The Ending Without The Beginning

The person that is not scared of death doesn't exist. Every human being is scared of death in their own way. Death is such a scary and mysterious concept that it sometimes creeps me out. What happens to us after we die? This is a question that will never get an answer anytime soon. They say dying for the people you love makes you not fear death, but seeing your loved ones die is a different kind of feeling. It's like a part of your soul was cut off and you are never going to be the same.

Losing my mum one of the person that truly cared for me was hard and came with a lot of pain but I got used to that pain and tried to live with it. Sometimes I feel like she is here with me but every time I open my eyes she vanishes. She died because of cancer two years ago, and as for my father. I have no idea who he is. According to my mom, he abandoned us when I was three years old. She never mentioned him, and I have no idea what he looks like or what his name is? There are no photos of us, not even a single thing that can be related to him. I only know one thing. Not to look for him. My mum made me promise her. She even begged me not to try to figure out who he was. And I didn't object to her.

I live alone in a small apartment in New York. To pay for education and rent, I work two jobs. I am a law student. School is a pain in the ass, but I made a promise to my mother, and I don't want to break it. Her dream was for me to graduate, and I didn't want to let her down.

After school, I go straight to work and return home around 2 a.m., exhausted and fed up with this life. The only thing that calms me down and makes my day better is when I get back and continue reading my books. They are the only thing I will have with me for the rest of my life. They've become a part of me, and I never leave the house without them. They are like an escape from reality, letting me forget about my boring life.

So this is my final year of school, and I'm about to graduate. Nobody knows how long I've been looking forward to this day. I have started looking for a new job with good pay so I could have more time for myself. Summer is ahead and I don't want to spend all of it working.

It's around 8 pm and I start to do the inventory to close my shift. I work in a small coffee shop almost two blocks away from my other job so it would be faster for me to get there. After finishing everything I close the store and go straight to my next torture. I work as a bartender at a popular nightclub. The salary is good, but being a female bartender is difficult. Many people want to hurt you, which bothers me a little, but I haven't had any problems in the three years of working here. Our boss has really strict rules and if we cross them we can get fired.

I am sitting in my normal spot at the corner of the bar, reading a novel when a man reaches the counter. He puts his hands over his face and appears to be distressed. With a smile on my face, I approached the counter and asked him what he wanted to drink.

"One Scotch, please," he says softly. By his accent, I can tell he is Italian.

I'm surprised because the word 'please' is rare around here. I look at him again, this time more intensely since his voice seems so familiar. I was lost in his lovely deep brown eyes for a few seconds, looking at them without doing anything. I make every effort not to adore his features as much as I want to. His eyes began to glance at me confusedly as I realized that he had given his order and that I was still staring at him like a weirdo. As I turned around to make his drink, I could feel my cheeks burning up. I placed his drink on the table, and he took it and asks for another within a few seconds.

He's been sitting in his chair for over twenty minutes and is on his eighth glass. I haven't moved my gaze away from him yet, as my mind wanders, wondering why he seems so familiar. Those curly hairs and his features reminded me of someone, but I can't put my finger on who. Those deep brown eyes hide something I'm in desperate need to figure out, and I'm not sure why. His perfect pointed nose his perfect plump lips. What is it about him that makes me want to know more about him?

Suddenly he raises his head looking at me up and down scanning all of me. It's been twenty minutes as he has been sitting there and only now has he decided to look at me.

"Can I please have another drink?" he asks, his eyes tired and ready to tear up. He seems to be trying to drown his pain with alcohol to avoid whatever it is that's been in him for a long time.

I decided to talk to him this time. My heart was pounding faster than usual. I'd never felt anything like this before. I approach him and lean on the counter. "Don't you think you drank enough, big boy?" Big boy. What the fuck was this? Where did I come up with this? His head got up as we locked eyes. The prettiest eyes I have ever seen. Those eyes are going to be the death of me.

"Did I ask for your opinion, pretty simile?" he asks with his deep voice a smirk forms on his face.

Okay, What the heck happened? Did he just call me 'pretty smile'?

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but we're about to close the bar and I won't be able to serve any more drinks," I explain as my cheeks blush but I try to keep a straight face.