The regulars laughed and talked as Nia, a 27-year-old African-American, Venezuelan, and Brazilian mixed heritage woman with curly, thick black textured shoulder length hair and expertly drawn tresses, watched. Two men in flannels played pool on a table, rescued from a junkyard near the back, snatching up drinks while they chatted and laughed. She looks away and lifts a glass of beer to her lips, watching out of the corner of her eye as one man motioned towards her direction. She takes note of his gesture for a moment, before picking up an unappetizing plate of soggy fries and pushing it aside, eavesdropping on their conversation. One man smirked and pointed in her direction, making an offhand comment about her presence.
[https://storage.googleapis.com/rocky-production/story_images/big_f61181c477de1a2941df6bb756114cce.jpg](Image credit: [Nia] Gencraft AI prompt generated]
The man made his way to her with a swagger born of absurdity and misogyny. The bathroom door creaked closed, muffling the distant sounds of the bar. In the dimly lit space, Nia and the boyfriend stood, their shadows shifting in the light. His eyes undressed her in the quiet din. Nia’s voice, edged with urgency, broke the charged silence. “Tell me about my mother. Where is she?”
“After.” He replied, reaching for her.
Several minutes later, Nia and he were in the bathroom slamming into each other in a passionate kiss, tongues dancing wildly as their waistlines strained together. He unbuttoned her shirt past her belly, her fleshy curves to his gaze. Her skirt was ripped off her waist, and she felt his bulge stir alive against her. He grabbed her neck with one hand and cupped her temple with the other, pushing her hips against the cool porcelain of the toilet as he hammered himself into her. Nia relished the brutality of his advances; she bit his neck, digging her nails deep into his skin as he thrust into her. She nipped fiercely into his throat and dug her nails across his skin again. He stopped thrusting for a moment to stare at her, eyes blazing with irritation. She met his gaze boldly, undeterred by the power in his grip. In response, her smile curved across her lips, baring sharp canine fangs that glisten under the fluorescent lights.
Breathlessly Nia asked the man, “Tell me. Where is my mother? You said you would know.” His eyes closed in a moment of selfish ecstasy, focused on his own lustful pleasure. His eyes, obscured in shadows, betrayed a momentary hesitation. His reply, a mix of casual indifference, masked a darker intent. “Your mother? Sweetheart, I’m not your missing persons hotline.”
The man’s eyes opened wide as he sensed something. Nia’s lips parted to a slight gasp. She looked at him in exasperation, her teeth bared in a snarl as her breath came out short and sharp. His thrusting grew faster and harder. Undeterred, Nia pressed on, a desperate edge to her words. “I was told you have information. Something about my mother’s disappearance.” Her words grumbled out, “This is all you wanted? To fuck me?”
A sly grin played on the boyfriend’s lips as he grew closer to climaxing. “Maybe, maybe not. But right now, darling, I’m more interested in something else.” He drove himself in a quest to orgasm. Nia was driven by a journey for answers, finding herself entangled in a web of deceit. She realized he sought a fleeting pleasure, a momentary escape.
Her eyes are wide with anger, but she still maintains eye contact with him, her gaze unwavering. The man’s lips purse around a thick wall of grunts and moans. Disappointment etched across Nia’s face when she realized the truth—no revelation about her mother would come from this encounter. The disappointment, however, didn’t stop her. She completed her part, withholding the power he sought. His movements are Nia’s body bounces up and down. “You wanna hold me down and overpower me? I hope you enjoy the consequences.” Her words lingered in the confined space as the encounter reached its climax. However, disappointment hung heavy in the air for Nia. The dim light revealed the conflict on her face—a mix of regret, frustration, and realization that she had been used. She averted her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the hollowness in what had transpired.
The boyfriend, having satisfied his desires, fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, his movements devoid of any tenderness or connection. The air in the bathroom felt colder as the reality of the transaction settled between them.
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Nia, still standing in a muted glow, began to straighten her clothes with a mechanical detachment. Her body language spoke of resilience, a quiet strength rising from the disappointment. She refused to give him the satisfaction of witnessing her vulnerability.
