Chapter Text
The sound of lively chatter filled the Top Floor, glasses clinking as friends and lovers alike talked amongst one another. The crowd was smaller than usual, being a Thursday evening with no sporting events to speak of, but the people that were there were happily enjoying an evening on the town. All except for one lonely rat sat in the bar, mulling over her bottle of beer.
Zola wasn’t sure why she’d come here. Well, she knew why she’d come to a bar, considering the evening that she’d had, but she wasn’t sure why this one specifically. After she’d left the apartment, her legs had just started to walk, aimlessly at first as her brain switched to autopilot, but eventually she had arrived at her apparent destination. It was a cosy place, one of her favourites to go with her boyf- ex-boyfriend, but now it was just a painful reminder of a tragic loss.
Perhaps that was a little melodramatic; it's not like he was dead, he was just… not the man she’d fallen in love with. You see, Artie had always had a rivalry with his long-time frenemy, Harrod. Not that he would ever admit the friend part of that. It was always great for a laugh, with them constantly trading wins with ridiculous pranks and absurd schemes; that was until about a year ago.
After a convoluted set of circumstances involving her friend and Harrod’s roommate Zoey falling out of a window into a pool of mashed potatoes set up by Arite, Harrod had decided to stop fighting him and focus on being friends. While he complained a little initially, she had thought nothing of it, assuming that once he’d gotten used to this new status quo, he would move on and go back to being the astute, mischievous person he was before. But as the months went by, his obsession with Harrod only got worse and worse, as he often spent multiple nights in a row just staying up, plotting for ways to kick-start their rivalry again. It was unsettling, and she had no qualms about voicing her concerns to him directly. To his credit, he did try to listen and adjust his behaviour, but no matter what he promised, he would eventually always return to his notebook of ideas and plots, without fail.
It should’ve been then that she had left him if she was being honest with herself, she was smart and kind, and she deserved better than playing second fiddle to a childish game of cat and mouse, but she couldn’t help her heart yearning for the comfort of familiarity; a feeling that ultimately trumped logic.
Eventually, Artie did end up getting back into Harrod’s bad books through yet another series of convoluted, bungled plans that somehow ended up working out in his favour. But, no matter how much she tried to deny it, she couldn’t lie to herself; it just wasn’t the same anymore. He had shown his true colours, that when push came to shove, his allegiance lay with Harrod, not with her.
This particular evening had started the same as any other, with Artie returning from his first day as a fully-fledged professor at Normalsville College, something he’d been working towards for years now. Zola had been waiting for him, having gotten home from her own job just a little earlier. She had picked up a present for him, a small bouquet of flowers. The same ones he had brought to their first date:
“Artie!” She said excitedly, “How was your first lecture?”
“It was… interesting," he replied somewhat reservedly.
“Oh, did you forget to take your slides in?” She asked concerned
“No!” Artie yelled defensively, “That asshole Harrod enrolled and messed with them.”
She frowned at the mention of his rival, pushing on nevertheless, “That’s terrible. Are you gonna report it to the faculty?”
“No, I’m going to do one better. I’m going to prank him so hard he never steps foot on campus again!” He declared
Her mouth hung agape “But Artie, that could cost you your job!
“Don’t worry about it, Zola, I'll be fine.” He put his hand on her shoulder, attempting to reassure her.
“But what if you’re not? You’re already working two jobs to stay afloat.”
“If I’m not, I’m not, it’ll all be worth it in the end.”
“Artie, you…” She trailed off a mixture of heartbreak and rage brewing as she realised what she was hearing. “But what about me?!”
“Zola, you know I’d do anything for you.” He replied earnestly
“Even let Harrod win?”
The next five seconds were the most piercing silence she’d ever experienced. Artie didn’t need to talk; she’d received her answer. She threw the flowers in the trash as she stormed towards the door, not bothering to look back at him, tuning out his voice as it slammed behind her. Trudging out into the cold night air, alone.
“Don't make the same mistake as me. Find a man that treats you like a princess, no less.”
Her mother's near sixteen-year-old words echoed through June's mind as they often did when she was in a mood such as this one. It was all just a stupid drunk mistake, she tried to reason with herself. This wasn't the man she was speaking of. No, it couldn’t be, because if it was then…
Growing up, she’d seen her parents divorce. Being ten at the time, she remembered it vividly. All the screaming, the yelling and the lawyers, she’d vowed to herself and her mother that she’d never end up like that. When her mother happily remarried three years later, she was elated. True love did exist after all, and she knew exactly what to look for. She was going to make her mother proud and find a guy who treated her right. Except that, as she grew through her teenage years, she found herself ridiculed by her approach. Some took pity on her and tried to set her up with guys she wasn’t interested in, others mocked her for being prudish and socially distant, but she held steadfast. Her knight in shining armour was coming; she just had to wait.
But that day never came, and as she grew into adulthood, she started to accept it never would. She went out to bars, started flirting a little and even ended up with some extremely short-lived boyfriends. But, no matter how much she tried to bury it, the feeling of inadequacy would never truly fade. It was an evening not too dissimilar to this one, where she was mulling these exact thoughts in a bar just like this:
“Hey, is this seat taken?”
“Nah, you’re good.”
“Thanks, I was supposed to meet a guy here, but he stood me up.”
“Hey, been there, man. What’s your name?”
“Ferris. You?”
“June. Nice to meet you.”
