The City | GirlxGirl

eight ➳

Another night. Skylar's skin burned from the heat that stuck to her skin like velcro-she'd have to tell Jon to turn down the thermostat. As she rolled the sleeves of her maroon t-shirt an inch higher up her forearms, she tried to ignore the very visible sweat stains present under her arms and around her ribs. She knew that as a bartender, she was supposed to look appealing. Attractive. But at that moment she felt disgusting-she wanted to crawl inside her damp skin and hide.

And despite how she looked and how she felt about it, she received charming smiles from men all night. Even as she conveyed, very obviously, the sweat that was pouring down her body and the exhaustion she was feeling, it didn't stop anyone-men and women-from sending suggestive remarks her way.

Losing her patience, Skylar told one of her only other two co-workers, Lloyd, that night that she was heading out to take her thirty minute break.

She was relieved immediately, as she opened the back door, and was hit with cold wind. The frigid air stung her eyes and cooled her skin, and after only a minute of standing against the brick wall of the bar, she needed to pull on her winter coat.

And suddenly, she was shivering.

And wanted a cigarette.

Skylar grimaced. She bit down on her lip. Hard. Anything to distract herself from the sudden drive that was a need for nicotine.

She hated the realization that she wanted a cigarette. That, sometimes, she needed one. Because that was proof that she was, in fact, addicted. Despite the countless times a day she assured herself that she was not.

Still with twenty minutes left of her break, Skylar decided to go back in, saving the rest for later, when she'd certainly need another escape from the heat. Right now, she needed an escape from the cold. From the wind, and the condensation that left her mouth with every breath, which resembled the smoke that she had grown skilled at blowing through her hollow lips.

Winter coat gone, Skylar still felt chilled. She pulled down the sleeves of her shirt, knowing that in a matter of moments she'd be so warm she'd have to roll them up once again.

She started pouring, serving, pouring, serving. A monotonous routine, the same every night. The same people, the same words. The same everything.

"Hello there."

Skylar looked up from the glass she was pouring. A man, perhaps in his early-twenties. Short, brown hair pushed off his forehead. Piercing blue eyes. Kind face, kind features.

She frowned, and handed the drink to the man beside the one who had spoken to her, nodding in response to his slurred, "thank you."

"I said 'hello there.'" Mr. Blue eyes was staring at Skylar with every intention that made the hair on the back of her neck stand. Despite the rising heat in her body, she felt goosebumps.

Always used to being hit on, this was nothing new. But it was his attention, the fact that he was alone. She was his target. Would she soon be his prey?

She couldn't help worrying about these things. There were so many stories in the news these days about women being endangered by men. Skylar had always, even as a young teen, been especially fearful of these situations. All it took was a man who was stubborn, prejudiced-homophobic, more specifically-to make her a news headline.

"Hi," said Skylar. No warmth; no indication of interest.

"I know you're a bartender, so you're probably really sick of drinks." He smiled. "But despite that, can I buy you one?"

And then the air around Skylar's body froze.

She breathed snow. The tears that began to frost across her brown eyes turned into icicles.