The Graveyard Shift
Just thirty minutes more. Well, he shouldnât be complaining now. Finally, after what seems like an eternity of living a life that he thought doesnât have an escape anymore, heâs getting his shits straight. Heâs got a job, not as high paying as the others but enough to keep himself alive, and a peaceful life. He felt lucky. Heâs given another chance and heâll do everything to keep it on the straight path. Well, of course, he would never escape his past. His past was too scarring and fucked up to just forget. He doesnât even remember when was the last time he has seen blood on his hands. Or how a knife feels like when held by his hands. Or even the smell of a freshly slaughtered corpse. How piercingly beautiful a scream is in his ears âŠ
He shook the thought off his head. He stopped himself before that familiar craving could even begin to rise up. Itâs been so long and he can even manage longer. He would even try to forget it finally if he had to. Heâs not gonna fuck this up. Youâre a different man, Abe. And weâre gonna keep it that way. He thought to himself, taking a deep breath before facing his costumers again. Taking the bottle of alcohol, he half-filled the manâs glass. This one seemed troubled. Heâs not one who usually starts the conversation with people heâs serving but this one got his attention. Setting the bottle aside, he tapped a finger on the counter and raised an eyebrow.
âYou okay?â he asked, his voice calm and friendly.
Ted stared at the half-full glass for a moment, his gaze icy. Already he was getting impatient, and not even drinking himself half to death would settle that restlessness within him. Only one thing could do that, and unfortunately it was something that came with a few large consequences... but as long as he kept his wits about him and didnât let it get to the point where he acted rashly, he would be fine. Heâd have to be, otherwise it was prison and a death sentence. And though he killed people almost bimonthly -- sometimes more, if he really got into that sort of mood -- he didnât really think that he should get the same treatment. In his mind, that just wasnât how things worked.
His eyes flickered upwards to the bartender, holding a predatory look in them. He didnât doubt that he looked like some sort of half-starved animal, just barely containing itself from letting loose and slaughtering everything in its path. That seemed like a fitting description, if one could see the turmoil that hid just beneath his skin. âIâm fine,â he said, trying for a smile, though at the moment he wasnât quite sure how convincing it was. He just wasnât in the sort of mind where he could put up a good front, and while that bothered him... other things posed a bigger problem. It wasnât like a bartender would really notice such things, anyway, right? The only reason he asked at all was probably because he was fishing for tips. Well, fine, heâd get his tip. After heâd finished drinking.
âJust had a rough day, thatâs all. It happens.â Of course, his idea of a ârough dayâ was probably different than the other manâs. It had to be, considering how rare it was to meet someone else who was... well, like him. Though in his line of work, it was slightly less uncommon, even if those he talked to had already been apprehended for their crimes. It didnât really matter, though -- they were all stupid enough to get caught, and he was the only one with any sort of sense, anyway. Everyone else was just stupid and didnât know how to do things the right way.
