I stood there for a second longer, letting the quiet settle back into something familiar, something steady, before turning back to the bar. The stool waited exactly where I’d left it, unchanged, like the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all.
I sat. Picked up my burger. Took another bite.
Marlene was in front of me a second later, her hands braced against the bar, her gaze steady in that way that always meant she’d already read the situation three steps ahead of everyone else in the room. “You need to go,” she told me quietly, not sharp, not panicked, but firm in a way that didn’t leave much room for interpretation.
I shook my head once, taking another bite of the Jucy Lucy like the conversation didn’t carry any real weight. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” she countered, her voice staying low but losing none of its edge. “You know it’s not fine.”
I glanced toward the door, toward where the guy had been dragged out, toward the space that had already reset itself like it always did, the room settling back into tempo without needing to acknowledge what had just happened.
“He threw the bottle,” I replied, giving a small shrugbefore taking another bite, the heat of the cheese still biting back just enough to keep me present.
“I saw it,” she returned, the words carrying a quiet frustration now.
“Then it’s fine.”
Her jaw tightened, the lines around her mouth pulling just slightly before she pushed off the bar. “Finish your food,” she muttered, already turning away. “Then get the hell out.”
I nodded once, not arguing, not rushing, not making it into anything bigger than it needed to be.
I just finished the burger.
Each bite steady, deliberate, the same way I’d eaten it a hundred times before, letting the familiarity of it do what it always did—ground me, settle me, bring everything back into something simple and manageable. The noise of the bar had already leveled out again, voices blending into one another, glasses clinking, chairs shifting, life continuing without asking for permission.
Matt’s didn’t hold onto things. That was part of why I came here.
By the time I set the last of it down, wiped my hands on the napkin, and reached for my wallet, the red and blue lights were already flashing through the front windows, cutting across the room in sharp bursts that didn’t belong here.
Fuck it all to hell.
The door opened before I could move, night air pushing in behind it as the officer stepped inside, his presence immediate but controlled, his gaze sweeping the room once before landing on me like he already knew exactly where this was going.
“We got a call about an assault,” the officer announced, his tone calm, even, carrying just enough to reach everyone without turning it into a scene.
No one answered. No one needed to.
The room had gone quiet again, not tense this time, just watchful.
He stepped closer, his boots measured against the floor, his posture straight, professional, the kind of presence that didn’t escalate anything but didn’t leave room to avoid it either. Recognition flickered in his expression for half a second when he got a clear look at me, something almost human there before it settled back into neutral.
“I know who you are,” he added, quieter now, close enough that the rest of the room didn’t need to hear it. “Turn around.”
I held his gaze for a second longer than I probably needed to, not challenging him, not questioning it, just… acknowledging it for what it was.
Then I nodded.
Turned.
The shift in perspective hit harder than I expected, my hands moving behind my back without hesitation, my shoulders settling into place as I let him do what he needed to do. I’d been hit harder than this a thousand times over, taken worse impact without blinking, but the moment the metal closed around my wrists, something in my chest dropped in a way that had nothing to do with pain.
The cuffs tightened just enough to lock, the pressure settling against the tape wrapped up to my wrists, the edges digging in where the padding didn’t quite cover.
“I hate to do it,” the officer muttered, low enough that it didn’t carry.
“I know,” I returned, because there wasn’t anything else to say.
Marlene didn’t speak, but I felt her eyes on me as he guided me toward the door, the weight of it sitting heavierthan anything the guy on the floor had thrown at me. This place had always let me exist without commentary, without expectation. Walking out of it like this felt… wrong. Like I’d brought something into it that didn’t belong.