AS THE SCORCHING SUN DESCENDED OVER ROUTE 66, its fiery glow began to fade, offering a temporary reprieve from the relentless assault of mosquitoes on her sun-kissed skin. Yet, she knew they would return with the dawn, along with the oppressive heat that seemed to envelop the town day after day. Despite the waning light, the hum of electricity persisted, casting a restless energy over the nocturnal activities of the diverse inhabitants who emerged under the cover of night.

She indulged in a sip of white wine, the liquid's cool touch a stark contrast to the warmth of the whiskey glass she held. Her gaze drifted down at the basement's dryer, a communal amenity shared by the building's residents. With one earbud nestled securely in place and the other dangling in the air, she perched atop the dryer, attuned to the ambient sounds of her surroundings. Every rustle and creak demanded her attention, a necessary precaution against the wrath of the landlord should he catch her lounging on the appliance once more.

The haunting melody of "Some Velvet Morning" by Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra filled her ears, its ethereal notes mingling with the stillness of the basement. Gazing out of the window that aligned perfectly with the deserted road outside, she watched as sporadic boots passed by, the only signs of life in an otherwise desolate landscape. In this forgotten corner of the town, it felt as though time itself had come to a standstill, leaving her alone with the melancholy strains of the music and her own thoughts.

The familiar ping of the washer signaled the completion of its cycle, prompting her to retrieve her shirt before ascending two flights of stairs once more. With each step, she counted the familiar rhythm, the cadence of her ascent never wavering. Soon, she would need to prepare for her night shift at the bar, but for now, she allowed herself a moment of respite. Stepping into her apartment, she kicked off her shoes, attempting to tune out the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator and the low hum of the oven.

Such was the monotony of Aisling's existence. Occasionally, her mind would drift back to her high school years, a time when she still resided within the confines of the orphanage. In retrospect, she couldn't help but wonder if those had been the pinnacle of her life. Back then, she had been an active participant in various extracurricular activities, displaying a prowess in tennis with her formidable backhand and finding solace in the company of horses. Unlike her peers, she abstained from alcohol and drugs, yet despite her best efforts, she remained unadopted when the time came for her to depart with nothing but a meager sum to her name. It was then that she had taken up residence in the dingy confines of her current apartment, a decision that had bound her to its shadowy halls ever since.

Even during her time at the orphanage, Aisling found herself isolated, save for one fleeting friendship that dissipated once her friend was adopted. From that moment onward, Aisling withdrew into herself, unwilling to engage with the transient companionship of her peers. Throughout her decade of adulthood, she had ventured into two romantic relationships, yet neither partner had welcomed her into their social circles, perhaps perceiving her as an enigmatic outsider. And so, Aisling found herself adrift in a world devoid of connection or guidance, her only companion the faithful rhythm of her bicycle wheels as she traversed the lonely streets alone.

Before finding her place at the current bar, Aisling had drifted through a myriad of jobs, each one offering fleeting glimpses of human interaction but never lasting connections. It was within the dimly lit confines of the bar that she finally found a semblance of stability, though the encounters she shared with patrons rarely extended beyond the confines of a single night.

Despite the transient nature of these liaisons, they left an indelible mark on Aisling, a silent testament to the depths of her solitude. And while she never sought out trouble, she had become intimately acquainted with the chaos of bar fights, each altercation serving to harden her resolve and sharpen her survival instincts in the unforgiving world she inhabited.

Not a day passed without Aisling's thoughts drifting to the enigmatic puzzle of her origins — her mystery parents, the cryptic note, and the inexplicable Irish wrench that had accompanied her into this world. Despite years of contemplation, she remained no closer to unraveling the mystery of her past. While she had come to accept her Irish heritage, the question of how she had come to be in California lingered like an elusive specter, taunting her with its unanswered riddle.

The orphanage offered little solace in her quest for answers, their own lack of information mirroring her own frustrating uncertainty. Many a time, Aisling entertained the notion of embarking on a journey to Ireland, hoping to uncover the truth buried within its emerald landscapes. However, the daunting prospect of such a venture, coupled with her meager finances, kept her rooted in place, her dreams of a pilgrimage across the Atlantic deferred by the harsh realities of her circumstances.

