Someone once told me that sometimes to remember who you are, you have to look in the mirror. Seeing the reflection of your own soul.
But the only thing I want to do when I look in the mirror for a long time is to break it.
Punch it right in the middle and watch it shatter into hundreds of tiny pieces.
Feeling the pain of the glass cutting into my knuckles, watching them slowly bleed.
And that's exactly what happened, and also why I bought a new mirror.
Just to make sure it wouldn't happen again the moment I hung it up, I left the apartment.
By the time I got to the bistro, which I thought about more than I should have, it was already dark.
With my hood covering my hair from the rain and my hands in my pockets, I stood in front of the windows while I looked inside.
She was there again.
I treated her like an asshole and she definitely didn't deserve it.
But what would I say to her if I went in? Because I'm pretty sure I would have offended her by mistake.
I focused my vision and saw myself in the reflection of the glass. My jaw clenched and I took a few steps back before continuing down the sidewalk.
I shouldn't be here.
I walked until I came across the nearest bar. Lucky for me, I found one just a few blocks away.
I didn't look at it from the outside or the inside. I didn't care what people were walking or sitting around me. I headed straight for the counter and sat down on one of the taller stools.
The barmaid, who had red hair and a darker skin color, immediately came to me with a smile.
"Vodka," I told her when she asked me what I wanted.
She turned to pick up a bottle of vodka and a small glass, which she placed in front of me before filling it.
I stopped her hand as she started to turn with the bottle. "I'll take the whole bottle."
Surprised, but with a little smile, she placed the bottle on the counter while I dropped the money next to it.
"You're not from here, are you?"
"I like to drink in silence." I simply told her.
"Let me know if you want to change that." She winked at me and moved on to other customers.
I downed the first glass, and before I even felt the pungent taste in my throat, I was pouring another.
"Hello, honey." I heard a guy's voice a few meters away. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that four guys had come to the bar.
"What can I get you?" The barmaid smiled at them.
"Four beers and your number." One of them winked at her, a taller guy with a beard and a shaved head.
"I don't give my number to customers, sorry." She turned to pick up four glasses and began pouring beer.
"And what if you're not working?" He insisted.
She shifted her weight uncomfortably from one leg to the other and tried to smile. "I'll think about it."
"Come on baby." He smiled at his friends. "We'd have fun."
Clutching the small glass in my hand, I tried to ignore them.
"I said I'd think about it. Your beers." She placed four glasses in front of them and told them how much to pay
"I knew you black bitches don't know how to have fun." He threw money on the counter and tried to take the beer, but she stopped him with her hand.
"Get the hell out." She said harshly. "I'm sure you and your friends are capable of finding another bar."
"You're one of the feisty ones, huh?" He laughed and grabbed her hand, which was preventing him from taking the beer. "Why don't you show me somewhere more private?"
"Let go of my hand, you moron."
"Oh, moron." He and his friends laughed. "That's all you got in you? Funny." He snorted. "Give us a few minutes and I assure you, you will have something entirely different in y..."
"Hey!" I put the glass down hard on the counter, forcing drops of vodka to jump out. "She said to let her go and get the hell out. What did you not understand about that?" Everyone looked at me, the guys really pissed and the barmaid with a little fear in her eyes.
"Did you say something?" He let go of her hand and walked towards me, his friends following him like little ducklings following their mother.
"Yes, and you heard me." I turned my head to the side to look into his eyes. "She's obviously not interested. So why don't you get the fuck out? And don't forget your little ugly ducklings." I nodded my head behind him. "Good chat." I turned back and took the glass in my hand.
Before I could drink it, he took it from my hand and drank it himself. "You were saying?"
"You should get your ears cleaned." I looked at him again, his face a little more red than before.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" He frowned.
"Someone who wants to let off some steam." I straightened up and my hand wandered to a half-full bottle of vodka. I wrapped my fingers around it and smiled. "I was planning to drink, but this will be better."
"What the fuck are you talk..." Before he could finish, I gripped the bottle tightly and smashed it against his head.
The barmaid screamed and covered her mouth as the guy in front of me fell to the ground, his friends looking at his body before looking at me, their hands clenched into fists.
This is going to be fun.
I love the rain.
Everyone always hides from it and that leaves empty streets. Such silence and peace are the best there is.
Even though I don't have an umbrella and it's a few streets from work to the bus stop. By the time I get there, I'll be soaked enough to get sick.
I regretted not taking one sweatshirt from the bistro. My white long-sleeved T-shirt wasn't keeping me warm enough.
I need a hot shower and tea. And especially sleep. And since I have the day off tomorrow, I can sleep a little longer. I hope.
I didn't run to the stop, which was already in my sight, for one and only reason. With my luck I would slip and fall straight into a puddle.
But I walked quickly to the bus stop, hugging myself and ignoring my surroundings until I hid under the roof of the bus stop.
I barely made it before it started to rain even more.
The first thought that crossed my mind was, "I should have called someone". But the second one that followed it was, "I won't bother them with such nonsense, it's only rain".
