Without changing, she made her way out onto the streets. Clan members scouted the streets—they were easy to tell apart, with rifles and handguns at the ready. The new girl at the corner waved to her, her bright blue hair in twin ponytails. They all knew her and her mother; it was hard not to know them. Today, the streets were surprisingly calm. She made her way to Firm, an outside bar, where you would sit at a large counter that looked out onto the street. It was the best place to get a cheap drink.

Surprisingly, unlike most days where the bar would be littered with people of all types drinking and talking, today there sat only one man. Someone, too well dressed to be at level 1? But it wasn’t her place to judge. Level 1 attracted all kinds of people, maybe a visiting syndicate associate from off world.

Right now, she had a goal; she wanted to forget everything. A goal that made its way back into her life over and over again. She sat down as far away as she could from the stranger. Johnny, a robot barman, made his way towards her.

“What can I get you today, Miss Fri?” he asked and smiled. He looked almost real. The only thing that gave him away was his eyes, which slowly and mechanically traveled; you could practically see the mechanisms in him working. Maybe that was just her? No one else noticed the small details; to others, he was as human as one could get.

“I want to get drunk, Johnny.”

He smiled, "Of course, Miss Fri."

A few moments later, a cup was put in front of her. A sweet drink mixed with some synthetic alcohol; the flavor was toxic, just like the street around her. She greedily gulped it down, the alcohol burning and warming her throat. It was appalling.

“Another.” She slammed an empty cup onto the counter.

“Another.” Another empty cup.

“Keep them going,” she slurred, her vision growing blurry, the world wobbly unstably. She tried to think, but thoughts seemed to be whisked away by her spinning vision. Another cup was placed in front of her; she went to grab it, but her hand missed. Another hand covered the top of the cup. She stared, was that her hand? No, her hand was still in the air, shakily reaching for the cup. Slowly, her eyes traced up the arm. It was connected to a torso. A torso in an open button-up shirt exposed well-defined abs.

“Hello,” a husky, deep voice said. Her eyes traveled to the face of the man who owned the torso, and even with her blurry, spinning vision, she could tell that this man was handsome. He clearly had blonde hair, but apart from that, it was hard to focus her vision.

“I think you’ve had enough for today,” his voice was sinisterly deep. She wanted to hear more.

“I can drink as much as I please,” she grumbled and once again set her eyes on the cup under his hold. She tried to pull it away from him, but it didn’t budge.

“I am an adult,” she stuttered.

“Well, Miss Adult, you’ve had enough to drink.” He sat next to her, easily pulling the cup from her hold and taking a sip. He scrunched his face.

"Sweet,” he mouthed.

She leaned her head against the metal counter. It had been a fight easily lost.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"There are generally two types of people who drink this much, and that's alcoholics and those trying to drink away thier problems. Sometimes, they are two of the same, but something tells me you're the latter. "

She did not reply. The cold of the counter felt soothing against her face. Who was he to question her?

“They say talking about your problems can help,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk,” she muttered and rolled her head to the side to look at him. The cold counter offering a minuscule amount of sobriety.

“How about we make a deal?” He put the half-empty cocktail cup down, water condensation making its way onto the counter from the foggy glass. She did not answer.

“You will talk to me, tell me what's bothering you, and I’ll pay your tab.” He leaned back in the chair. She tried to focus, to make out features through her drunken vision. She wanted to see a handsome man, touch someone, feel someone else’s flesh press against her own, feel whispered breaths against her ears. She wanted to fill that black void inside her, always taunting her behind a facade of put-togetherness with something. She had become too much like that man, the one whose name she tried to forget.

A sigh escaped her lips, “I’m a teacher.”

“So, Miss Adult, is a teacher, and what’s bothering the teacher?”

“I blew one of my previous students' hand off today; he came with some other kids. They were always so young. It was an initiation. I can only imagine what they planned on doing. They came with guns. He told me to get out of the way because he didn’t want to hurt me. He aimed his ray gun at me, and I shot his hand off, but,” she teared up.

“I'm outraged because even this won't change anything. He's gonna keep killing, and then he will eventually also be killed. That's what always happens.” Wiping tears from the corner of her eyes, she sighed. “Maybe instead of killing each other, we could raise chickens. Doesn’t that sound fun? I’d kill for some chicken right now. You know, they used to raise them like they were these bird-like animals; chicken wasn't just meat grown in a lab. Wouldn't it be nice if we could all just raise chickens,” she sniffled, "I found a video once from the old world; they ran around on these two legs and made cute noises." She started to babble, but for some reason, the words wouldn't stop coming.

“This boy will just get a new hand.” He moved a stray piece of hair from her face.

"I know, which is why I'm here now."

A moment of silence passed as she tried to unravel her drunken thoughts.

“You know I've only been here for a few years. I had a future in academia, a job at the academy, and a house at level 5. How can I get used to this?”

“You’ll be fine. Eventually, we all get used to it. Your student was young, but he probably knew the consequences—they just came much sooner. It wasn't on you to rescue him; it's not your responsibility to change things.”

He got up and took off his jacket, swinging it over her, “Come, I’ll take you home, miss teacher.”

They walked in silence. More specifically, he walked, and she wobbled next to him. She opened the door to the apartment building. It was another night alone. Her mother was still working on that huge project of hers, and she would be left, in a few hours, once again more sober and with her thoughts. Their steps filled the silence of the hallways, passing open doors with motionless gamers. She opened her door and stood unmoving.

“Well, I completed my mission and got our lovely Miss Teacher back home,” He smiled.

Her drunkenness had begun to slowly fade away, and his features became clearer: blonde hair, lush lips, and green eyes.

She did not want to be alone, even if it meant becoming like- him. She grabbed the stranger's hand.

No, it wasn’t enough. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Flustered, cheeks burning red, she pulled away, “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Then she kissed him again. He reciprocated, their lips clashing in passionate warfare. He guided her into the apartment, hands exploring every crevice of her body. The loud screech of the door behind them did not bother her. This was her first time doing something like this, but it felt good. She felt unhinged. He picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around his torso, their lips never stopping. The clothing came off, his hands explored her bare body, and her own reached hungrily for his. He grabbed her wrists, locking them atop before his mouth hungrily attacked her neck. Hot kisses made their way down. His fingers worked effortlessly and professionally. They made love into the night until her body was as exhausted as her mind.

“Sleep well, miss teacher,” she felt the faint trace of his lips on her forehead before she faded into a long-awaited slumber.

Regret was an issue for tomorrow.