In lieu of Ireland, Aisling considered the possibility of exploring Charming, California, a place she suspected held more secrets than met the eye. Yet, even this modest ambition remained out of reach, a distant aspiration overshadowed by the stark limitations of her financial means. And so, Aisling remained trapped in a limbo of longing, her yearning for answers stifled by the weight of her own constraints.

She found herself humming along to Nancy Sinatra's voice, the melodic strains of the song filling the air as she reached for her t-shirt, its fabric wrinkled from neglect. Lamenting the absence of an iron, she resorted to a makeshift solution, placing a heavy book atop the garment in hopes that gravity would coax out the creases over time. With a sigh, she turned her attention to the empty glass in her hand, the remnants of her wine still lingering on the rim. Resolving to clean up after herself, she made her way to the sink and began to wash the glass by hand, the warm water providing a comforting distraction from the silence that enveloped her apartment.

Returning to her makeshift couch, she sank down onto the bed's worn surface, its threadbare sheets offering little comfort. Despite the allure of sleep, she hesitated, her mind awash with restless thoughts and unanswered questions. Yet, the exhaustion of the day soon caught up with her, and with a resigned sigh, she allowed herself to succumb to the embrace of a short nap, seeking solace in the oblivion of dreams.

As Aisling stirred from her brief slumber, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she realized that she had overslept, her shift at the bar having begun over an hour ago. A wave of apprehension washed over her at the thought of facing her boss's wrath, though she knew all too well that these antics were familiar to him.

Her boss's perception of her was one she had long grown accustomed to — that of a lost soul adrift in the currents of life. Yet, despite his gruff exterior, there was a begrudging acceptance in his demeanor, a tacit acknowledgment of her place in the bar's existence.

Among her coworkers, a generational gap seemed to divide them. On one side stood Billy, a seasoned veteran of fifty years whose face bore the marks of countless nights spent tending bar. Despite the years that separated them, Aisling found a sense of camaraderie with him, their working relationship born of mutual understanding and respect.

On the other side stood a younger counterpart, a twenty-two-year-old woman, Sondra, whose presence in the bar seemed to mirror Aisling's own — adrift, yet tethered by the confines of circumstance. Despite their proximity in age, a gulf existed between them, an unspoken barrier that rendered any attempts at connection futile.

As the evening descended into a frenzy of activity, anticipation crackled in the air, signaling the onset of another bustling weekend at the bar. With a sense of urgency, Aisling leapt from her makeshift couch, casting aside the books that weighed down her shirt as she hastily pulled it over her head. Snatching up her jacket and slipping into her boots with practiced efficiency, she dashed out of her apartment, the echo of her hurried footsteps reverberating down the empty stairwell.

With nimble fingers, she deftly locked the door behind her before descending the two flights of stairs in a blur of motion, the urgency of the impending shift propelling her forward. Upon reaching the street below, she navigated through the labyrinth of metal fences until she reached her faithful bicycle, its sturdy frame a testament to the countless miles it had carried her.

With a quick twist of the combination lock, she secured her mode of transport before mounting it with determined resolve. Pushing off with a powerful thrust of her legs, she pedaled furiously through the darkened streets, each rotation of the pedals propelling her closer to her destination.

As Aisling arrived at La Grange, she dismounted her bike and left it leaning against the wall near the staff entrance, opting not to lock it in her haste. Hurrying inside, she found her boss seated behind his desk, meticulously poring over paperwork. He glanced up, the frames of his glasses slipping precariously down the bridge of his nose as he prepared to address her.

"I know, I know," Aisling interjected before her boss could voice his admonishment, deftly tying her apron around her waist as she made her way through the cramped kitchen to the bustling counters.

Upon her arrival, she found Sondra and Billy hard at work, their hands flying across the bar with practiced efficiency. As they caught sight of her, relief washed over their faces, though Sondra, or Sonny as she was affectionately called, shot Aisling a withering glare.

Aisling sighed inwardly, resigned to the fact that she would never earn Sonny's favor. However, any lingering frustration melted away as Billy joined her, offering a comforting pat on the back accompanied by a lopsided smile.

