The curse of Pint 6

^{The curse of pint 6}

^{She stood across the bar, holding a pint glass tilted at a perfect 45-degree angle while the fizzy yellow liquid filled the glass, this was the pint she had been dreading pouring the most, out of the hundreds she had expertly poured over the last 11 hours, it was this one she really wished she didn't have to pour. it was pint number 6 for the blonde-haired blue-eyed guy, sat propped up in the corner on an old rickety bar stool, he smiled at her a crooked clumsy sort of grin, as she popped the larger down on a damp beer mat in front of him, she quickly plastered on her best fake happy bar maid expression across her face back at him, but her eyes were filled with nothing but anxiety and fear, thankfully he was to inebriated to notice as he slurred}

^{“Thank you gorgeous”}

^{Her stomach turned at the expression, she and everyone else propped up at the bar on the other remaining bar stools knew exactly what was going to happen later on that night after pint number 6, but nobody dared to interfere or discuss the obvious elephant that stood between his and Sandra’s glare.}

^{It was a Saturday night and the atmosphere was jovial and jolly with patrons laughing, moaning and chatting about the week they had just had, Sandra was kept busy refilling glass after glass with the elixir  that turned all their sorrows and troubles around. Sandra was kept busy with her bar maid's duties which included being a glorified councillor, an information desk, the best false friend, flirting with the old frisky regulars that were old enough to be her grandfather, a receptionist taking calls from wives trying to track down there half cut husbands, and a complicate liar for husbands who wished not to be tracked down and dragged home. She was kept busy until the very last call for last orders, and as the booths and stalls emptied, she began the mammoth task of cleaning up, emptying drip trays of the dregs of the day and washing away the sticky bitter smell of stale beer from the bar, as the last few strays wobbled of arm in arm singing a slurred serenade of}

^{“Sweet Caroline whoa whoa whoaa”}

^{She waved them of laughing before bolting the big wooden doors of the English country pub shut. Sighing of relief that another Saturday shift was complete. She dragged herself back towards the bar and poured herself a large glass of crisp cold dry white wine, she decided on a large one, as she knew she'd be thankful for the numbing effect of the alcohol later on, popping it on the other side of the bar she walked through the hatch and across to the old rickety stalls on the other side, but before she had chance to sit down 2 arms wrapped around her waist and a hot stale beer breath invaded her neck,}

^{“Hello gorgeous”}

^{She froze rigid as his hand slid down onto her hips, and his sticky rough lips planted a kiss on her collar bone.}

^{She instantly pulled away and pulled herself up onto the bar stool taking a large gulp of her wine, and then as cheerfully as she could fake, she stuttered,}

^{“Hey babe you, ok?”}

^{He staggered up onto the stall next to her with a frown burrowing deep into the creases of his forehead, she knew what was coming already and despite her desperate attempts to hide the anxiety and anticipation from her face she knew it was already too late and her acting was futile.  He sat with his nose nearly touching hers as he glared into her eyes before slurring and spitting}

^{“why'd you do that huh? Why'd you pull away like that? You know I saw how you looked at Jimmy I bet your shagging him aren't you! You whore!”}

^{Before she had chance to even utter a syllable in response, she was staring at the grim stained 80s carpet of the pub floor, her ears ringing as the pain shot through the left side of her jaw, and her mouth filled with the all too familiar metallic taste of blood, holding the side of her face she scrambled to her feet and ran to the ladies bathroom slamming and locking the door behind her. Standing over the sink she spat the excess liquid out as it pooled before trickling down the drain, but then she felt something hard on her tongue gagging from the object trying to slide down her throat she coughed it up, despite the commotion going on in the background of him banging at the bathroom door and calling her every cursive imaginable, it was as if everything had been muted, and time lapsed as she coughed a tooth fell clinking as it hit the ceramic sink and pinging as it bounced around the metal plug hole, she starred her eyes filled with fresh tears while the already fallen ones stained her face, she picked up the tooth and just starred in utter disbelief before dropping down to her knees while trying to stifle her sobs, how had it all come to this.}

^{See for months now everyone had noticed how Sandra seemed to have become incredibly clumsy, a black eye here, scratches there and more and more bruises well everywhere, despite her attempts to cover these with layers upon layers of makeup, the bright lights of the bar always revealed the shiners, she always had a story full of humour about her silly clumsiness to tell. But people had begun to whisper in their small town and a pattern had begun to emerge, every Sunday a new battle scar would make its appearance, and people close to Sandra had been putting their suspicions out there for others to hear. There where even some that declared to have borne witness to how these wounds had actually occurred.}  

^{The story goes, that a couple of his friends had been at Sandra and his flat one night and shortly after he had gone over the limit of pint number 6, they were forced to intervene and throw him out of the flat. Apparently, he had gone wild and accused her of sleeping with one of them, he smashed the glass coffee table and then back handed Sandra across the face, no one saw her for a week after that incident, the other bar maids covered for her but the shadows still tainted her face when she reappeared all smiles despite the cut across her lip which she tried to talk down to a cold sore but we all knew better.}

^{No one saw Sandra again after that night, and no one ever questioned as to why, an eerie undertone of suspicion lingered in that bar, it's as if the walls where constantly whispering susceptions and yet despite this everyone remained cordial with him, that blonde hair blue eyed guy that now sat stooped with sadness in the corner of the bar propped up by and old rickety bar stall, the patrons of the pub still happy to sit, chat, play poker and sip away pint 1, pint 2, pint 3, pint 4, pint 5 and pint 6  and even sometimes more, all knowing the secret hell that awaited Sandra, yet no one ever addressed the elephant in that bar on a Saturday night.}

^{He has no name because he is a no one, end the silence on domestic violence!}