The Kingdom of Light

　　The music rumbled through the speakers, not loud, not deafening, but still crisp and clear. The different voices around me made it hard to hear exactly what song it was, and even more importantly, who sang it. As usual, I was behind the bar, and as usual, it was packed. It was a Saturday, and people had just gotten paid, so the bar was packed with happy patrons who weren't afraid of leaving a good tip behind.

　　"Luna!" Brian yelled from the other side of the bar, waving bills above his head—he might as well have been flashing a neon sign above his head, with big, bright letters screaming notice me! "IPA!"

　　I couldn't resist the smile on my face, because just as short-tempered Brian could be, just as deep and considerate he could be as well. I grabbed the beer from underneath the counter, popped the lid easily and quickly—the beer opener was always in my back pocket—and set it down in front of Brian. With a smile and a short nod, I accepted the bill from his hand, and with a keep the rest, he moved back down between the dancing bodies.

　　The pub was a decent place; it was cozy, not nice, and definitely not fancy. The bar was long so that it could hold a lot of people around it. The counter was in a dark, lacquered wood, so you couldn't as easily see all of the stains of beer, soda, and alcohol, and so it was somewhat easy to clean. The underside of my counter was filled with coolers, where I could keep the beers, sodas, and other odd things we sold.

　　My hand automatically fell back on my cigarette, which I picked up and placed between my lips, snagging another drag as I wiped down said counter. I let the smoke blow out between my lips before I pulled it from my lips, twisting it between my fingers. You should stop. But that would be boring, and it would be a pain in my ass to quit. And as many other things, I choose to just ignore the nagging voice in my head, and just kept on going, hoping for the best.

　　I had been bartending for a long time; it was something I was good at, something I could actually figure out to do. Even in my twenty-two years, I hadn't managed to do anything but graduate from high school. I had to spend my life doing something, but it was tough settling in somewhere. But this job, it was decent pay, great tips, and it gave me something to do. As long as I got out of bed in the morning with a hunger for completing my job, then I couldn't see a problem with it—even if my mother could find countless.

　　When I was at work, my thoughts could just flow—they simply floated better in noise. With my hands going on routine, and my extensive knowledge of the patrons, I didn't have to be on just as much. I could simply just be. Which made me feel, even in this environment, like I had a calm and steady job.

　　I took another drag of my cigarette. It was stupid to start smoking, but when I was offered one while drunk, I wasn't able to say no, and here I was, four years later, and still smoking.

　　The hours flew by as I stood there serving beers and low-effort drinks. I knew that before I could even think it, I would be on my way back home, to where Lucas was. My fiancé.

　　We met shortly after I was done with high school, and it took me all of four seconds to fall in love with him. His green eyes, his brown, ruffled hair, his muscular body, and his delicious voice. It was easy to love him. He worked a lot and was rarely at home, but when he was, we made sure to spend time together eating delicious meals, watching lame movies, and having amazing sex. Which only made the work days easier for me, it gave me freedom and not a lot of responsibilities. Even if just a few would be nice.

　　My mother didn't like him—obviously—not when I met him, not when we moved in together, and certainly not when he proposed to me. I told her then that I was an adult, that I could make my own decision, and that I was sure this was the right one. It also meant she never visited us when he was home, and when he was, she would ignore him. My mother was the world champion in freezing people out, pretending the problems she couldn't handle weren't there.

　　My gaze caught on the ring on my finger. It was a simple silver band with a nicely sized diamond in the middle of it. As I told him, it wasn't the ring that mattered to me; it was the intention behind it. The will and wishes behind it. I had known for a long while that I wanted to marry him, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, having fun, doing whatever we wanted, and no one being able to hold us back.

　　"Are you dreaming about that lovely man of yours again?" Susan slurred from my right side, already sounding way more hammered than she should have been at the time. She shouldn't be given anymore, but when she was drunk, my tips skyrocketed, and I had a wedding to save for.

　　"Don't think I ever do anything else," I answered her, a smirk playing across my lips.

　　"He's just lovely," Kim gushed, butting into our conversation—always eager to see Lucas. "When are you going to bring him here again?" Ah, there it is.

　　Lucas hated coming here, but he did it regularly if I was playing. He knew it meant a lot to me when we could share my music. The music I had spent most of my life playing, the music I had been rehearsing and working for so long to master, wishing it could turn into more, but it never did.

　　"He's the one who landed an amazing woman," Peter yelled from across the bar, grinning at me as he winked at me.

　　Sure, I was a pretty girl to look at. Wide hips and muscular legs made sure I had to buy jeans with a stretchy fabric so that I could actually move around. I had what Peter had called an ample bosom, which made sure my back was strong and gave me a great posture. Luckily, my boss gave me oversized t-shirts that I could wear, because drunk men could be bastards. My hair was blonde and was starting to lighten even more, reasoned the impending summer. It was cut short, so it just reached my shoulders. But the best thing about me, if I had to say so myself, was my sky blue eyes, which could either shine with happiness but also strike lightning with my rage.

　　"Now, Peter," I grinned right back at him, shooting him a wink as well, "you know your compliments bring me to my knees."

　　Peter's middle-aged face lit up in a beaming smile, making something warm spread inside my chest. After many years of hard work, his body had suffered, and he looked a lot older than he truly was. But Peter was soft as butter, sweet and caring; he just needed someone to talk to. His chuckle always made me smile, and his shaking shoulders made me feel like his day had brightened just a little.