Hamartia (Zayn)

Hamartia [hah-mahr-tee-uh] noun- The character flaw or error of a tragic hero that leads to his downfall

-:-

"Hey! 'nother round!" called the Sunday drunk, slamming his empty mug into the smooth, dark wood of the bar. His voice was slow and unstable, elongating the consonant sounds rather than the vowels. The mug was clouded with scratches and the bottom was chipped and curved out from years of abuse. She nicknamed it “the groggy glass" in her mind, for it uses by the heaviest of drinkers and the most frequent of customers.

"And that is why you get plastic," she said filling the mug until the foam nearly dribbled over the edge.

"Thank you very much," he slurred and took a swig.

"Anything new?" she asked as the only other customer that was there left.

"We went on a date, Tara and I. It was so nice. We went for a walk on the beach, saw stars, fucked. Good time, good time, I love that woman."

She laughed and shook her head, "You, sir, share too much. Anyway, marry her already man! The two of you have been together for years."

He waved his hand as if to ward off an invisible fly, "I will, I will... But it's the ring! I don't know what to get her! They're all the same but they're so expensive, ya know? What if she doesn't like it? She's kind of stuck to that ring and if she doesn't like it she won't be happy and I'll be a failure and die alone!" he wailed and downed the rest of the beer and held it out for more.

"Sorry bud, think it’s time to cut you off. Here," she filled his glass with water, "Drink that so you don't get a hangover and got to bed early, you got work at noon."

"Such a sweetie, 'ow ya single?"

"Way the world turns," she said smiling. She never really talked with him much about her love life, yet he always seemed to know whether or not she was with someone.

"Alright, I'm off, I'll pay my tab tomorra'," he said, finishing his water, "’Ave a good night!"

"You too!" she called to him as he left through the squealing door. She watched through the red and blue stained glass windows as he walked clumsily to his apartment across the street. His name was Jason Adberg and he was by far her favorite customer. Sam tipped her well and would often tell her stories of his many escapades him and his buddies got caught up in when he was in his twenties. She had been serving Sam for four years, since she was sixteen, and he had become a kind of father to her, like how the woman who used to own that bar was a mother to her.

As she was wiping down the bar she heard the hinges of the old door creak open. She looked up and saw a familiar Arab boy and smiled.

"Well I'll be dammed, I expect a pretty big tip blondie," she said leaning on her elbows against the bar.

"Shut up, tits," he grinned and took a seat in front of her.

"Aren't they great? What can I get ya?" she said.

He chuckled and looked at her shirt, "Not bad."

"But yours are bigger," she said flicking his chest, "And you smell like an ash tray," she said, dramatically pinching her nose and waving her hand in front of him.

"Bitch," he grinned, "I'll have a gin and tonic."

"How boring," she sprayed the tonic into the glass and squeezed a lime over it, "Here ya go."

"No gin?" he asked, sipping the bitter tonic water.

"Not old enough, I told you that the last three times you were here. So what are you doin' in America? Band playing in Boston?"

"No, I just wanted a little me time," he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, "Can I smoke in here?"
"First tell me this: how's life been treatin' ya?"

He cleared his throat, "Well I'm part of a hit band, I'm a millionaire, and girls practically kill each other to go down on me," he said looking into his glass.

"Are you happy with that?" she asked, tapping his blonde streak with the nozzle of the tap.

He looked up, "I can almost never have any privacy, the money isn't gonna last, and I've cheated on every girlfriend I've had," he buried his face in his hands and moved them to his neck and sighed.
"Zayn..." she said taking his hand.

"I've missed you guys, all of you from before I became part of this..." he pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, "You have no idea." Despite his face being it's normal color, she could feel the contrast between the heat of his nose against the back of her fingers and the heat of his forehead, his nose was warmer, "So how are you doing?" he asked, "I heard you own the place now and you found yourself a nice guy."

"Well the first part is true, yeah she left it to me in her Will," she said looking around at the old Irish pub, "The second part was true for awhile, but we just weren't right, ya know?" She shook her head, "But anyway, Zayn, you can't just fly off to another country and get drunk whenever things get rough."
"But I missed it here, it's the only place that people treat me... human," he let go of her hand, "I want to savor it for as long as it lasts."

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Please tell me that you didn't come here before something important like last time."

He rubbed his forehead and sighed.

"Damn it man, just because life is getting hard doesn't mean you should just give up and act like a child!" she yelled, slamming her hand down onto the bar. Her face softened when she saw the confusion in his eyes, "Zayn..."

"I just... I don't.... I don't know if I can handle it..." he sighed and buried his head into his arms, his head snapped up and he grinned at her, "Come with me to Europe!"

She laughed, "Are you serious?"

"Yes of course I am!" he stood up and leaned in, "What d’ya say?"

"I have to make ends meet and run the bar hun, I can't, maybe next time."

"I'll pay your rent and bills for as long as you're with us, don't worry about that."

"I know you can, but you have a relationship to fix Zayn, and bringing a girl back from your escapade, who you are paying all her expenses, won't help in the healing process."

His face dropped, "Oh... yeah..." he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "Can you at least give me your new number? The old one was disconnected."

She wrote it down on the yellow notepad in front of her and ripped out the page, "Don't call me too much, long distance is a fortune.”

"Thanks, I'll try not to," he took it and returned a weak smile, "I think it's time for me to go, good night," he turned and walked out hurriedly.

"Good night!" she called after him.

Zayn was slumped against the door of the bar, staring at the building across the way.
I can't give up this easily, I need her, he thought to himself and swallowed his pride. He took a deep breath, and went back in.

"Please come back to the U.K with me, I can't do this alone. I've lost control and I feel like one of usis going to die!" he took her hands, tears brimming in his eyes, "Amura, I'm begging you, please come back with me."

She could see the genuine desperation and fear in his eyes. Fear of losing himself, fear of forgetting home, fear of death, and fear of the unknown. He needed guidance and reassurance; he was much like a child in that respect, yet one who can't grow up alone. He needed her even though she herself was still a child herself.

"I..." she sighed, "I'll go."