Noir
Noir, an unfinished hardboiled story, from February 2015.
I tiredly sit at the bar, order a beer and place my head on my hands, hands covering my face. I feel like shit, incredibly tired. I bet I look like shit too. I naturally have dark circles under my eyes, but they get worse if I don't sleep.
The barman places the bottle in front of me, picks up the bill and leaves me by myself.
I feel like my head is so heavy I can't keep it up, so I just stay in place, holding my head, until my elbows hurt. I straighten myself up and stretch, moving my neck and shoulders, trying to get rid of the stiff feeling.
I rub my eyes and sigh tiredly, suddenly glad I didn't wear make up, or I would have to deny myself the small pleasure of rubbing my eyes.
"Rough day?"
And there he was. We met at the bar almost every day around 6 pm, just before the crowd of blue collar workers invaded the bar for a drink before going home.
I turned my head towards him and smiled, my tired smile reflected to me on his thick rimmed glasses. He was wearing what I came to call his uniform: tshirt, dress pants, trenchcoat, shoes, all uniformely black. His everpresent Yankees cap was on his hands, folded against the table as his fingers slowly played with the fabric.
"Yeah. One of those, you know?"
"Yeah. I know." He looks at my beer with an almost sad look, then orders himself a diet coke.
"Can't drink or won't drink?"
"Shouldn't drink, won't." He said softly. "Sober for a while now."
"Ah." I look at my beer, feeling a bit torn. "I wouldn't have ordered if I knew..."
"It's ok. I mean... I never told you."
"I guess it's hard for you to come here and... you know."
"This place brings me good memories. So I come before the rush hour... So I don't watch people drinking. You?"
"I can't sleep sometimes. Alcohol helps." I tentatively look at him then drink some of my beer. "I come here to relax, unwind with a beer. I drink a dose of something stronger at home."
"Hm." He nods and drinks his soda. "Do you live alone? I ask because... Well, for me, talking with a loved one helps."
"Yeah, I live alone. And I'm single too, or I would be using sex to relax." I smile and I get his crooked smirk in return.
"Are you coming on to me?"
I turn to him and I face him fully for the first time. I actually look at him for once. Not a stolen glance of a twisted head; a full frontal, all appraising view. He turns to me too and our knees bump akwardly. The bar is completely silent, even the ever present rustle and clinking of the bartender gone. I wonder briefly if it's a sign of how shitty my life became, if I'm so lonely I'm willing to create meaningful connections with other stray humans in a seedy, dark bar.
He is handsome; to a certain degree of handsome, at least. He is short, something I hadn't realized before, but it doesn't really matter. He's blonde and pale, to a point you can't really see his eyebrows, so his blue steel eyes come out, especially as they are framed by his thick black round glasses.
I open my mouth to answer, but the first waves of the tired masses start crashing into the bar. He takes his glass and finishes it, standing up. He drags his feet slowly besides me, making his exit without him actually wanting to leave. I raise my arm and hold his bicep gently.
***
"How old are you?"
"if you can't tell, I'm not telling." He said, chuckling.
He lights up a cigarette outside and gently offers me one. I nod and he lights it up for me with a small smile.
"You mind going to my place?" I asked softly, blowing the cigarette smoke slowly. "I mean..."
"Yeah, ok. Don't think you'll kill me, don't worry." He said, one hand buried into his pocket, the other holding the cigarette between his index and middle fingers. He raises it to his lips and takes a drag; I watch the smoke escaping his lips amusedly.
"Do you often follow strangers to their apartments? Do you always rely on your guts to measure if people will try to kill you?" I ask, with a smirk. He laughs. I'm impressed. In books and movies people always talk about illuminated smiles and how they can change a man's life. Only women possess said smiles and they create this bubble where the time stops and warmth spreads over your insides, sweeping into the ouside world, bringing colors and all that jazz. Song and bells and fireworks and shit. Didn't think I would ever experience that feeling, I'm a woman, men don't have that kind of smile.
He did. I observed as his lips stretched and curved up enjoying the warm honeyed feeling spreading in my belly with the tiny movement.
"What?"
"Nothing. Sorry."
We walked in silence, brushing our arms against each other, bumping elbows in the cold evening.
***
I didn't see him for quite some time after that. We spent the night talking and smoking. I slept like an angel that night and since then I haven't felt the desire to drink, the whole memory of the night we spent talking enough to relax my body into the beautiful embrace of sleep.
There were some regrets. I forgot to ask his name. He didn't ask mine. The easy companionship was enough for us both, I guess.
Life changes in the best and the worst ways. Mine changed like a small hurricane. Suffice to say I went into a case, killed a well known criminal in self defense. In a corrupt city, that's the last thing you want to do, bite the hand that feeds the police. I panicked. Packed and left the city. Hid in a podunk in the middle of nowhere. Tried to make a living doing what I know. Sheriff found me, said he needed someone who could shoot.
Hell, that's my speciality.
The work was ok. Slow. Boring. I dealt with drunks, mostly. Only my fists are getting a good workout. I fought with wild drunks in a daily basis. Fought with sexist cowboys more often than not. Never lost, thank the universe for incompetent fucks.
My best friend? The owner of the local watering hole, who provided cold beer cans and sacks of frozen peas after fights. Mike would place the items on the bar with a smile and just move away, back to his work. The only time we actually talked to each other was the first day, when I asked how much it was for the beer and he laughed.
He offered me ice for my wounds, alcohol for my soul and silent companionship, with a smile here and there. It was more than what most people offered me in this town.
