Into the Night
Another night, another dollar. The little fighter counted up the money which had been handed to her at the end of the night. It wasn’t a bad haul. Winter gigs were harder to come by, but when people went they went hard. This would at least get her what she needed for another two weeks or two. Sucks to suck for all the other mofos who had underestimated her. She was not even five foot tall, only a meager 4′11″, but she had been fighting since she was twelve. She had learned her lessons the hard way and now could easily which fights she could win and which ones to save her bets. Though not everyone was as impressed. A lot of the men cursed at her and tried to take swings at her for bruising more than just their fragile egos.
The wad of cash was stuffed into the pocket she had roughly sewn into the front of the black yoga pants. She had fought too hard to let some other street rat pick her pockets. The nineteen year old girl picked up the flannel shirt from the bartender-- some skeeze named Nicky who earned his cash under the table by reselling the beer at places like this, though there was some speculation that he was also a trigger happy vet of ‘Naum, but no one dared to ask-- and began to button it up, the grey sports bra disappearing much to Nicky’s disappointment. She flipped him off and headed out into the streets.
Her breath curled around her lips. She was glad that she was still riding out the heat of the fights, otherwise the chill of the night would have been a real bitch. Fortunately her favorite diner was located not too far away. She knew the route by heart. It was always the first place she went after her fights. The food was cheap and it was good. Plus they never asked her why she was always covered in bruises. Maybe they thought she was in some abusive relationship? Kveta didn’t know and she didn’t care. Let them think what they wanted. They were stuck in a life just as pathetic as her own-- she had followed the owner home once just out of curiousity. His house was just a step above living on the streets. At least her house was free... as long as she didn’t stick around for too long. She wasn’t going down for squatting. Anything but that.
The little bell rang as she pushed open the glass door of the diner. She cracked her neck before making her way to the booth by the window-- out of the way of the other tables. She could feel eyes on her, but they could go fuck themselves. Shouldn’t the old hussies in the corner be getting to bed soon anyways? And those teenagers who thought they were so cool-- they were just dumb and needed to get a grip. God, was this what getting old felt like? Nineteen going on fifty-four. She snorted at the thought. Nah, she was nineteen and headed straight for first place six feet under.
However, one patron caught her gaze as she stared out of the window. She could see his reflection and he stuck out like a sore thumb. Tall, lanky, dressed all in black. Just her type. Her lips curled into a grin, but she let out a sigh. There was no way he’d ever be interested. She was disheveled, bruises were beginning to across her pale features like wildflowers in a field. Well, her name wasn’t flower without a reason, right? The thought had her stifling another grin. Nah, her bruises were scattered without rhyme or reason.
“I brought you your usual, baby,” the waitress said, walking over with a large burger, fries, and a tall coke. She was a larger woman with a defeated smile, but still she was nice to the beat up girl. Kveta bit back any salty reply which might have left her lips. Instead she muttered some thanks and began to dig into the food ravenously, scarfing it down as if she might not have eaten in awhile. And sure as hell she hadn’t. Winter gigs were hard to come by and whoring herself out for cash just wasn’t her most favorite thing to do, so most times she just went hungry... or digging around in garbage cans.
As she resurfaced from her meal for a drink of the coca-cola, her gaze caught sight of the man in the window again. She slowed herself and turned to look at him. What the hell was he doing here? She’d not seen him before. Not to mention he looked out of place. Perhaps that was because she knew all the rag tags who hung out here like the back of her hand. It was the same people every damn night. She had given them all names in her head, whether or not they were true. But him.... she didn’t know him. Unbeknownst to her, her brows furled and she canted her head at him, trying to figure him out.
@salemtwentysix