Silence lingered, broken only by the sounds of clothing being readjusted and the distant hum of the bar beyond the bathroom door. Nia, now composed, shot a final glance at the boyfriend. Her eyes, once filled with disappointment, a glint of rage. Without uttering a word, Nia turned away, leaving the bathroom with a measured pace. As the two emerged from the latrine, the dankness illuminated the dingy scene, concealing the lingering wake of dissatisfaction. The bathroom door creaked closed, and Nia sauntered out, her eyes casting a sardonic glance around the dimly lit dive.
Nia spotted Teresa huddled in a worn-down booth alongside two children. Teresa’s eyes were searing with contempt as they locked onto Nia and the man.
The man returned to his billiards game, while Nia slowly walked towards Teresa. Nia straightened her spine and focused on the emotional aftermath of what was clearly a betrayal that impacted both women. couldn’t help but let out a sarcastic chuckle, a puff of laughter that echoed off the stained walls.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Nia drawled, her gaze fixing on Teresa, who glanced up, unfazed by Nia’s theatrical entrance. “A picture-perfect family outing in this palace of filth. How heartwarming. You playing the role of a family lady. So, how’s the picket fence treating you?”
[https://storage.googleapis.com/rocky-production/story_images/big_ffeb6ce1c3acfb059f5d69d1514680be.png](Image credit: [Teresa] Pixlr AI prompt generated]
Teresa, worn and resilient, met Nia’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Watch your mouth, princess. This ain’t a place for your highness to be sassin’.” Teresa, unfazed, shot back a knowing grin. “Interesting to be a queen of one-night stands. How is amateur hour?”
Nia grinned, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right, because this charming establishment is a pinnacle of sophistication. I’m practically in awe.” She mockingly surveyed the surroundings, as if expecting a round of applause from the patrons. “Keeps life interesting. Unlike some people, I don’t buy into the whole suburban bliss charade. Speaking of which, who’s the lucky guy tonight? Or did you just decide to spice up your family dinner with a random cock or cunt?”
As Nia approached, Teresa eyed her with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. “You got a problem with us, lady?”
Nia chuckled, her moodiness simmering beneath the surface. “Problem? Nah, I’m just here for the ambiance. Top-notch, really. Beats any five-star joint in the city.”
Teresa took a sip of her drink. “Just trying to make ends meet. You know how it is.”
Teresa smirked, a silent acknowledgment that Nia was more entertaining than offensive. Nia, always the provocateur, winked at her. Teresa was slightly puzzled, as Nia deliberately acted as if the world owed her a favor. Her dark, wavy hair spilled over one shoulder, and her gaze was sharp and unapologetic. Her fitted leather jacket over a graphic tee that screamed rebellion, and a pair of worn jeans that complemented her confident stride. A flicker of smoke wafted from the dirty ceiling fans above. Nia rolled her eyes dramatically. “Ends meet, huh? Sounds like a blast. And these little rugrats,” she gestured to Teresa’s kids, “are they accessories or just part of the decor in your thrilling domestic tableau?”
Teresa laughed, a weathered laugh that held years of resilience. “Easy there. You might cut someone with that edge of yours. They’re my kids. No need for a lecture from a strange Miss ‘Anything to Fill the Gaping Hole.’”
Nia feigned offense, placing a hand over her heart. “Touché. Just keeping life interesting, remember?” Nia glanced at the kids, then at the man at the billiards table. “Let me take a wild swing. He’s yours?”
“Time to time.” Teresa tried desperately to hide the pain of life from her tone. Nia caught it as if it was a foghorn. Teresa brushed her hair from a bruised eye unconsciously. Nia spotted this too.
“I tell you what. Give your number and we can compare notes.”
She gave Nia her number as Nia glanced again at the boyfriend, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a thrilling life to get back to.” With a theatrical flourish, he walked away, leaving behind a trail of sass and mystery. As the door swung shut behind her, Teresa returned to her kids, shaking her head with a bemused smile.
The bar door swung shut behind Nia, muffling the distant sounds of clinking glasses and low chatter. She strode purposefully through the night, her phone already in hand. He pocketed Teresa’s number with a sly grin, casting one last glance toward the dive bar that seemed oblivious to everything. “Men,” she muttered under her breath, before disappearing into the night.