His Human Mate

AVERY

When I was young, my grandma used to ask me, "What do you want out of life, my little rainbow?"

She called me Rainbow because according to her, I was the ball of colours in her otherwise, previous bleak life.

"I'm going to buy a really big salon and have a lot of workers and I'll make everyone's hair for free! "

I was eight at the time and I used to love braiding my all my Barbie doll's hair. And when I had finished braiding all of them, I'd undo the whole thing and start all over again. I really loved braiding at the time and had actually thought that I would make a career off it.

Fast forward to when I turned sixteen, she asked me again and my reply this time was, "I would love to own a robotics company."

Over time, I developed interest in all things science. Wanted to learn the mysteries behind how a phone worked, computers, jets and eventually filled a form to join my school's robotics team.

I went for a lot of competitions, got pretty recognised, and even have the little trophies and certificates to show.

My grandma was dead now. But if she were alive and she asked me that question, I wondered what my answer would be.

"I would love to get a high paying job someday?"

"I just wanna get rich?"

I was ashamed that I didn't know what my answer would be.

Time and circumstances really did change a person's perspective of life. With the situation I found myself in, it was hard to put the blame squarely on my shoulders, really.

Ever since my grandma died, things started to down slide from there. First it was my dad being diagnosed of cancer, but we remained positive, thinking it was something minor, but when the doctor told us he had less than five years left to live, all hope became lost.

He was strong for the first year of it, but I guess from the second year, reality started to set in that he didn't have much time. He stopped working altogether and eventually, started living off debts.

Five years later when we were starting to believe that dad beated all odds and lived another year, he died. Mom slipped into depression. Add that to the fact that she was a full-time housewife, yeah, I think you get the picture.

Things started getting really hard and I had to apply for student loans to get into the university. It took quite a well and a jointed effort to pay off all of my dad's debts, but three years later, we did.

Which was last year. I'm still working to put food on the table and take care of my basic needs. And after school, I'm going to search for a full time job to get me a good start in paying off my student loans.

Was I ever going to stop working?

With the current state of things, I wasn't going to stop working any time soon. Rest definitely wasn't in my nearest future. And how did I feel about that?

I didn't feel anything. At all. I had pretty much accepted my fate at this point.

So I guess the answer to my grandma's question this time around would be, "I just want to be happy."

I didn't want much out of life anymore. I just wanted a rest, even if it was a little bit, and to be happy.

Slinging my purse over my left shoulder, I made my way out of my dorm room, locking the door behind me. My roommate had her own key, in case she came in before me. I was pretty lucky to have my best friend as my roommate. It definitely made things easier. We didn't have drama and all the other issues roommates usually had.

Not only was she my roommate, she was also my co-worker at a bar not far from the university. Actually that was how I started working there.

We met when we became roommates, our relationship started off pretty great and then when I told her I was in search of a job, she asked me if I would be interested to work in a bar with her and at the time I had been pretty desperate and also, the pay had been pretty decent compared to what I was used to and that was how I started working at Jury's Bar.

The cool air hit me as I stepped outside, starting my walk to the bar. I was also lucky that it wasn't that far from the university. Else, I would have to worry about getting a cab to and fro on top of everything else. Or worry about the state of my knees after the long walk.

As I passed a familiar building with glass walls, I caught my reflection in the mirror. It had become a habit already. Everyday when I passed, I would take in my reflection even if I didn't stop walking. It wasn't because I wanted to see what I looked like—I had a mirror back home. I just couldn't help but stare at it whenever I passed.

Today, I slowed a bit and took in my blue round neck T-Shirt and my plain jeans. A casual look. Yet somehow, my body made it into more. When I shopped for jeans, I had to test them out in the thrift stores changing room before paying to avoid issues. Because I had an *ss. And sometimes, it made the decisions for me.

I didn't really have much upfront but I guess the backside made up for it.

I was of average height, about five feet seven with light blonde hair. The tips were dyed platinum and I added highlights once in a while. I didn't have long hair—didnt let it get long. I always cut it before it could grow pass the middle of my back. I couldn't deal with long hair.

The sign of the bar where I worked came into view, 'Jury's Bar' and I started to prepare myself mentally to deal with everybody tonight.

I wasn't really the outgoing sort. I was an introvert to the core but give me the right people and the extrovert in me would come out. When I spoke to customers, I had my work face on. It was this impenetrable mask that I had learned to develop over time. It was a part of me now and I didn't even have to try to keep it on anymore.

Even if a person didn't have a work face, working at a bar would make you develop one. All sorts of people came in here. Some good, some bad and most of them downright frustrating. And not to mention the assholes that would hit on you and then take it personally when you refuse to let them have your number.

Newsflash *ssh*l*, it is personal.

It reminded me of how I almost got in trouble with my manager back when I newly started. A guy had come over to the bar to order for a drink and asked for it to be delivered to his table. I had been entirely focused on placing his drink on the table that I hadn't taken note of his hand sliding towards me and before I knew it, he was grabbing my *ss.

I had been so shocked and p*ss*d over the whole thing and my hand was already flying to his face before I thought about it.

He immediately started howling as if I had stabbed him with a knife and called the attention of half the bar, my co-workers and manager included.

He turned the whole story around into me trying to proposition him and then growing mad and slapping him when he continuously refused. I was pretty sure that my manager didn't believe him, it was pretty evident from his expression. But the man had promised to fill a complaint to the owner of the bar and the manager had no choice but to suspend me for that night.

When I came back to work the next, he explained to me that guys like that man were always going to come to the bar and I had to use a better approach on them, rather than slapping them. Although that slap had been a reflex action to feeling a stranger's hands on me, I didn't say that. I had simply taken the correction and went on with work.

And ever since that day, I had learnt to handle customers better. That was how I had developed my 'work' face. I didn't let them get a rise out of me and even when they managed to, I tried my best not to show it.

I pushed the huge door to the bar open, my neutral mask falling over my face like a shield as I walked in. I waved at a few of my co-workers and went to the other side of the bar to take my place.

Time to work.

Avery

“How much would it cost to get a drink—and your number?”

Assholes.

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that question, well, let’s say I wouldn’t be working in this tacky bar to begin with.

“The prices are on the menu. My number, however, isn’t.” I delivered flatly.

He leaned against the bar in a pose he probably thought was sexy and winked suggestively at me. “Everything is on the menu for me.”

My eyes dropped to his hand on the bar top—to the expensive looking watch he had on. Figures.

Make that a rich asshole.

“Sorry to disappoint.” I said in the same measured tone. “What drink would you like to get?”

He looked mildly taken aback that I had refused to give him my number. I guess he was used to getting what he wanted. He was sort of average looking and I knew it was probably his money that made him think he could get whatever he wanted. He had lucked out tonight ‘cause I wasn’t into assholes.

“You reall