ONE
"See how I'll leave, with every piece of you
Don't underestimate the things that I will do" - Adele

I enjoyed living the unstructured life of a bartender. During the time I was at the BSB I had liked the work, I had a social work bachelor's degree for God's sake. However, I was unaware how confining it was. Then I took a job at Bridget's bar. I could have showed up naked and been fine. It wasn't my career of choice, but it was good for now.

It was a busy Thursday night. Bridget's and my brawl almost two months ago had drummed up serious business. Everyone wanted to see the women who fought off vampires. We never mentioned the help we had from the vampire, Angie Winter. It was best if no one knew about her.

I poured out a Blue Moon from the tap and slid it to the guy in the Cubs hat. "I heard you clawed one guy's eyes out!" He waited enthusiastically for a response.

"I keep them in the back." I waved the person behind him forward.

No one wanted to read the newspaper. The trial of Raven St. Nigel, Stevenson Dhaliwal, and their human cohort, Alex, had been covered in painful detail since the brawl. No eyes, limbs, or fingers had been lost. Only a vampire had died, through no fault of my own.

Next to me Bridget was chattered about the brawl in her fake Irish accent. Our tip jar overflowed when she pulled the accent. Bridget's co-owner, David, was cleaning glasses and letting us sweet talk more money out of the college crowd.

"Nothing but bitch beers and fruity drinks," Bridget mumbled during the first lull in the evening. "Who taught them how to drink?"

"Not everyone puts whiskey on their corn flakes."

"There'd be less crime if they did! You can't do anything when your liver is as pickled as mine." I tried to wrap my mind around this and decided it was the joint she'd smoked talking and not her.

I poured myself a cup of water and downed it in one gulp. Chicago was in the midst of a drought and heatwave.  It hadn't been under 100 degrees in nine days. Even in the air conditioned bar I was parched and sweating through my clothes. David, Bridget, and I all wore black t-shirts to hide the obvious sweat stains.

"It's hotter than a goddamn monkey's balls." Bridget took a handful of ice and dropped it down her shirt. "And all these people are stealing my cool air! Couldn't we have battled evil in the winter?"

I laughed. Bridget O'Malley was a tyrannical bitch in this heat. She was probably just as bad in the frigid air of winter.

Someone opened the door. Even from across the room we felt the crushing heat and humidity squeeze our lungs. I felt myself gag. I went for another glass of water, this time dropping a ton of ice into it.

"Christ! Look at the tool who just walked in! Who has spiked hair and frosted tips anymore!" I downed my second glass of water.

It was my ninth of the hour, I was fully prepared to stay up all night to pee like fifty times. I pushed Bridget's hands away as she tried to get me to look at whoever had come in.

"He's taking us to the gun show in that skin tight wifebeater. Don't quote me, but I think it's a spray on tan! Let me give him some of Grandad's home brew!" No one deserved the fire of that crap!

I finally looked, only to clutch the bar. "Are you kidding me?" I groaned.

"What?"

"I was supposed to marry that tool."