Aisling surveyed the eclectic crowd that had gathered within the dimly lit confines of La Grange. Onstage, a country-blues band belted out soulful tunes, their music serving as a backdrop to the lively atmosphere that permeated the bar. In one corner, a rowdy group of frat-redneck boys held court, each adorned with a sorority blonde on their arm, their laughter and banter filling the air with a boisterous energy.

In the opposite corner, a band of bikers huddled together, their rugged demeanor a stark contrast to the polished facade of the fraternity crowd. Among them stood Sonny, a formidable presence with a steely gaze that brooked no nonsense.

Behind the counters of the bar, a motley crew of deadbeat fathers lingered, their leering gazes fixed hungrily on Aisling as she moved about her duties. Despite their advances, she remained unfazed, accustomed to the unwanted attention that often accompanied her presence.

Amidst the crowd, scattered groups of girls chattered animatedly, their laughter mingling with the strains of music and the clinking of glasses. Each corner of the bar held its own unique tableau, a microcosm of the diverse characters that populated Aisling's world.

With practiced efficiency, Aisling set to work, deftly fielding orders and expertly filling beer glasses with practiced precision. Despite the occasional flirtatious advances from some of the patrons, she politely rebuffed their advances, grateful for the barrier afforded by the counter that shielded her from unwanted contact.

Unlike Aisling, Sonny worked on the front lines, navigating the crowded terrain. However, her proximity to the patrons made her a frequent target for unwelcome advances, her personal space often violated by wandering hands and lingering stares. Aisling couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her colleague, though she knew that little could be done to alleviate the unwanted attention.

As Aisling glanced over at the group of bikers in the corner, she couldn't help but notice their unfamiliar faces. Despite her lack of familiarity with biker culture, she knew enough to recognize that these were not regular patrons of La Grange. Absent were the telltale patches denoting club affiliations, leading her to assume that they were simply passing through, seeking refuge from the open road.

However, a nagging sense of unease tugged at Aisling's thoughts as she observed the bikers' interactions. She recalled Billy's words about bikers typically congregating at their clubhouses, leading her to wonder what had brought this particular group to their establishment. Lost in her musings, she failed to notice Sonny's occasional glances toward the bikers' table, a subtle indication of her own apprehension.

As the evening wore on, a palpable tension hung in the air, thickening with each passing moment. Aisling couldn't shake the feeling that tonight held the potential for trouble, whether within the confines of the bar or spilling out onto the unforgiving streets beyond.

As the midnight hour approached and the revelry within La Grange showed no signs of slowing down, Aisling couldn't shake the subtle shift in the atmosphere. The once vibrant energy of the bar had morphed into something more ominous, a palpable tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Amidst the dwindling crowd, Aisling's gaze lingered on the group of bikers in the corner, their presence casting a shadow over the otherwise jovial scene. It was then that she caught sight of the patch adorning the back of one of the bikers as he made his way to the bathroom: "Mayans." Though unfamiliar with the name, the aura of menace that surrounded them left Aisling with an instinctual sense of unease.

Their demeanor spoke volumes, conveying a silent warning that instinctively put Aisling on edge. At that moment, she knew that delving any further into the world of the Mayans was a risk she was not willing to take.

As the biker returned to his table, accompanied by a sense of anticipation that hung heavy in the air, Aisling's suspicions were confirmed: they had been awaiting someone's arrival. Concerned by the ominous undertones of the situation, she sought out Billy for answers.

Waving him over, Aisling posed her question, hoping for some insight into the unfolding events. However, Billy's response fell short of reassuring. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he brushed off her concerns, advising her to steer clear of any potential trouble.

Frustrated by his lack of concern, Aisling watched as the band began their final song, signaling the imminent end of the evening's festivities. Despite the impending closure of La Grange, the tension within the bar remained palpable, casting a shadow over what should have been a night of celebration.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere within La Grange grew increasingly tense, heightened by the presence of rowdy frat boys whose antics threatened to disrupt the fragile equilibrium of the bar. Aisling watched with a sinking feeling as one of the frat boys carelessly collided with a biker, prompting a swift and heated exchange.

