This is the first half of the proloug to a story I stopped writing. It sucks and I could really use some help, I intend to get around to finishing it eventually.
Reflection Be Gone
Prologue
Averill curled up on her fleece blanket and pulled the quilt over her shoulders. It took everything she had to stop herself from crying. She knew nobody could see her but she couldn’t let herself cry. In a desperate attempt to distract herself she grabbed the stereo remote and turned the radio on. She couldn’t find a song or a talk show to cheer her up she turned it off and threw the remote into a pile of laundry.
At eight-thirty she climbed out of bed. She brushed her hair and tied it up with a red ribbon. Her crimson red lipstick extenuated her black hair and pale complexion. “I’ll go to the bar he’s always at. I’ll talk to George, laugh and have a good time.” She smiled evilly into her mirror, “that will show him; he’s not pining for me so I won’t pine for him.” She paused in front of the mirror and added, “I wonder what I ever saw in him?” She changed into a tight red tank top, and miniskirt. She put on her high heeled boots that came up to her shins.
“I look like a hooker,” she said as she examined herself in the mirror again. She traded her miniskirt for her embroidered bell bottom jeans, and added the matching jean jacked that was cut off halfway through. “Much better” She said as she grabbed her handbag and left.
She walked through the small town to the Cats Cradle. It was nearly empty, just the regulars and Jim. Averill barely glanced at him incase their eyes met. But in the brief moment she looked at him she noticed that he was sitting with Timothy. She walked gracefully past him and sat at the bar.
“Hey Averill, the usual,” George assumed.
“Not tonight, I’m in the mood for something different, how about a Jack Daniels on the rocks.” George pulled the bottle off the shelf and poured her a glass.
“Any special occasion?” he asked.
“Yup,” she paused taking a drink, “goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” George asked concerned as he reached forward to grab the glass. He knew better than to give Averill a Jack Daniels when she was upset. She wasn’t the most stable person drunk. She picked it up and took another drink.
“Yeah, I’m going back to Hillsdale to see my family.”
George’s face lit up happily and he shouted, “hey everybody, Averill’s going back to see her folks!” everybody banged their empty glasses on the table and cheered.
Somebody in the back shouted, “Finally, good for you Ave.”
Averill couldn’t help it her cheeks flushed, and George refilled her drink. She looked over and smiled as Big Mack toasted for her. Big Mack was her hero. “no, not hero,” she thought happily, “hero’s an understatement, he’s more like a step-dad to me, and that is defiantly more than a hero.”
When she first arrived in town Big Mack had taken her under his wing. He helped her get a job at the bar and the apartment upstairs. He was the first person she told about why she was there. He was the reason she had finished high school. He helped her get a job at the school when she graduated.
Then Big Mack’s wife left him, he started drinking more. George promised that he would never be homeless, “he owns that house, he’ll never be homeless, I promise.” George took over keeping her in line from then on.
Working at the high school was enjoyable. Better than the bar, she liked having summers off, and then had time to start writing again.
Her only novel was over four hundred pages long and named the New York Times bestseller. Even though she got more money the town didn’t become over populated.
She pulled the glass up to her lips and finished off the glass. Timothy and Jim came up and sat next to her.
“Hey Tim, Jim,” she said. Timothy laughed at her childish rhyme. She turned to Jim and asked, “How many has he had?”
“Way too many,” Jim joked soberly.
“What do you want guys?”
“To talk to you,” Timothy said in his childish drunk voice.
“Then talk,” she said ignoring Jim. She was happy to talk to Timothy; she had tried hating him and failed miserably. No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t hate him. He was way too sweet, a sweetie with a good left hook. She always felt safe with him, he reminded her of Aimery, her childhood crush. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her.
Timothy couldn’t remember what he was about to say, so Jim started to talk. She tried very hard to ignore what he was saying. Jim she could hate, she did hate. He was an egotistical, narcissistic, vindictive jerk.
“Wasn’t this where we went on our first date?” he said being coldly civil.
“Yeah.”
“This was the one place I hoped I wouldn’t see you, at least not tonight.”
