broken boy

don't bury your skeletons, burn them to dust, shallow graves aren't meant to keep secrets. tariq rick syed xxxiv, bartender

[watershaped]

— there’s beauty in this tragedy.

[innxcentariq]

watershaped:

His oh so worried and caring intervention on her order left her paralyzed, able only to look up at him with what would look like puppy eyes. She wasn’t begging nor insisting, though, but merely fighting back the tears that threatened to brim her eyes again. God, he was so sweet, looking out for people’s well-beings when he could just allow her to get intoxicated! Meanwhile, there she was, a mess on his counter… and perhaps she was way, waaay too emotional, because the shame still seemed mingled with the warmth that rose up in her belly. Well, maybe people were right in saying she was way too easy… and she still owed him an answer, right? Oh, shit.

Brushing a lock of hair off her face, she sat straight and tried to open something of a small, shy smile. “Well… guess my best is to trust you, right? You’re the expert here,” a light chuckle, or an attempt at one. She couldn’t quite fake it, too overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. Part of her liked the attention, wanted him to notice, wanted to have someone who would listen, but a bigger part — the one which still had some rationality and pride left — yelled for her not to bother him nor have a breakdown in the middle of a bar. “Uh, yeah. Whiskey is good, thanks,” she nodded. “By the way…,” a small shrug out of uncertainty followed by a small smile. “Thank you. You know, for holding me back. God, I just…” an exasperated sigh as she rubbed her face. Get your shit together, Natalia. She waved her head. “Just a tough day. Thank you.”

Tariq had never been good with emotions, but in that moment he felt a need to try to connect with his own and help her out in some way. It just felt right. Although, at the same time, he felt like he was intruding. Tariq really didn’t like invading other people’s spaces. Nonetheless, he decided not to shy away from her, allwing himself a polite smile in her direction. “Yeah... I guess you could say that,” he let out a small chuckle while pouring two shots for her, sliding them across the bar when he was done.

Again, emotions, something he was still learning how to deal with. Tariq had spent so many years feeling nothing, simply numb, that actual feelings were still a little weird and foreign to him. As much as he tried to be normal, the universe simply didn’t seem to agree with him. But he kept on trying. “I’m no shrink, just a bartender, but I guess we’re not that different.” this wwas his attempt at a joke, one he’d seen dne a few times before, but the laugh that escaped from his lips was timid. He was still unsure if he really should’ve open his mouth, now this was going to turn into a conversation, and that was the area he had the least expertise in. Still, he didn’t keep quiet and had no idea what was driving him anymore. “What I mean is... if you want to talk, or something, I’m a good listener. Or if you want to order another drink, that’s good too.” he shrugged, cleaning a few cups on the sink just to occupy himself in some way.

[watershaped]

— there’s beauty in this tragedy.

[innxcentariq]

watershaped:

She was a fucking idiot.

No, he was a fucking idiot. Right? His loss, she told herself. His loss. She did not deserve that sort of shit. He didn’t know what he had to lose. Fuck him! Honestly…

Honestly, they were both fucking idiots! How could… how could she have been so naive? How could she have trusted him like that? And why couldn’t she stop fucking crying? God, that was so ridiculous! She must look pathetic like that, a crazy weirdo of an adult woman sobbing while alone in the bench of a park people obviously went to for fun. Yet, there she was, like a baby with her face hidden in her hands, by her own hands destituted of any pride. Drunk, most people would likely assume of her — when the truth was she was way too sober for the occasion.

A sob. She covered her mouth. Maybe she should just call an uber and go home, but she truly didn’t want to face the emptiness left in her flat without her ex’s things. She didn’t want to make it so real. She didn’t want to find out what still smelled like him, what would for the longest time. She just wanted to forget it, though she couldn’t. She knew he didn’t deserve her tears. Still, it hurt like hell. It hurt because she trusted him. Because she kept trusting the wrong people. Because the one time she thought she had actually made a good choice and was getting her life together, building a half-decent relationship, it was all a lie. Why couldn’t she have one good thing? Why, as she neared her goddamn thirties, she couldn’t get her shit together? What was wrong with her?

Some teen crossed her quickly, skate on the sidewalk startling her. God, she really couldn’t stay there forever. In, out, in, out, until the tears had mostly dried out. Fuck, she needed a drink.

Maybe as a coincidence, maybe as a trick of her subconsciousness, she’d stopped just near her favorite bar. Jaw locked, Natalia got up and crossed the street, turning each block as if walking to the rhythm of war drums, resolute and inflexible. No. More. Tears.

She reached the already so familiar place, usually home to good times and laughter with a group of friends. Her legs led her straight to the counter. As soon as she reached the stool, her stoic stance disappeared, fleeing her body like a puff of air. Luckily enough, it was too early in a weekday for ordinary, self-controlled people to grab a drink, which meant the movement was slow.

A familiar face nearby. Mr. cute, as her friends had nicknamed the bartender they often saw there. “Hey!” Natalia called him, realizing it was a little too loud. She cleaned her throat. “Hey… Rick, right? Could you grab me a pint of… the strongest drink you have?” the question was shy, almost shameful. Then, a wave of her hand; she was giving up. “Actually… just go for three.”

Tariq liked taking the less hectic shifts at the bar, yeah, they paid less, but he still had some paranoia he called simply self-preservation. The less people who saw him, the better. There wasn’t much reason to be so paranoid, since he was almost on the other side of the country from where his life basically ended. But still, you could never be too careful. 

That being said, he was cleaning the counter on a particularly slow day when one of the bar’s most frequent customers walked in. He always saw her when he occasionally worked nights on the weekends, and couldn’t help but think she was breathtakingly beautiful. 

He smiled up at her when she got closer to the bar, but soon noticed there was something different in the way she held herself. She didn’t look okay. “Yeah, that’s me,” he answered sympathetically, but soon grimaced at the sound of her order. “Look...” he began, leaning against the counter. “I’m just the bartender, I’m not supposed to give my opinion to someone who just walked in, but, honestly, I’m worried. A pint of the strongest drink here is a lot, three? That’s too much. How bout... we start with shots, huh?” Tariq was usually a lot quieter when tending the bar, always getting directly to work, talking only when he felt he needed. Seeing the state she was in, he felt he really needed to intervene here. “You like whiskey?” he asked, while grabbing a few shot cups from under the bar. Of course he remembered what she usually asked for, you don’t forget someone like that. But nonetheless, he was still an advocate for drinking on bad days, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to give her something strong, in small doses, of course.