Ten Below Zero(2)

I walked to the mirror on her closet door and looked in. The pale pink color of the dress was pretty against my snow white skin. My eyes traveled up my reflection until they hit my face. I’d need to do something about the messy bun on the top of my head. And maybe makeup too.

I raided Carly’s supply of makeup, darkening my bright blue eyes with kohl liner. I smudged it around my eyes, creating a smoky eye. When I stood back to look at my reflection, I was reminded of my first year after leaving foster care, when I didn’t leave my bedroom without a full face of makeup. I shook the memory away and hesitantly rubbed some concealer across the scar that marred my left cheekbone. It was angry, raised off the skin from my lips, up my cheekbone, and into my hairline. I let my fingers graze over the ridge that cut into my pale skin and in my reflection I saw the scars on my arm and face aligned parallel. Before my brain delved into the black hole of that memory, I pulled my hand away and turned my face to get a better look at the scar on my cheek. The concealer I’d applied had only highlighted its prominence on my face.

I took a tissue and rubbed it away, preferring to show the tender flesh than to cake it with liquid lies. After sliding some simple studs in my ears, I walked into the bathroom and brushed my hair out.

The bun had given my long brown hair some volume, the ends curled out just a bit. I wore it with a part down the middle and let it hang without any extra effort. By the time I’d left the apartment, it was nearly nine and I’d knew I’d have to hurry.

The sound of laughter greeted me as I hit the sidewalk and I looked around, shivering from the fear that snuck up in an instant. What was I doing? I didn’t do this. I didn’t leave the apartment at night ever unless I was picking up my roommates. And I certainly didn’t walk anywhere at night anymore. My hands gripped the small purse I’d slung across my body. I’d packed my phone, my ID and credit card, lip gloss, and a knife. All normal, except for maybe that last one. I carried a knife with me everywhere. After being at the wrong end of one four years earlier, I knew just how deep they could cut.

I walked briskly down the sidewalk, thankful that the sidewalk was packed with people spilling out of bars for a smoke. Fifteen strangers was less scary than one.

What felt like a few minutes later, I stopped, standing right outside The Brick. Or, what I assumed was The Brick. Sure, the neon sign above the metal door stated its name, but the building did not exactly live up to it. It was concrete and steel, and a total dive. But I’d committed to this moment and had no desire to turn around. I pulled my phone out of the purse and looked at the time. 8:59. I nearly applauded myself on my promptness before I realized I probably should have shown up fashionably late.

The bouncer carded me before letting me walk into the bar. It was one long room. Narrow. A long, black lacquered bar glistened under the dimmed red lights, running the length of the room itself. On the opposite side of the bar were a bunch of pub tables. It was quiet. The only noises came from the bartenders setting thick glasses on the bar top, or the hushed din of conversation. I stepped a bit more into the bar and heard the dulcet tones of something resembling blues music from the speakers that hung over the bar.

Remembering why I was there, my eyes traveled over the handful of couples that occupied the pub tables and deduced they were not who I was looking for. My eyes moved to the bar, taking in the lone patrons that sat there.

There was an older man, who looked halfway to a deep sleep at the end closest to me. I safely assumed he wasn’t Everett. I noticed a couple suits and narrowed my eyes, but passed over them when I saw a woman sidle up from behind me to sit between them. If I didn’t have a purpose for being here, I would be very interested in watching their exchange.

I saw a few lone stragglers and a couple middle aged women before my eyes landed on him. I almost didn’t see him, as his head was bent down while he played with a lighter. He sat near the very end of the bar, alone, with a short glass of amber liquid in his free hand. His hair was ink black, thick, and overlong. I could see a spackling of facial hair on his face, though it looked more like he hadn’t shaved in a couple days than a legitimate beard. I couldn’t see his face easily from the dim lighting so I moved slowly down the bar in his direction.

As I approached, I took in his clothing. Black jeans, black belt, black dress shirt. Over the back of his chair was a black leather jacket. A man in black.

I took the seat next to the man in black and set my purse on the bar top. The bartender walked my way and I kept my eyes trained on him as I felt the eyes of the man to my left focus on me.

Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the man in black’s eyes slide down my body and I resisted the urge to squirm in my seat.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked, bracing his hands on the bar across from me.

I raised my head to look over the man in black at the bottles that lined the wall. “Gin and tonic please. Extra limes, too.”

The bartender nodded and moved away. I set my phone on the bar top and then reached in my purse to pull out my credit card. And then I turned my gaze towards the man sitting next to me.

The first thing I noticed was his bright eyes. My own blue eyes were bright, but his were a frosty blue-green, unnatural looking with his black hair and thick black brows. His forehead scrunched up before he tilted his head. “Sarah?” he asked tentatively.

The bartender returned with my gin and tonic and I slid him my card. “Do you want to start a tab…Parker?” the bartender asked, reading my name from the card.