opportunity and couldn't seem to stop thinking about her.
Every mouthful just sent him barrelling back down the rabbit hole... You are a fucking cunt. A fucking poisonous person.
But he pressed on anyway. His sips quickly turned to gulps as he told himself he was damned if he was going to let her ruin his freedom – it was the only upside he could see to their break up at the moment. Though briefly, as he drained the dregs of his glass, he was assailed by the image of her smile and the terrifying thought that he'd never see it again.
Dave quickly pushed it away. He headed to the tap to pour another. Tears strangely felt very, very close and while the amber liquid flooded the glass, Dave stood wiping his eyes with his free hand.
Keep it down, he told himself. Don't think about it.
The pint was nearing the top when he felt eyes on him. He quickly flicked the tap off and blinked away the dregs of moisture before looking up. He raised the pint for a long swallow in the hopes it would look more casual but that just meant he almost spat the mouthful all over the new arrival when he saw the way the old man across the bar was glaring.
Wild, glittering, ice-blue eyes that burned into Dave. Eyes that made it very plain they wanted nothing more than his complete and utter destruction.
Dave had never felt such hatred flowing in his direction. The closest he'd come was the final argument with Naomi but even that was dwarfed by the old guys eyes.
Oh crap, the real owner. Dave's mind raced as his eyes flicked down the long trench coat that looked threadbare and moth-eaten and dripped a steady stream of water on the wooden floor. Fuck! The other guys were probably just contractors taking the piss. .
The old guy took a step forward and looked left to right carefully. The coat swung open to afford Dave a glimpse of a rumpled grey suit that looked like it belonged to an earlier decade and clay smeared boots. His appearance confused Dave immensely. Doesn't look much like the boss type, he thought but didn't focus on that for too long. It was hard to focus on anything but the man's eyes as he took a step forward and inside Dave the certainty grew that he was going to attack him. A ridiculous concept, really. Beneath the coat the man looked coat-hanger thin and judging by the lines road mapping his face and the thinning white hair that the rain had plastered into a hideous comb-over, he must had been at least sixty or seventy. But that didn't make it any less awkward.
'Hi, mate.' Dave tried his best to sound calm but the sour edge the pint had left him with blossomed into the full blown taste of bile.
The man's eyes widened at his words and Dave's heart started to speed up to a skittering beat.
'Where's Bruno?' The man's voice did not match his appearance at all. It was high and lisping, almost effeminate. Though it did undercut the tension somewhat, the smile that started to twitch at the corners of Dave's mouth dropped away as the old man fixed him once more in his paralysing stare. 'Where's Mr. Gallo? He did not say that he was hiring.'
Confused, Dave even went so far as to look up and down the length of the bar before it dawned on him what it must look like.
'Oh I'm not work–'
Dave's words cut off as there was a crinkle of plastic and the old guy reacted like it was a gunshot. He flinched so badly that for a second Dave thought he was leaping at him, then whirled to see Bruno emerging from beyond the drop-sheet studying some sort of folded blue print as he walked toward the front door.
Dave felt relief as the old guy's attention immediately transferred to Bruno. As he scuttled across muttering something that Dave couldn't quite hear – though the finger jutted in his direction informed him of the subject – Dave collapsed forward, leaning on the bar and sucking in some much needed oxygen.
Must be a regular, he mused. The half-distracted manner in which Bruno listened – still studying the plans as he nodded occasionally
Every mouthful just sent him barrelling back down the rabbit hole... You are a fucking cunt. A fucking poisonous person.
But he pressed on anyway. His sips quickly turned to gulps as he told himself he was damned if he was going to let her ruin his freedom – it was the only upside he could see to their break up at the moment. Though briefly, as he drained the dregs of his glass, he was assailed by the image of her smile and the terrifying thought that he'd never see it again.
Dave quickly pushed it away. He headed to the tap to pour another. Tears strangely felt very, very close and while the amber liquid flooded the glass, Dave stood wiping his eyes with his free hand.
Keep it down, he told himself. Don't think about it.
The pint was nearing the top when he felt eyes on him. He quickly flicked the tap off and blinked away the dregs of moisture before looking up. He raised the pint for a long swallow in the hopes it would look more casual but that just meant he almost spat the mouthful all over the new arrival when he saw the way the old man across the bar was glaring.
Wild, glittering, ice-blue eyes that burned into Dave. Eyes that made it very plain they wanted nothing more than his complete and utter destruction.
Dave had never felt such hatred flowing in his direction. The closest he'd come was the final argument with Naomi but even that was dwarfed by the old guys eyes.
Oh crap, the real owner. Dave's mind raced as his eyes flicked down the long trench coat that looked threadbare and moth-eaten and dripped a steady stream of water on the wooden floor. Fuck! The other guys were probably just contractors taking the piss. .
The old guy took a step forward and looked left to right carefully. The coat swung open to afford Dave a glimpse of a rumpled grey suit that looked like it belonged to an earlier decade and clay smeared boots. His appearance confused Dave immensely. Doesn't look much like the boss type, he thought but didn't focus on that for too long. It was hard to focus on anything but the man's eyes as he took a step forward and inside Dave the certainty grew that he was going to attack him. A ridiculous concept, really. Beneath the coat the man looked coat-hanger thin and judging by the lines road mapping his face and the thinning white hair that the rain had plastered into a hideous comb-over, he must had been at least sixty or seventy. But that didn't make it any less awkward.
'Hi, mate.' Dave tried his best to sound calm but the sour edge the pint had left him with blossomed into the full blown taste of bile.
The man's eyes widened at his words and Dave's heart started to speed up to a skittering beat.
'Where's Bruno?' The man's voice did not match his appearance at all. It was high and lisping, almost effeminate. Though it did undercut the tension somewhat, the smile that started to twitch at the corners of Dave's mouth dropped away as the old man fixed him once more in his paralysing stare. 'Where's Mr. Gallo? He did not say that he was hiring.'
Confused, Dave even went so far as to look up and down the length of the bar before it dawned on him what it must look like.
'Oh I'm not work–'
Dave's words cut off as there was a crinkle of plastic and the old guy reacted like it was a gunshot. He flinched so badly that for a second Dave thought he was leaping at him, then whirled to see Bruno emerging from beyond the drop-sheet studying some sort of folded blue print as he walked toward the front door.
Dave felt relief as the old guy's attention immediately transferred to Bruno. As he scuttled across muttering something that Dave couldn't quite hear – though the finger jutted in his direction informed him of the subject – Dave collapsed forward, leaning on the bar and sucking in some much needed oxygen.
Must be a regular, he mused. The half-distracted manner in which Bruno listened – still studying the plans as he nodded occasionally
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