House of Cards

I’m a curse…but I do try and forget that while I am at work. 

I bob my head to drake’s new song, as it played throughout the speakers in the bar. I was bent over the counter, wiping away, enjoying life. Well, for now. At work and at school, the only two places where I can seem to be happy. Other than that I am a wreck. Those who know me tend to stay away and those that don’t are recommended to stay away. I’m that black cat that everyone dreads, the ladder that no one wants to walk under, the missing 13^th floor in buildings, essentially I am bad luck. Although, that bad luck only occurs when it comes to relationships and I.  

Once I am done cleaning, I toss the cloth a side and prepare to shake another cocktail mixture, as I wait for people to request drinks. It’s Friday night and I usually can rely on today for people to flood in and fill my glass with tips, but unfortunately business is relatively slow today. There are usually so many drunks lying all over the counter, demanding drinks in their volatile state, plus those on the floors as well, drowning in their own puke. I shudder at the thought and continue to mix. People better flood in soon because I can’t afford for this to happen tonight, I am overdue on my rent. 

Abruptly, as if answering my prayers, someone finally shows up-looking somewhat familiar and definitely around my age; 24. He had shaggy brown hair, pale skin, cracked lips and what appeared to be a purple bruise on his right cheek. It was troublesome for me to avert my eyes from him, but somehow I had managed to pull myself back together. My focus was now on the glasses that I was cleaning; I can’t be thinking about what may have happened to his face. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he got into a fight or possibly it was something as harmless as slipping and banging his face off the sink. You never know. Instead of approaching him to find out, I decided to place my glass down with the rest and head to the back and just let someone else hand him a drink. Because, like I mentioned earlier, I can’t afford to get attached to anyone. I was inches from the back before I heard, “bartender!” called out from behind me. I was the only bartender at the counter right now, unfortunately. I heaved out a sigh and rotated on the balls of my heels. 

“What can I get you?” I asked with one of my best, fake smiles. 

 The guy lifted his head up to face me and suddenly all I could do was stare into his sapphire coloured eyes. “So between a Scotch on the rocks and tequila what would you recommend?” 

Realizing that he was talking to me, I mentally slapped myself and responded. “Depends.” 

“On…?” He asked

“Well, I would recommend scotch for either a celebration or like a hanging with a friend type of thing. Then there is tequila, well it helps with drowning sorrow and feelings of despair.” I explained that a little gloomier than I was going for, but oh well he gets the point and the difference. The guy nods his head as if understanding and without even giving it some thought he chose. 

“Alright, tequila it is uh, Brie?” He asked, while squinting at me.

I raised my eyebrows, wondering how he could possibly know my name. Then he pointed to my name tag, noticing my confused and petrified gaze. “Oh right.” Is all I say before grabbing a bottle of tequila from the shelf and a small glass. I slide it down to him, he didn’t even give it time to reach him, and he grasped at the glass quickly and downed it, in one big gulp.

“Is your name short for Brianna?” 

I shook my head. “No, Britney.” 

“Oh, that’s a pretty name.” 

I scoffed before responding. “Yeah, it’s a common name. Don’t get that excited.” I retrieve the glass to refill it and the guy downs it again.

“True,” he shrugs. “But, my name is Coen, in which most people pronounce like ‘coin,’ so you can’t say anything.” 

I laughed, he did have a point. Coen’s smile fades away, perhaps recalling the reason to why he was here; drowning himself in tequila. “Another?” I probably shouldn’t but like I said before I did need the rent money and we didn’t need to be buddies. Coen nodded his head, without hesitation and I poured him some more. “Brie, you go to UCLA right?” 

“Yup,” I responded.

“I knew, I recognized your pretty face, I ran into you on the first day. Remember?” 

I smiled as I recalled the memory. “Oh yeah, your that jerk that knocked me flat on my ass and ran off.” 

“Sorry, “ he said and laughed along with me. “I was real bad at talking to girls back then.” 

“Oh yeah?” That sounded very surprising. He is very attractive, in his almost drunken state that is. I turn around and grab a glass for myself. “It wouldn’t have done you any justice anyway.” My smile vanishes and my face is back to its occasional, inconsolable state. This time I downed my half glass of tequila. 

Coen tilted his head to the side before asking, “What do you mean?” 

“I’m surprised you don’t know already, I’m not necessarily someone you want to get into a relationship with.” 

He raised both eyebrows, intrigued. “Why do you say that?” 

“They always end badly.” 

“Wait, are you the girl that was with Justin?” 

I swallowed hard at the sound of my dead fiancé’s name. He gave me hope. I really thought that he’d be the exception. We lasted three years—longest I’d ever spent in a devoted relationship. However, the night he got into that car accident was it for me. Never again, I told myself. “Yes,” I dryly answer. 

“I’m sorry.” 

So am I. It got quiet after that and Coen grasped at my hands, startling me. He was trying to comfort me. My eyes shifted back and forth between his hands and my hands. They were so warm, so safe. “I can’t.” I yank my hands right out of his hands. “Brie, what happened wasn’t your fault. You can’t let that one thing toll on you.” 

“One thing?” I scoff. “You don’t know me Coen. My mom died when I was twelve, my dad walked out when I was fourteen, my sister is gone, my best friend got kidnapped, my ex got very sick and moved and my fiancé is dead. Now tell me Coen, what do you think of me now? I’m just a bartender trying to make my pay and live my life by myself so no one else gets hurt.” I downed another shot of tequila and quickly closed my eyes to keep the tears from falling down onto my cheeks. When I opened them, I saw Coen with his head hung down. “You see Coen, my life is like a house of cards, unstable and it just keeps coming down, no matter how many times I try to rebuild.” 

Coen stood up and turned around to leave. Just before exiting he called my name. I lifted my head up and faced him. 

“A house of cards doesn’t always come down, just be patient, someone will eventually be able to rebuild you.” He smiles softly, then exits. 

After ten minutes of still no one showing up, my boss pops his head from the back, “Hey Brit, you mind, grabbing a couple of glasses from my car out back, I got to take a quick phone call?” 

Without hesitation I nodded my head yes and he tossed me the keys. My boss was pretty chill. 

So his car was all the way down the parking lot, adjacent to mine. I pressed the unlock button and was just about to grab the glasses, but then I heard a noise coming from behind. I whipped my head around quickly, and released out a breath of relief when I saw no one behind me. I twisted back around and reached for the glasses when suddenly I was yanked out of their and tossed to the ground. 

“Empty your pockets!” A man screamed. 

“W-what?” I stammer, very much scared. 

 “Give me your money, now!” The guy had a mask on and it was dark so it was difficult to see him. Still on the ground, I grasped at his head pulling him forward and yanking off his mask, revealing his old self. “Crap!” He yelled and this time pulled out a knife from his pocket, since I knew his identity.

“No, please don’t!” I pleaded, but he ignored me instead. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to watch. Although, a few seconds later when I didn’t feel the knife in my chest I opened my eyes and saw Coen, with the knife in him. The guy was gone. I pulled Coen’s dying body onto my lap and he looked up at me, not saying anything. This is the part where the cards from my house of cards come tumbling down again.

“I-I told you,” I sob, before Coen slips away.