<span style="color: #FF80FF"> <span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><div style="text-align: center;">Lea Stevens</div></span></span> </span><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i300.photobucket.com/albums/nn24/SociallyToxicBeauty/036e0d3a-b28c-47ec-b858-0eaea6c67e4d.jpg">[ img ]</a></div><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="color: #FF80FF"><div style="text-align: center;">"Jazz"</div></span></span></span><br/><br/>It hadn't taken long to find a bar and Lea had entered the toasty establishment with relief. The place was mostly empty, seemingly just opened for the day. She sat at the bar for a moment, looking over the menu. She didn't have the money to get anything, but she knew if she looked dejected for long enough, someone would spare her a glass.<br/><br/>Just as she predicted, the only other lone patron in the bar had sent a coke and jack her way. She wasn't fond of them as they tended to be too sweet for her liking, but it was what it was. She raised her glass to the person in thanks and they gave a nod, taking a sip of their own drink. Thankfully, they did not seem to care to engage in conversation anymore than she did. The bartender kept shooting her worried glances as he cleaned the bar of invisible debris, finally coming over to her.<span style="color: #4080FF"><span style="font-style: italic">"Aren't you Jazz from that club downtown?"</span></span>he asked as Lea finished off her drink rather quickly. She nodded, but did not say much of anything else,<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #4080FF">"Are you alright? Do you need help or anything?"</span></span>she looked at him perplexed and he pointed to her face, then motioned at his own. Ah, she had forgotten about what she looked like.<span style="color: #FF80FF">"No. I'm fine. Just, uh...just was at the wrong place at the wrong time is all. It's been taken care of,"</span>she assured him.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #4080FF">"If you say so. Here, next one is on me,"</span></span>he said as he began to make her another drink. She thanked him and stared into her new glass, her image distorted by the dark drink. By now Carlos was probably driving around expecting her to be walking along the road, but she tried not to think about it. Instead, she finished off the second drink with a quickness that seemed to impress the bartender.<br/><br/>The bar door opened and a cold gust of wind blew in, but she didn't turn around to see who it was. Instead, she pushed her empty glass away from herself and let her elbows prop on the table, holding her head in her hands. She didn't understand why she was feeling so guilty and she wished the feeling would go away.<span style="color: #FF80FF"> "I don't need this shit..." </span>she muttered to herself just as a hand clamped down on her shoulder.