In the blink of an eye, the situation escalated, with Sonny wasting no time in summoning reinforcements from the kitchen to diffuse the brewing confrontation. Two burly figures emerged from the depths of the kitchen, their imposing presence serving as a stark deterrent to any further disturbances.

With practiced efficiency, the unruly frat boys were swiftly escorted outside, their boisterous protests drowned out by the din of the bar. Aisling let out a weary sigh as she joined Sonny in the arduous task of restoring order to the chaos that had erupted in the wake of the altercation.

Together, they set about righting overturned chairs and mopping up spilled drinks. The chaos of the earlier altercation began to subside, and Aisling found a brief moment of respite amidst the flurry of activity. Her attention was momentarily drawn to the biker who had winked at her, a small gesture of camaraderie amidst the chaos of the evening. Despite the tension that lingered in the air, she couldn't help but appreciate the brief flicker of connection.

However, any sense of tranquility was shattered as a familiar face made his entrance, sending a jolt of apprehension coursing through Aisling's veins. Derek Brown, her ex-boyfriend who had persistently frequented the bar in a misguided attempt to win her back, strode in with an entourage in tow.

Derek's presence loomed larger within the confines of La Grange, and Aisling couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment bubbling beneath the surface. The mere mention of "winning her back" seemed like a gross understatement, considering Derek's habitual pattern of destructive behavior.

Far from a romantic gesture, Derek's appearances at the bar often devolved into drunken escapades, characterized by senseless brawls, illicit drug use, and indiscriminate flings with other women. Despite his claims of love for Aisling, his actions spoke volumes, painting a picture of a man consumed by his own self-destructive tendencies.

Aisling's initial relief at Derek's absence had been short-lived, shattered by his sudden reappearance and the unwelcome intrusion of chaos that accompanied him. With a heavy heart, she braced herself for the inevitable confrontation, resigned to the fact that Derek's presence would only serve to further complicate an already eventful evening.

But the sudden appearance of Derek and his companions sent a ripple of unease through the bar, prompting the Mayans to rise to their feet with a sense of purpose. Aisling's heart sank as she realized that she was unwittingly caught in the crossfire of a potentially volatile situation, her past colliding with the present in a tumultuous clash of emotions.

As the Mayans surged forward towards Derek, their intentions clear, Aisling couldn't suppress a cynical thought. "That's him," they declared, their strides purposeful as they closed the distance.

But any semblance of normalcy shattered as Derek's erratic behavior took a dangerous turn.

"Fucking hell!" he bellowed, the chaos escalating as he drew his gun and unleashed a barrage of shots, sending patrons scrambling for cover.

As Aisling and Sonny sought refuge behind the counter, the deafening crack of gunfire reverberated through the air. Aisling's heart pounded in her chest as she huddled closer to Sonny, seeking shelter from the storm of chaos unfolding around them.

The sound of shattered glass pierced the air as bullets found their mark, sending a cascade of shards raining down upon them. Instinctively, Aisling raised her arms to shield her face, the tinkling of glass mingling with the clamor of panicked shouts and screams. Amidst the chaos, she felt a fleeting sensation, a brief hot streak grazing her head, but in the heat of the moment, she dismissed it.

In the mayhem, Aisling's concern for Sonny's well-being was palpable. "Sonny! Sonny! You alright?" she called out, her voice strained with worry as she sought reassurance.

But it was Sonny's urgent gesture that gave Aisling pause, her expression betraying a sense of foreboding.

"Aisling," she breathed, her eyes widening with alarm.

"What?" Aisling's breath caught in her throat as Sonny handed her a platter, urging her to confront her own reflection. With a sinking feeling, Aisling's eyes widened as she beheld the grim reality staring back at her.

Her gaze fell upon the jagged gash marring her once-unblemished skin, the deep split above her eye socket serving as a stark reminder of the violence that had erupted. A wave of disbelief washed over her as she realized the extent of her injury, the shock of it momentarily eclipsing the chaos surrounding them.

"Shit," Aisling's voice trembled with a mixture of shock and frustration as the gravity of the situation sank in. Despite the pain throbbing beneath the surface, she resisted the urge to dwell on her injury, her thoughts racing with a singular focus: escape.

