A daydreaming cynic's first taste of SALT
A sweaty hand slips down her bare thigh. She's handed a tall glass of strange-looking liquid and drinks it despite not knowing what it is. Some of it, a lot of it, trickles down her chin and throat instead. Whatever it was, it was burning her throat. It stung violently and made her want to vomit, but she forced it down like an unforgivable person and managed to finish the entire glass. Rowdy cheers followed. And a coughing fit. One, two, three blurry apparitions drunkenly raised their glasses with faces that looked like they were laughing. What was the plan again? Oh, right, she had not planned anything past entering the graffitied metal door. And that's okay, because she lives irresponsibly from now on, so she actually did perfectly in that regard. The only rule to abide by now, is “What would mom do?” and act accordingly. She felt the thin strap of her top slipping off of her right shoulder and notices herself falling out of the world like usual and into her own. Yuuya holds on, trying to wake up her slumbering brain by demanding recollection…
It was unmistakable. As if the big, flashing neon sign reading SALT in pink didn’t make it obvious enough, the entire exterior of the run-down bar was covered in graffiti, slurs, random posters, and unidentifiable liquids. Standing before the stigmatized bar, basked in pink neon light, Yuuya felt the urge to go straight back home again. But if she couldn’t even manage this, how could she ever expect to end up in Hell? Drunk youths standing against the wall smoking, veiled by the dim streetlights, eyed her from the moment she came into their sight. Judging by the leering women's tight, short, leather skirts and tank tops, Yuuya could at least confirm that she was dressed for the occasion. Bracing herself, internally reassuring herself with the mantra of the whole ending up in Hell drivel, Yuuya Hibeki opened the metal door and stepped inside the neon madness.
She widens her dazed eyes with a pinch at her cheek. Her head turns to the direction of the tipsy fatso to whom the pinching sausage fingers belong to, feeling her face turning pink.
“A pwettyy girll like yous shoulde smiiileee more…!” he hiccoughs, poking at her blushing cheek. Amidst the bubbles in her brain, poisonous slurs began to brew. Yet a cold voice of logic could be heard through it all; What would mom do? Yuuya thought to herself for a moment, seemingly undistracted by the continuous pecking on her cheek. Mom wouldn’t throw a drink in his face and storm out and lock herself up in her room and scream into a pillow until her voice gives out, no, she'd probably do something like this; Yuuya forced a bubbly smile and poked him right back. The pig bursts into delighted laughter, along with the other two men in this small lounge of a room, and the lost Yuuya is handed another drink, but not the same vomit-inducing piss as before, to her drunken relief. She gulps it down like her life depends on it. And not many moments later, reality and daydream become one. The grinning gentlemen move their mouths in turn (weirdos), then at the same time, without any sound reaching Yuuya's ears, handing her shot upon shot, all with the same tasteless burn, some fizzling with the plop of pills, some spilling out on her chest, oh, the top's gone, and partially her eyesight, because she could still see, yes, she saw grimacing angels and cats and “that slut from class 1-C”, no wait, she's also an angel, and smoke and snickering pigs and mommy dancing flabbily in a cheerleader uniform. Then, before her strained eyes take their rest, a brief flash of scorching red.