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I turned, looking her dead in the eyes. "Like I said, I just want to help." I knew the double meaning of that wouldn't be lost on her.
She drew a long breath and then her tongue grazed her lips, and I found my thoughts hurtling back into inappropriate territory. Eyes on the table, Logan.
Nothing else was said that night, but that was fine. Forcing conversation hadn't worked with her so far, so I was happy to try sitting back and letting it come when she was ready. For now, it was enough to let her know that I wasn't giving up, and that I'd be there if she needed support. Companionship is one of the best defenses for people in her position. Even silent company is better than nothing. It's when you're alone with your thoughts that shit can really get dark. Besides, nobody likes exposing their weakness in front of others. Charlie taught me that. Deep down, anyone who drinks knows they've got a problem, and they're not proud of it, which is why they usually do it alone. Sure, shame is a pretty low way to approach this issue, but I'd take what I could get.
Obviously I couldn't be there all the time. The periods at the end of her shift were just a drop in the bucket. But everything starts from a seed.
*****
We continued in that rhythm for some time. There were nights when Grace wasn't rostered on late, and others where Joy hung around to keep her company, and on those occasions I kept my distance, but whenever she was alone, I slipped in there and made myself busy.
The first few times, she looked poised to say something, but then her jaw took on a stubborn set I'd come to think of as her "fuck you" face, and she'd simply turn her back and ignore me. So we cleaned in silence. It was a little odd at first, but soon it became something of a ritual, almost meditative. Even with no conversation, I enjoyed watching her work. Hell, I think I could have enjoyed watching her do just about anything, and in this particular environment, there were plenty of things that required attention both up high and down low, which made the view all the more irresistible. I did my best not to make it obvious, but occasionally, my concentration lapsed and she caught me, which always resulted in this adorable little huff and a furrowing of her brow. It made me feel like an asshole, but what could I do? I could ignore her about as easily as I could ignore my hand if it were on fire. Look but don't touch, that was my mantra.
I wasn't the only one with a wandering gaze. I often noticed her studying me out of the corner of her eye, sometimes looking curious, but usually just exasperated. My unique brand of stubborn love was really starting to piss her off.
Despite my stony reception, I was making some progress. As far as I could tell, she'd stopped drinking mid-shift. She still showed up looking buzzed, but that always seemed to have faded by the time cleanup came, and I never noticed her slipping out back again. It was a small victory — most of the damage was happening when she was firmly out of sight — but it was something.
Finally, after a week and a half of ghostly quiet, she cracked.
"What are you, a fucking monk or something? How is this not driving you nuts?"
I suppressed a smile and turned slowly to face her. She was behind the bar with her hands on her hips, her eyebrows slightly raised as if to say, "Yeah, I'm talking? So what?"
"I was in the military. On a mission, talking can sometimes be a great way to get yourself shot, so I learned pretty quickly how to shut up."
"Would it change anything if I told you I was getting ready to shoot you myself?"
I chuckled. "I've been shot at before. Still here."
She glowered.
"You'd be doing this alone if I wasn't around," I continued. "Can't you just pretend like I'm not?"
Her lips compressed. "Believe me, I'm trying."
I'd known guys like her in the army, guys that couldn't stand the quiet. They were the ones that would talk your ear off during downtime, just for the sake of making noise. They'd usually grown up in big cities; children of bustle and noise. In light of the sort of shit we went through, I wondered if they still felt the same way.
"I actually like the silence, truth be told," I said. "It's peaceful."
"Well, it's driving me crazy."
"I can see that." I gave her my most innocent smile, which I admit, probably doesn't look innocent in the slightest. "I guess we'll just have to find something to talk about then."
The glare she shot my way told me exactly how she felt about that. I shrugged and returned my attention to the floor I was mopping. The ball was in her court.
It only took another five minutes.
"Are you fighting this month?" She continued to scrub the bench below, not meeting my eyes. It was a victory, but I wasn't about to make a big deal of it. As far as I was concerned, we were just two colleagues killing time.
"Yep. Charlie's found some new guy for this round. A hotshot from a bigger league over in Chicago. Calls himself 'Caesar.' Apparently he's a bit of a hero over there. Should be interesting."
"You're not worried?"
"Worrying doesn't get you anywhere. I'll get in there, do my thing, and whatever happens, happens."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's very Zen of you."
"That may be the first time anyone has used the word Zen in reference to someone being punched in the face repeatedly."
