As calm as she could manage, Angela stood from the bar stool and made her way for the door. "Nothin'. A whole lot of nothin'."

Did the temperature inside the bar just drop twenty degrees?  Angela shivered internally at the touch of the man's whisper on her neck, the velvety, hot tickle which made the fine hairs on her ear lobes cringe.  The damp skin of her lower back crawled with gooseflesh as the mood definitely took a dark turn toward the creepy.  They were surrounded by a dozen or more folks imbibing, yet somehow Angela felt alone, felt threatened, felt the surge of Fight-Or-Flight pulse through her veins.  Her brain wasn't working suddenly, just clunking away sluggishly inside her skull while the man with the gun loomed over her personal space.  There was a grin splitting those dry lips of his but his eyes were hard and cold -- and belied that grin.

Dave maneuvered himself over her and a little bit in front; to Angela it was a solar eclipse that sucked away her oxygen.  His voice had become as dry and as cracked as his lips, oozing out like a lascivious soup, "Ain't so talkative now, are ya?  Beer usually loosens the lips, but with you it seems to pucker you right up don't it?  I surely hope that is really beer and not Preparation H."

Angela's heart began racing like a track star.  She tried to keep her breathing in check because he was mere inches from her nose, but she wondered if he was close enough to sense her pulse sprinting.

Angela had always thought of herself as a tough girl.  Not brave exactly, but able to get things accomplished under high-pressure situations.  But at that moment, when her very life might be at stake, and the opportunity struck for her to tell this potential axe murderer to piss off, all her mouth could do was sputter an awkward, "Ummm."

Dave suddenly arched his back away from her and cried, "Damn girl!  You are sweating like a fat girl at a double dutch competition!  Not much for the heat, are ya?  What say we find ourselves a nice, cool place to rest before the bus starts up again, huh?"

And like that her mouth found its nerve.  Angela had struggled with her weight all through her formative years, and had been "that" girl who always skipped gym class in elementary school.  She set her jaw, braced her arms, and pushed herself away from the bar to head for the door, leaving the cold and sweaty beer by itself amongst the little baskets of stale pretzels.  Though she was terrified, she managed to look Dave in the eyes and growl, "You're such a tool!" as she stomped out the door.

The End

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