Rain, that will probably secure me a place in a hospital with pneumonia.
I hugged myself bigger as if it would help and peeked out from the stop to see if my bus was coming. Unfortunately not yet.
I backed up so I wouldn't get splashed by a car if one passed by, and only then did I smell something. As if someone was smoking next to me.
Come on, Lexi. Pay more attention to your surroundings.
My gaze fell on a guy in a black hoodie, his face was covered and only a half-smoked cigarette was visible from under the hood.
I must have been looking too long because I'm pretty sure he saw me staring at him.
I looked away from him and shook my head.
Out of reflex, I took a few steps away from him, to the edge of the stop, and brushed my cold hair from my face.
I knew it was bad when my teeth started shaking.
Where is the bus?
I moved from one foot to the other in an attempt to warm up but in vain.
Umbrella, Lexi. Always pack an umbrella, even if you like the rain. You like your health more.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the guy standing up, throwing his cigarette on the ground and crushing it underneath his boot.
I rolled my eyes at that. Is it really that hard to walk two steps to the bin and throw it away normally?
Of course, I wasn't about to say that out loud though. I don't know him and God knows what kind of guy he is.
But I wondered if he had seen me roll my eyes as he started walking towards me.
Your first instinct should be to run, right? But in my case, I was stuck to the ground, unable to take even one step in another direction.
And I'm not even saying that his hands were covered in blood.
Run you idiot! A voice in my head screamed.
Oh my god, don't tell me I'm going to die like this.
But to my surprise, he took off his hood, and at that moment I breathed a little, saying that I knew him. But that was only until I noticed a fresh wound under his eye and blood on his eyebrow.
He's the guy who almost ran me over with his car. I still don't know his name and he doesn't seem like he'd just give it to me.
I opened my mouth to say something, maybe to ask what happened and if he was okay, but I remained silent.
I looked at him with even more surprise when he started to take off his sweatshirt over his head.
My gaze slipped to his stomach, which was not only worked out and tattooed, but also covered in bruises.
The black minimalist birds stretched from the hem of his jeans up, getting bigger the further they went.
Before I noticed anything else, his gray t-shirt fell back into place, covering him.
He pressed the sweatshirt, which he was now holding in his hands, to my chest. I automatically grabbed it, surprise still on my face.
"Dress properly next time." He said without any emotion in his voice or face and turned his back on me. He started walking away, in the other direction I was going.
Stunned, I stood there, my gaze on his already-soaked back.
What happened just now?
Before I could think more about it, my bus started approaching the stop. I quickly put on the sweatshirt and got on.
The moment I got home, I made tea and took it to my room. I set it aside to cool while I took a warm shower.
When I returned to the room, I stopped at the edge of my bed, where the black sweatshirt was placed.
"Why would he give it to me?" I whispered to myself.
Because he saw how desperate you were.
I exhaled heavily and put it down on the sofa by the windows. I locked the door and lay down relaxed.
After all those hours on your feet, there's no better feeling than lying down.
I pulled the duvet up to my face and focused on the rain hitting the windows. It was so soothing that I fell asleep within minutes.
*****
I woke up in the middle of the night to a loud noise coming from downstairs. The only thing that could have been my father.
He probably didn't light up the room and tripped over something. But when I didn't hear anything else after a while, I started to wonder if he was okay.
What if he fell and hurt himself?
With a heavy breath, I got up from the bed, unlocked the room, and went out into the corridor. Carefully and mostly quietly, I walked down the hall to the stairs and found him sitting at the bottom of them.
"Dad?" I almost whispered.
I didn't get any response, so I went down a bit. When I was close enough, I heard him mutter something under his breath.
I grabbed his shoulder gently, realizing too late that it wasn't a good idea to touch him.
But for the first time in a long time, he just looked at me, his eyes as red as ever, and smiled.
"Hi, Lexi." He could barely keep his eyes open. "Did I...did I wake you up?" I tried to hold my breath as I smelled all the alcohol. Is it possible to get drunk from his breath?
"Do you want me to help you to bed?"
"I'm sorry Lexi." He put his hand on mine, which was still on his shoulder, and that's when I noticed his bloody hands.
Oh my god, what did he do?
"Dad, what happened?" I asked with fear. Did he hurt someone?
"Huh?" He jerked as if he had been roused from sleep.
"Your hand, Dad." I carefully sat down next to him.
"Oh, it's nothing." He folded his hand and leaned against the wall. "I just need to rest."
I opened my mouth to tell him to at least lie down on the couch, but it was too late as he had already fallen asleep.
I don't know if it would be a good idea to wake him up, so I just stood up, brought him a blanket, and went back to my room.
With a heavy heart, closing my eyes for the second time that night, I took a deep breath, trying to think of anything other than my father sleeping on the stairs.
Today he was different. Nice in his own messed-up way.
But I couldn't shake the thought that this was the first and last time something like this had happened in the near future.