I tiredly sit at the bar, order a beer and place my head on my hands, hands covering my face. I feel like shit, incredibly tired. I bet I look like shit too. I naturally have dark circles under my eyes, but they get worse if I don't sleep.
The barman places the bottle in front of me, picks up the bill and leaves me by myself.
I feel like my head is so heavy I can't keep it up, so I just stay in place, holding my head, until my elbows hurt. I straighten myself up and stretch, moving my neck and shoulders, trying to get rid of the stiff feeling.
I rub my eyes and sigh tiredly, suddenly glad I didn't wear make up, or I would have to deny myself the small pleasure of rubbing my eyes.
"Rough day?"
And there he was. We met at the bar almost every day around 6 pm, just before the crowd of blue collar workers invaded the bar for a drink before going home.
I turned my head towards him and smiled, my tired smile reflected to me on his thick rimmed glasses. He was wearing what I came to call his uniform: tshirt, dress pants, trenchcoat, shoes, all uniformely black. His everpresent Yankees cap was on his hands, folded against the table as his fingers slowly played with the fabric.
"Yeah. One of those, you know?"
"Yeah. I know." He looks at my beer with an almost sad look, then orders himself a diet coke.
"Can't drink or won't drink?"
"Shouldn't drink, won't." He said softly. "Sober for a while now."
"Ah." I look at my beer, feeling a bit torn. "I wouldn't have ordered if I knew..."
"It's ok. I mean... I never told you."
"I guess it's hard for you to come here and... you know."
"This place brings me good memories. So I come before the rush hour... So I don't watch people drinking. You?"
"I can't sleep sometimes. Alcohol helps." I tentatively look at him then drink some of my beer. "I come here to relax, unwind with a beer. I drink a dose of something stronger at home."
"Hm." He nods and drinks his soda. "Do you live alone? I ask because... Well, for me, talking with a loved one helps."
"Yeah, I live alone. And I'm single too, or I would be using sex to relax." I smile and I get his crooked smirk in return.
"Are you coming on to me?"
I turn to him and I face him fully for the first time. I actually look at him for once. Not a stolen glance of a twisted head; a full frontal, all appraising view. He turns to me too and our knees bump akwardly. The bar is completely silent, even the ever present rustle and clinking of the bartender gone. I wonder briefly if it's a sign of how shitty my life became, if I'm so lonely I'm willing to create meaningful connections with other stray humans in a seedy, dark bar.
He is handsome; to a certain degree of handsome, at least. He is short, something I hadn't realized before, but it doesn't really matter. He's blonde and pale, to a point you can't really see his eyebrows, so his blue steel eyes come out, especially as they are framed by his thick black round glasses.
I open my mouth to answer, but the first waves of the tired masses start crashing into the bar. He takes his glass and finishes it, standing up. He drags his feet slowly besides me, making his exit without him actually wanting to leave. I raise my arm and hold his bicep gently.
***
"How old are you?"
"if you can't tell, I'm not telling." He said, chuckling.
He lights up a cigarette outside and gently offers me one. I nod and he lights it up for me with a small smile.
"You mind going to my place?" I asked softly, blowing the cigarette smoke slowly. "I mean..."
"Yeah, ok. Don't think you'll kill me, don't worry." He said, one hand buried into his pocket, the other holding the cigarette between his index and middle fingers. He raises it to his lips and takes a drag; I watch the smoke escaping his lips amusedly.
"Do you often follow strangers to their apartments? Do you always rely on your guts to measure if people will try to kill you?" I ask, with a smirk. He laughs. I'm impressed. In books and movies people always talk about illuminated smiles and how they can change a man's life. Only women possess said smiles and they create this bubble where the time stops and warmth spreads over your insides, sweeping into the ouside world, bringing colors and all that jazz. Song and bells and fireworks and shit. Didn't think I would ever experience that feeling, I'm a woman, men don't have that kind of smile.
He did. I observed as his lips stretched and curved up enjoying the warm honeyed feeling spreading in my belly with the tiny movement.
"What?"
"Nothing. Sorry."
We walked in silence, brushing our arms against each other, bumping elbows in the cold evening.
***
I didn't see him for quite some time after that. We spent the night talking and smoking. I slept like an angel that night and since then I haven't felt the desire to drink, the whole memory of the night we spent talking enough to relax my body into the beautiful embrace of sleep.
There were some regrets. I forgot to ask his name. He didn't ask mine. The easy companionship was enough for us both, I guess.
Life changes in the best and the worst ways. Mine changed like a small hurricane. Suffice to say I went into a case, killed a well known criminal in self defense. In a corrupt city, that's the last thing you want to do, bite the hand that feeds the police. I panicked. Packed and left the city. Hid in a podunk in the middle of nowhere. Tried to make a living doing what I know. Sheriff found me, said he needed someone who could shoot.
Hell, that's my speciality.
The work was ok. Slow. Boring. I dealt with drunks, mostly. Only my fists are getting a good workout. I fought with wild drunks in a daily basis. Fought with sexist cowboys more often than not. Never lost, thank the universe for incompetent fucks.
My best friend? The owner of the local watering hole, who provided cold beer cans and sacks of frozen peas after fights. Mike would place the items on the bar with a smile and just move away, back to his work. The only time we actually talked to each other was the first day, when I asked how much it was for the beer and he laughed.
He offered me ice for my wounds, alcohol for my soul and silent companionship, with a smile here and there. It was more than what most people offered me in this town.
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