nearly a decade {Tsiuri x Ellen}

[lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah]

Today marked nine years since Arabella's death.

Nine years since Matthew and I had lost a little piece of who we were.

For so long I had thought that I wouldn't heal. That the hole in my heart that Arabella had filled would forever be an open wound, constantly bleeding, forever hurting. There are still evening when I can see her as clear as day, sitting by the fire, chatting endlessly to a patient Mathew who listened to who so carefully, as though each word was as important as the next. There were nights where I woke up choking on a sob, Arabella's mutilated body seared into the back of my eyes lids. Those nights Matthew would roll me over, hugging me tightly until I fell asleep, the feeling of his fingers drawing soothing circles on my arm.

On this day, every year, I find that Matthew disappears. I don't see him for the whole day and when he returns home his eyes are glassy and his cheeks are red. I know where he goes. He goes to her grave, he lays fresh flowers, and he sits and talks to her, tells her about how the harvest is treating us. He reads he stories that she had wrote before she was taken. I used to ask him if he wanted me to come, but he would insist that he needed to be alone. So I had stopped asking.

Tonight I find myself on my own, arms hugging my body tight as I shielded myself against the cold. I was supposed to be making my way home, but instead I push open the door to an old dinghy bar, taking a moment to scan the room before taking a seat at the counter. It smelt like stale beer and body odour. The man in the corner was sleeping in his own sputum.

I stare for a moment longer before I flag down the bartender, offering her a smile, though I had a feeling that it failed to reach my eyes. "One whiskey please."

[minie]

Tsiuri .

take a shot with a fake smile to chase it

”One whiskey please”

I looked up to see an elderly woman attempting to smile towards me. These are the customers I know are going to break me. I can handle the poverty and the drunk men not finding their wives attractive. All of that is old news that I hear day in and day out. The men that come here on a daily always have something to moan about but it is never really anything worth my while. However, I listen and comfort them. Sometimes even approve of their infidelities for a little but of cash. I could tell though that the woman in front of me had actual pain and sorrow. This was not something I could shake off at the end of the day and walk away from.

Right, it’s showtime.

I try to fill my face with positivity and smile wide enough for the both of us. I try to mask my own depression in my eyes in a feeble attempt to make her feel welcome. It is not an easy job between the passed-out clientele, falling apart location and overall sense of gloom that haunts this place. ”Of course hun” , I try and add a bit of pep to my voice. Something sweet and nice as if you were talking to a family member. I reach for the glasses that are stored above me and the whiskey at the top of the shelve. She looks like the kind of person that needs a nice drink and not just any cheap old whiskey. I probably won’t charge her more for it either, she reminded me of my grandmother. Lost in sadness and for the first time in a while, I truly believe I actually cared about her wellbeing.

”Here ya go!” I placed the glass in front of her on top of a paper coaster. I hesitated for a second before opening my mouth again, ”I am usually not in the business of asking people if they are ok because frankly no one in this place is ok, but are you ok? If you need to let some things out or just want to talk about anything to distract yourself, I’ll be here all night. My name is Tsiuri, you can just call me over” . This time the sincerity dripped into my voice.

ELEGANT