From that day forward, she and Ferris were as thick as thieves. They bonded over their shared relationship woes, his promiscuity and general fear of commitment, pairing well with her standoffishness. They raised each other up, two down on their luck young adults against the world, but no one could predict the cruel twist of fate that would tear them apart.
One of these short-lived boyfriends was a man by the name of Harrod Jones. He was different from the rest, a genuinely sweet and caring soul, albeit a little dense at times. They had a good relationship, which ended well, but he just wasn’t willing to give her the serious commitment she was looking for. They parted ways, deciding it’d be best not to talk afterwards lest either of them make the mistake of pining for the other. However, unbeknownst to her, Ferris had actually become good friends with Harrod and was secretly harbouring a crush on him. They had talked in depth about his crush, but Ferris had never revealed specifics, his nervousness around serious romantic feelings kicking in, but June wondered what could’ve been if she’d just known from the start.
It was supposed to be his night. A big houseparty where Ferris would finally come clean to his crush and ask him on a date. She was there to be his winglady, his best friend, there for him no matter what. But as luck would have it, Harrod was at this fateful party. Her deepest fears of falling for her baser instincts proved true as she ended the evening passionately making out with him in the hallway, an act witnessed by the very person she came to support. Heartbroken by the betrayal happening in front of him, he ran out of the party, leaving her to stew in what she’d done. It wasn’t until at least a few weeks later that a night didn’t go by without her crying herself to sleep.
In the end, she had given it all up. She and Ferris agreed they couldn’t be friends anymore; she had forgoed her mother's advice and settled. And for what? The chaotic spark of Harrod, as was to be expected, fizzled over time, leaving her with a deep sense of longing that no amount of his good-natured shenanigans could solve. Eventually, she cut her losses, breaking things off with him, deciding that it just wasn’t going to work.
From then on, she mostly spent her time in bars, mostly alone. At least in that kind of environment, she could pretend that she was trying to put herself out there and not just spiralling downwards. It was during one of these nights that she’d been offered a drink by a guy who was obviously interested in her. She knew she shouldn’t have taken it, and she damn well knew she shouldn’t have kept drinking it when it appeared far stronger than usual, but in the mindset she was in, she didn’t care. Free booze was free booze. This all came to a head when the man, apparently named Jeremy, ended up knocking her out after trying to assault Harrod’s brother, who’d stopped him from taking her home. The idea of what could’ve happened if he wasn’t there still sent a chill down her spine.
Rocky took her back to his apartment to make sure she was safe while she sobered up, letting her sleep on the sofa. She, however, in her infinite drunken wisdom, decided that she liked Rocky. A lot. A potent mix of Harrod’s physical traits combined with a demonstrable sensibility that his brother lacked made him the perfect partner, her inebriated mind bypassing the obvious red flags of such a thing. So, at 2 in the morning, June snuck into Rocky’s bed and snuggled up to him, sleeping the best she had in a long time. The morning after was an awkward one; the position they found themselves in, combined with a fierce hangover, made a tough conversation an even more painful proposition. Ultimately, they mutually decided that it couldn't work. Rocky would always be looking over his shoulder, feeling he betrayed his brother and, while she didn’t say it to him, June never wanted to hurt someone like she did Ferris again.
It was so unfair. In any other world, they would’ve been perfect together, but in classic June fashion, her past mistakes came back to haunt her. Here she was, twenty-five and in the same place as when she was at seventeen.
So then, what was to become of June Brooks? Was she destined to be nothing more than a drifting lover? Chasing the dragon with temporary thrills until she inevitably ended up alone again. What did it matter? There was no man who’d treat her like a princess, just a rotten queen who leeched off those around her just to sustain herself.
“Double whisky and Coke, please.” She asked the bartender; she needed something stiff, and this was the cheapest place in town to get it.
“June?”
She looked to her left, and as fate would have it, a familiar face was sitting at the bar.
“Oh, hey Zola. How’s Artie?” She replied robotically, wishing herself to disappear completely.
To her surprise, her acquaintance began to burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably as she put her head in her hands.
“Oh my god, what happened?”
Through the sobs, she conveyed the events that had transpired this evening, causing a deep pang of relatable pain to shake June to her core. She didn’t know Zola the best, being Harrod’s arch nemesis’ girlfriend, but in the brief time that they had spent together, she never would’ve guessed that she was harbouring such deep inner turmoil. It was a painful mirror of how her own downturn had started, something which ignited a fire inside of her.
“Shh, you’re gonna be alright. No more of this.” She pushed away both of their drinks, slamming down enough cash to cover them both and helping Zola stand to her feet. “I’m gonna take you back to my place, and you're gonna get some rest, ok?”
Zola nodded weakly, too exhausted and inebriated to feign strength.
After a suspiciously quiet car ride home, June checked her rearview mirror only to see the heartbroken rat passed out in the backseat. Opening the passenger door slowly, as not to wake her, she managed to lift her into her arms, her frame surprisingly light. Aside from the occasional sleep mumble and groan, she managed to successfully carry her all the way up to her room, tucking her under the covers and closing the door behind her.
Settling under a blanket on the couch, she reflected on the events of today. Who knew that someone who seemed as put-together as Zola was struggling so much? She had resigned herself to being the only one who felt like a supporting player in her own life, but now, she didn’t know what to think. What she did know, however, was that she was exhausted, both from the emotional weight of the evening and from carrying Zola into her apartment. As she drifted off to sleep, she thought of the words of her mother one last time. Maybe it wasn’t just her who needed a saviour.