With determination etched into her features, Aisling sought to rise to her feet, to flee to safety through the sanctuary of the kitchen and out the back door. Yet, as she shifted her weight, she felt the telltale crunch of glass beneath her palm, a sharp reminder of the perilous reality that encircled them. Cursing under her breath, she fought to maintain her composure, steeling herself for the challenges that lay ahead.

Sonny and Aisling dashed out of the chaos, their hearts pounding with adrenaline as they sought refuge in the relative safety of the night air. Despite the cacophony that still echoed in their ears, a sense of eerie calm settled over them as they found a momentary respite.

Finding a quiet corner behind the bar with the rest of the staff, Aisling sank down onto two boxes, her trembling hands reaching instinctively for the comfort of a cigarette. With a deep inhale, she let the smoke fill her lungs, the familiar burn serving as a stark contrast to the numbness that threatened to engulf her.

Amidst the lingering smoke and chaos, their boss approached, his voice a distant echo amidst the clamor. He spoke of cleaning up the mess tomorrow, of ensuring their safety in the aftermath of the violence. Yet, his concern was palpable as he urged Aisling to seek medical attention, to take a day off to tend to her injuries.

But Aisling shook her head, her resolve unyielding as she voiced her concerns about her healthcare coverage, her thoughts consumed by the looming specter of financial burden.

However, Billy refused to let her face her ordeal alone. With steady hands and unwavering determination, he set about tending to her wounds, his stitches weaving delicately across her injured flesh. And as he finished his task, Aisling offered him a heartfelt thanks, her gratitude a silent testament to the bond that had formed between them in the crucible of adversity.

With a weary sigh, Aisling rose to her feet, her battered form a testament to the trials she had endured. Yet, despite the pain that pulsed beneath the surface, she refused to falter, her spirit unbroken as she embarked on the solitary journey homeward, her bicycle, a silent companion in the darkness of the night.

As Aisling reached her building, the weariness weighed heavy upon her shoulders. With trembling hands, she secured her bicycle against the metal fence, the rhythmic click of the lock a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

Yet, as she approached the dimly lit entrance of her building, a sense of unease settled over her, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with a foreboding sense of dread. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she caught sight of a figure lurking in the darkness.

Her heart pounded in her chest, a relentless drumbeat of fear echoing in her ears as she fumbled for her keys, her fingers trembling with a mixture of apprehension and adrenaline. The sudden crunch of footsteps behind her sent a shiver down her spine, her breath catching in her throat as she realized that she was not alone.

With a surge of panic, she darted towards the building's entrance, the sound of her pursuer growing ever closer with each passing moment. Her mind raced with frantic thoughts, her pulse pounding in her ears as she fought to unlock the door, her trembling hands struggling to find purchase amidst the chaos.

And then, she saw his face. Derek was upon her, his grip like a vice around her waist as he tackled her to the ground with a force that stole the breath from her lungs. In a desperate bid for survival, she turned and lashed out with her keys, the metallic jangle of the makeshift weapon ringing out in the night air as she jammed it into his torso, fighting to break free from his grasp.

Her heart hammered in her chest, a symphony of fear and fury coursing through her veins as she delivered blow after blow, each strike fueled by a primal instinct for self-preservation. And then, with a final, desperate kick, she broke free from his grasp, her body trembling with adrenaline as she fled into the safety of the building's interior.

With shaking hands, she fumbled for her keys once more, the crimson metallic clink of the lock a welcome sound as she forced herself to keep moving, her lungs burning with exertion as she climbed the stairs two at a time. And as she reached the sanctuary of her apartment door, she collapsed against it, her breath ragged and labored as she struggled to regain her composure in the aftermath of the harrowing ordeal.

The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, a stark reminder of the violence that had unfolded mere moments before. With trembling hands, she locked the door behind her, the weight of the chair propped against it a feeble barrier against the outside world.

Her heart hammered in her chest, a relentless drumbeat of fear and adrenaline as she moved through the cramped confines of her apartment. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the curtains sent a jolt of panic coursing through her veins, her senses on high alert for any sign of danger.

With trembling hands, she closed and locked every window, drawing the blinds tight against the darkness outside. The silence of the apartment pressed in around her, broken only by the ragged sound of her own breathing as she struggled to steady her nerves.

