Vice was hectic. The music blares loudly, a mix of popular pop and hip-hop songs reverberating around the building. Bright, neon colored strobe lights bounce wildly around the dark room and illuminate the faces of drunken, carefree patrons.

I'm three hours into my four hour shift and my body is most definitely paying the price for it. My feet are killing me, my entire body is pouring sweat, and I'm sure my makeup looks disastrous—but I could care less, because so far I've made a total of $150 in tips tonight.

I was right about the upper level of Vice; the people that reserve seats up here do have money, and they aren't shy about the impressive length of their drinking tabs or casually sliding me a twenty dollar bill while unapologetically giving me patronizing smirks.

But like I said—I could care less about the exhaustion wracking my body or the judgement stitched on the faces of these uppity fuckers, because I'm finally making money. And I'm happy as hell about it.

Currently, I'm stood behind the bar closing out the tab of an overgrown frat boy that's been flirting since he walked through the front door.

I'm counting out his change when he reaches a hand towards me and latches onto my wrist. I freeze and calmly glance down at his sloppy, yet iron-clad grip.

"What time do you get off? I've got a room booked at the Marriott tonight, you should stop by," he shouts over the music, his eyes dilated and his words slurring.

I curl my lip in disgust. "Are you fond of that hand?" I ask him.

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion before letting out a loud, shaky laugh. "What, you're really gonna play hard to get? I can walk outside right now and find a cheap whore that looks just like you roaming the streets."

I slowly and calmly set the small wad of bills in my right hand down. Reaching out, I grab onto his arm and pry his fingers off of my wrist and snarl out, "Be sure to watch for cars on your way out, then."

Before he can reply, a tall body brushes against my arm and gently pushes me behind them. I watch, confused, as Austin plants both hands against the surface of the bar and leans his face towards the frat guy in the too-tight polo.

Its loud and I can't make out what he's saying to the guy, but judging by his rigid posture and the scared shitless look on my harasser, its nothing nice.

I'm stunned as the guy peers around Austin's large frame, shouts a frantic, "Sorry!", and quickly scrambles away.

Austin slowly turns around to face me, lazily propping his elbows against the bar top.

I stare at him in bewilderment. "I didn't give him his change," I say.

He shrugs. "So keep it."

I shake my head slightly but don't hesitate in shoving the bills in my apron. Austin steps aside as I place the receipt in the basket below the counter, and quietly watches as I continue to cash out a few more people. My cheeks heat slightly as he continues to perch silently next to me, his dark gaze shamelessly watching my every move.

I'm confused as to why he's suddenly behind the bar with me when I haven't seen him all night. I'm all too aware of his presence and its got me hot and flustered.

I cash out seven more people before I finally glance over at him, eyebrows raised and stomach fluttering like crazy.

"Did you need something?" I blurt out.

He shakes his head in amusement and brings a hand to his jaw, scratching at the dark stubble. "Your shift ends soon," he says.

I nod slowly. "I'm aware."

He hesitates, glancing down at the expensive watch on his left wrist, before he looks up and asks, "Did you need a ride home?"

Uh, okay. I mean, yeah, but not the kind of ride you're talking about.

I swallow harshly. That catches his attention, and his dark eyes zero in on the movement. I'm sure he's all too aware of the sweat coating my chest and my pulse thumping wildly. I swallow again, because fuck, he's hot and intense and he's making me nervous.

I clear my throat and look down at the register, avoiding his gaze. "No need. I live all the way on the other side of town. I'm just gonna call a cab."

He's silent for a moment until he quietly rasps, "You sure? I don't mind."

The offer is tempting. Too tempting. I want to hop in the passenger seat of his car and pretend like I'm not going home to an alcoholic and potential junkie—but I can't. I know better. The last thing I need is a guy like Austin in my life. It's too messy for someone like him.

I'm not good enough for someone like him.

I pick at a loose thread on the dish rag next to the register and glance up, reluctantly making direct eye contact.

"I'm sure," I say firmly.

He nods once, gently knocks his knuckles against the bar top, and quietly walks away.

——

As expected, it's dark and quiet when I push the front door open and shuffle inside.

I lock the door, lean my back against it, and exhale deeply. I toe off my shoes and toss my purse in the recliner. I stretch my neck and groan softly.

I've got to plan out a new work schedule with RJ, because leaving one job and heading to the other will be the death of me.

I pad to the kitchen and flick the lights on, halting in surprise when the sudden brightness jolts mom awake from her seat at the dining table.

She shoots up from her slouched position, hair a frazzled mess and drool coating her chin, a beer bottle clutched tightly in her fist.

Jesus.

"Where have you been?" she slurs.

I snort and walk to the fridge, grabbing a beer for myself. I pop the tab and lean against the kitchen counter, shooting her a bored look.

"Oh, now you want to be a parent?" I ask sarcastically.

Mom rolls her eyes and scoots her chair back before standing up on shaky legs. "You're so fucking disrespectful. You get that from your daddy, you know that?"

I take a sip of the cold beer and nod my head, "Yeah, no you're right. I'm so disrespectful. Totally. Hey, by the way, when's the last time you were sober?" I pause, lips pursed in faux contemplation, "before or after dad's attorney mailed you the divorce papers?"

I'm being cruel, I know that. I know that arguing with her won't solve anything, but there's so much pent up anger in my chest and so much stress on my shoulders, and she's the cause for it.

It's because of her that I'm working two jobs yet I can still barely keep the lights and water on. It's because of her that Savannah and I don't know what the fuck a caring or loving parent is actually like. It's because of her that I've come to the life altering realization that I will probably be stuck in this dingy ass town for the rest of my life—caring for her until the alcoholism takes over and we eventually have to lower her into the ground.

Don't I get to be angry? Don't I get to be cruel?

"You ain't nothing. You always act like you're better than me—but you ain't. I gave birth to you and I deserve some respect, god damnit!" she shrieks.

I put my beer down and rub my temples, exhaustion and annoyance creeping in and taking over.

"Giving birth to me does not give you the right to treat me like a roommate instead of a daughter. You'll get respect when you can hold an actual conversation without slurring your words and tripping over your own feet. Goodnight, mother."

I flip the light switch, encasing her in darkness and abruptly cutting off her slurred retaliation. I snatch my purse from the recliner and head to my room.

I dig through it and pull out the wad of bills acquired from both shifts today. I hastily shove it under my mattress, effectively keeping them out of my mother's reach until I can deposit the cash in the bank tomorrow.

I peel off my tank top and jeans and throw on an oversized t-shirt, deciding that I'll shower in the morning. I'm fucking tired. Of everything.

I plug my phone into the charger, pull my duvet over my body, and bury my face in my pillow. Sleep takes over immediately, and I welcome it with open arms.

——