meets my eye from the other end of the bar and motions with her head toward the bouncer at the door. I shake my head in return. I don't need more drunk men getting angry at me tonight. Or angrier I guess.
There's a quick scuffle behind me, and I'm guessing that the hero tried to reach out for me again but his buddies latched onto him fast enough this time. After another minute, there's a slight squeak and he appears on the stool next to me. I roll my eyes, and get ready for Level 2.
"You shouldn't be drinking," the hero says.
"Neither should you," I mutter.
He sits up straight. "What did you say?"
When I don't answer, he returns to his mission. "You shouldn't be drinking. It's not your life to ruin."
This is a new line, one I haven't heard before. I can't help myself, and I smile slightly. I'll give him points for originality, even if he's losing on creativity.
"Why. The. Hell. are you smiling?" he demands. I hear his breathing begin to get deeper, faster. One of his buddies reaches out toward him, but he swats his hand away. "You think this is funny?"
He shoves his beer bottle toward my glass, knocking it over, spilling the liquid all over the counter. "You think this is funny?" he roars, getting up in my face. His friends pull him back, but they struggle to contain him.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the huge, hulking bouncer approaching. Dex passes me some napkins, and I wipe the slowly spreading puddle before it could drip over the edge of the bar.
There's another scuffle as the hero's friends transfer him over to the bouncer, who bends the hero's arms back without much gentleness. As the hero yelps, the bouncer begins strong-arming him with ease toward the door. I turn and glare at his friends, who are still standing near me. They look at each other, then turn and follow the bouncer and their friend.
"Tiny, hold up," I call out, grabbing a wad of soaked napkins off the bar and walking toward the bouncer. He pauses, and I walk around the group, landing myself face to face with the would-be hero.
"It's Pepsi, you dickwad," I say, my face showing my disgust as I jam the soaked napkins into his mouth, the sticky drink dripping down my fingers and his chin. "I would never,
never
do anything to harm―" I stop. I'd forgotten I don't need to explain myself to him. Forgotten that what I do with my body is none of his business.
I give him one more look of disdain, then nod to Tiny. The scorned not-a-hero spits the napkins out of his mouth in my direction, but I'm already on my way back to my spot at the bar, actively scrubbing him from my memory.
By the time I return to my stool, Dex has already located a rag and wiped the rest of the sticky soda off the bar, and she's pouring me another cup of soda, the ice cubes in the glass crackling as the carbonated liquid hits them.
She turns around and wets a paper towel at the sink, then passes it to me. She runs her hand through her short, electric blue hair, and leans her elbows on the bar, chin in her hands. I wipe the remnants of the sticky soda from my hands and I nod my thanks, and she nods back.
"So that dude was an asshole," she says grimacing.
I shrug and take a sip of my fresh, cold drink. "What dude?" I smirk. Dex smiles widely, but her smile drops almost immediately, and I could read the other emotions in her eyes.
Another patron calls to her, and she turns to tend bar, but not before placing her hand on mine and looking into my eyes, conveying all those feelings.
I sigh softly, thinking about our history, but my musing is interrupted by a squeak to the left of me. I sigh again and roll my eyes, gearing up for Round Four. I'm thinking maybe it's time to call it a night. Not that I can't keep doing this, but I don't know if my eyes can take all the rolling.
I turn to the guy next to me, and hoping to preempt any heroic antics, I drone, "Yes, I'm pregnant. Yes, I'm in a bar. No, I'm not drinking alcohol."
The guy's eyebrows fly up, and I can tell instantly that I read the situation wrong. He wasn't about to try to save my future baby from my terrible choices. He was just here to have a drink. And my big mouth and I just made things very awkward.
Of course, I then proceed to make things much more awkward.
"Sorry, I don't know why I said that. I mean, I know why. But I shouldn't have. That was so awkward. And I'm making this more awkward. Oh my gosh, shut me up please."
The guy smiles, but he still looks confused. Then realization dawns on his face. He points toward the door, where Tiny has returned to his post, having dumped the other guy out of the bar. "Is that what that was?"
I groan. "I guess you saw what happened?"
He shakes his head quickly. "No, I didn't. I was about to walk in when the bouncer ― Tiny?" I nod "― shoved some drunk dude outside. He was blocking the door so I had to wait while he yelled at the dude to go look up the meaning of 'mind your effing business' in the dictionary."
I snort, picturing the scene. "Yeah, that sounds like something Tiny would say." Despite his enormous frame and his at-times-physical job, Tiny is the sweetest guy ever. Like Terry Crews and The Rock combined, in size and in niceness. And he won't use actual curse words because he's terrified of his Tutu and what she'd do to him if she found out he was uttering profanity. But it's supposed to be a secret that he's afraid of his 4 foot 9 grandmother, so I kept that to myself.
The guy orders a whiskey neat from Dex, then turns back to me. "So what―" he gestures toward Tiny and back to me. I'm confused for a second, then I realize what he's asking.
"He was very offended by me being in a bar, being pregnant and all. He told me it's not my life to ruin."