As Aisling stepped into the bathroom, she couldn't help but catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and the sight that greeted her was a stark reminder of the violence she had just endured. Her eye was already beginning to swell and darken, the vivid hues of bruising spreading across her skin like a sinister canvas.

With a heavy sigh, she turned away from her reflection, determined to wash away the evidence of the night's events. Stepping under the hot spray of the shower, she let the water cascade over her, its soothing warmth a welcome reprieve from the cold grip of fear that still clung to her skin.

But try as she might, the blood staining her fingernails refused to yield to the relentless assault of soap and water. With growing frustration, she scrubbed at her hands, each stroke painful.

As she worked, the scar above her eye began to throb, a sharp, insistent ache that pulsed in time with the rhythm of her heartbeat. Ignoring the discomfort, she continued to scrub, her thoughts consumed by the events of the night.

But even as she scrubbed away the physical remnants of the night's violence, she knew that the scars it had left on her psyche would not be so easily erased. As the water washed over her, she felt a sense of vulnerability wash over her.

As Aisling struggled to regain her composure beneath the steady stream of water, her mind churned with thoughts of the life she had been living for the past decade. It was a life defined by routine and monotony, a ceaseless cycle of days that blurred into one another until they became indistinguishable from the next.

But now, in the wake of tonight's harrowing events, she knew that she could no longer continue down this path. She needed a change, a break from the confines of her existence, a chance to break free from the shackles of her past.

But most of all, she yearned for answers. Answers to questions that had plagued her for as long as she could remember. Where in Ireland did she come from? What were the names of her parents, and did they still walk this earth, or had they been lost to the passage of time? Did she have siblings, a family waiting to welcome her into their embrace?

These questions weighed heavily on her mind, a constant reminder of the void that existed at the core of her being. But now, as she stood beneath the unforgiving glare of the bathroom light, she knew that she could no longer remain in the shadows of her own existence. It was time to step into the light, to confront the truth of her identity, and to embrace the journey that lay ahead, no matter where it might lead.

Aisling sighed as she stared at the note in her hand, the words "Charming TM" mocking her with their cryptic ambiguity. What was the significance of this seemingly random phrase? And what about the Irish-branded wrench that accompanied it? Was it merely a souvenir, a trinket from a forgotten past, or did it hold some deeper meaning that had eluded her all this time?

She shook her head, frustration gnawing at her insides as she tried to make sense of it all. She didn't have a computer to search for answers, and even if she did, she doubted she would find anything useful. Charming was a place, she knew that much, but what connection did it have to her Irish roots?

With a determined glint in her eye, Aisling tucked the note and the wrench back into the little crimson box and placed it carefully on her dresser. She may not have all the answers yet, but she refused to let that stop her from seeking the truth.

Aisling's mind buzzed with determination as she spread out the map on her table, tracing the route to Charming with her finger. She knew she couldn't walk the highways or pedal there on her worn-out town bike. No, she needed a more practical mode of transportation—a bus.

Consulting some brochures, she mapped out her journey. Two buses followed by a transfer into the actual town of Charming. It seemed straightforward enough, but she couldn't afford to be complacent. She'd have to be vigilant, ensuring she didn't miss any connections or get lost along the way.

As she planned her route, Aisling considered her accommodation options. She didn't have much money to spare, only enough for a couple of nights in a modest motel, if that. But she pushed those worries aside for now. Survival was her priority; she'd figure out the rest later.

With her documents and belongings spread out before her, Aisling meticulously packed her duffel bag and backpack. She set her alarm for the early hours of the morning, knowing she'd need every precious moment of sleep before embarking on her journey.

As she lay down to rest, anticipation coursed through her veins. Tomorrow marked the beginning of a new chapter—a chance to escape the confines of her mundane existence and uncover the secrets that had eluded her for far too long.

━━ 𝙧𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙖 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 !
ouch her injuries hurt me and im not even in the story

5k words and weren't not even in the first ep! dw next chapter will take place in charming ;)

i hope you like this and its not boring? i just wanted to give you a taste of her life at home. also i hope this is not too long & a dealbreaker because i can make shorter chapters if you'd like!

enjoy reading! vote & comment <3