Dark Secrets(9)

So the walls were the same stark white they had been when he moved in. There were no carpets or throw pillows or pictures or art. There was a simple, somewhat uncomfortable deep blue wingback chair with a side table next to it where he sat in the morning to read the paper and drink coffee. That was it for the small living room that melted into the L-shaped kitchen with lightwood cabinets, a stove, apartment-sized fridge, sink, and a coffee machine. The cabinets were bare save for two cups, two plates, two bowls, a box of instant oatmeal, a tub of peanut butter, and a loaf of bread. The fridge itself was bursting with veg, fruit, meat, and various packaged foods he got at the pre-made section at the food store.

The hall went off the kitchen and had three doors. One led to the full bath with a stall shower, old white tile on the floors and half the walls, and an old medicine cabinet mirror. The smaller second bedroom was on the same side of the hall, the door closed, used by Danny as an office, the door locked.

The master bedroom was the only place he put any real care into. The bed was a king and too big for the small space so he forewent one of the nightstands, only having one on the left side of the bed with a light on top. The mattress was thick and firm and the sheets and bespread were the most expensive things in the whole place.

He put a pot of coffee on and made his way toward the bathroom, stripping out of his clothes and tossing them into the hamper with a wrinkled nose, not sure he would ever get used to the smell of literally every type of booze, fruit juice, and mixer covering him. Even the areas that clothes had covered felt sticky. He turned on the water and climbed in without waiting for the it to heat up, knowing from experience that it wouldn't do so for a good fifteen minutes even on off-hours.



       
         
       
        

He scrubbed in the cold water, washing off not only the booze, but the persona.

He was alright with Danny, The Bartender.

He was somewhat likable. Actually, he was probably the closest to Daniel's actual personality. Danny was calm, laid-back, confident, and capable. Daniel was as well. But Danny, The Bartender only existed because Daniel himself had spent a full month doing twelve-hour shifts learning how to bartend. First, in a bartending school that was set up like a bar, learning how to free pour, learning the ingredients in most common drinks. Then he took a job at the busiest bar in a hipster neighborhood and put all that schooling to the test in a real-life scenario until he was sure he could fool even a seasoned bartender into thinking that he was one of them.

Faith seemed to buy it. And she was absolutely seasoned, seeming to handle even the busiest moments of the night with absolute ease.

She didn't stress. She didn't get frazzled.

It was impressive.

But he couldn't let her know that because if she knew that, she might see that he was an amateur playing the part of a vet. And that could not happen.

He needed the job.

Not because there was nowhere else for him to go. There was always somewhere for him to go. That was a true, stark, telling testament to awful human nature.

But it wasn't that he was afraid to start again.

It was that he desperately needed a win.

The past couple of years had been loss after loss. Sometimes things worked out despite him. Other times, things just went to hell.

And, as it often went with him, when it went to hell, that meant there was blood and death and screaming and fucking awfulness.

Despite his dedication long ago to not let it get to him, it was getting to him. He was feeling weighted by it, both emotionally and physically. It was in his footsteps, heavier than they used to be. It was also in his shoulders that felt lower because of it.

He toweled off and moved in front of the mirror, looking at himself until his reflection almost became unrecognizable. He never looked different. It didn't matter what job he was working. Disguises looked ingenuine about ninety percent of the time. The most he would do was bulk up or thin out or grow out his hair.

So he looked like himself.

Healed-over gunshot wound to the shoulder included. That one still pulled when he stretched out his arm.

It wasn't the only scar on him. In fact, his body was a criss-crossed map of old wounds that were healed or still hurt him in the mornings, cold, or wet weather. Each one was evidence of the places he had been, people he had met, the things he had done.

A part of him was wondering what the people at Lam would leave him with, if anything at all.

Off in the office, his second cell started ringing. 

Daniel sighed as he walked out of the bathroom, found the key stuck to a magnet under the fridge, and went to unlock the door, missing the first call, but catching the second.