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Helixi -> Dear Diary, I Want To Be Happy. (12/21/2011 17:04:18)
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Prologue.
Maria shivered. Snow drifted about and caught in her tangled red hair, giving her an ethereal appearance. Melted snow seeped into her thin black flats and the thin sateen bridesmaid's dress, further adding to her misery. Tremors racked her petite frame as she trudged along the gloomy downtown road. Street lights flickered, casting eerie shadows in the otherwise serene world.
She didn't know how long it had been since she had fled her sister's wedding reception. Clutching the tiny bag, the bridesmaid bouquet and her wedding heels, she forged on through the heightening snow, oblivious to everything except where she was putting her feet. She had entered a part of town where flashing neon assaulted her vision. Cursing silently, Maria made her way down into a dimly lit basement bar. Mercifully, it had deep red low lighting, leaving many parts of the room bathed in inky shadow. It was small and very smoky. There were mouldy green curved benches along the opposite wall. Each bench had a chipped faux-wood laminate table bolted to it; they reminded Maria of institutional furniture. A pool table stood opposite the benches, surrounded by men she assumed were regulars. As she stepped awkwardly past them and headed to the bar, a silence fell as every one of them turned to stare with a greedy and lustful expression.
Maria did her best to ignore them and perched on a decaying bar stool, coughing politely until the hulking server turned around. His face looked distinctly piggish. She detected the faint sheen of greasy skin at the same time as she noticed his old, green tattoos across rippling folds of muscle that his tight vest could not contain. His beady eyes narrowed as he surveyed her and when he opened his mouth to speak, Maria could not help but wince. His voice, however, was soft and warm.
"Christ girly, you look frozed." He peered through his tangled eyebrows and lanky hair, looking at her in a concerned way.
"I'm fine, honest-" She raised a hand, but was cut off by a customer sitting at the opposite end of the bar.
"Two double whiskies please, John," the stranger murmured, before sliding one down the greasy bar to Maria with the words, "It'll warm you up quicker'n anythin' else here darlin'."
She looked at this kind stranger uncertainly. He smiled back, with no hint of guile tainting his features. His pale grey eyes were alight with kindness as he arrayed himself on the stool next to her. He raised his glass to toast her health, then downed the ferocious spirit in one gulp.
"What brings you to this..." Here, he paused, searching for the right word to describe the bar, "Place?" He gestured at their insalubrious, smoky surroundings vaguely.
Maria looked down at the dark liquid in her glass. Her instincts were screaming at her to leave this dingy bar, this strange man and the whisky glass, but that would mean crawling back to her parents. She would not give them the satisfaction.
"Well. I ran away." Maria hunched over the drink, still trembling from the chill. "Hey, thanks for the drink and all, but I think I should leave; people will be looking for me and-"
"No they won't." He leaned back triumphantly, fiddling with his empty glass. "You're not going to be missed at the reception, because you're not the bride."
Maria blinked and cursed inwardly. Then she relaxed; he seemed genuine. It was also bitterly cold outside. She made a split second decision, seizing his hand, grasping it firmly and shaking it with confidence.
"I'm Maria."
"Charmed. Alan Tyrer-Russell."
~ ~ ~
Maria retched into the marble sink, then lifted her head to survey her surroundings. She was in Alan's kitchen, the morning after she'd left that grimy backstreet bar with him. She'd gone to his house and had dinner with him, then- She shut her eyes tightly, feeling tears well up, and pushed the memory away.
She stumbled out of the bathroom, catching sight of herself in a full length mirror. Her upper lip was puffy and clotted; her left eye was bruised an unpleasant shade of green. Large purple hand prints were emblazoned across her thin hips and thighs. Finally, she noticed a graze on her cheek, the results of a sharp glancing blow from a ring.
Maria buried her face in her hands and fled the awful, broken version of herself, catching sight of her ripped dress discarded on his leather sofa. Panicked that he would wake up, she dived into it, fighting with the ruffles and pins, before retrieving her flats, one heel and her bag. She froze. There was a creak on the stairs. Stifling her squeak of fear, Maria padded back to the kitchen, testing the door in a silent frenzy. She was a jangle of nerves. Finally, with one blood curdling loud squeak, the door opened, allowing her to escape Alan.
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