Rest Your Head, I'm Permanent - Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Some real people, fake story
David's POV
Locking the metal door behind me, I let out a much needed sigh of relief. It was a unending night, the regulars were rude as usual, but somehow I just let it roll off my back. One of the many traits I didn't like about myself, I was too soft, I let people walk all over me. I think I even remember seeing one patron stumble out of the establishment without paying his tab, which would be my fault, as always. I told myself to make a mental note, to give Patrick hell tomorrow for calling out "sick" tonight, I knew that was a bunch of bullshit but, like I said, I have a tendency to just let people do as they wish.
Everywhere I looked, there was trash. Then again, this hole-in-the-wall bar was trash to me. Empty beer cans, smashed peanut shells, and broken shot glasses, which I already knew would be another few dollars out of my paycheck, coated the dusty floor. Glancing at my watch, it was a little past three in the morning, apparently last call had taken a bit longer then I anticipated, drunk people were always a tad bit slower. I dragged myself toward the closet to retrieve the broom and dustpan, I told myself that I at least had to make an effort to make this place a little bit cleaner, even though you would never really be able to tell that I did anything at all. As I began cleaning, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror by the bathroom doors.
"You really need to get yourself together dude. No wonder you're still single. No girl in her right mind would EVER fathom the idea of you as a potential boyfriend." Lifting up my old Alice In Chains t-shirt, I exposed my stomach.
"Gross! Lay off those cheeseburgers man." I lectured myself. I always did this, made myself feel horrible and then drowned my sorrows in thick vanilla milkshakes, greasy steak-cut french fries, and loud music.
I wish the loud music would cure it all. Take away all of the pain, tears, agony, and depression. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was fucked up and needed help. I was always there for someone else, I never accepted help easily, I admit that I am a bit stubborn. Just sometimes, I wish someone would come to my rescue, so I would stop having to be the hero all the time. I always put myself on the back burner. I learned to do just that at the very young age of fifteen, when I had been told that my oldest brother, Adam had Brain Cancer. My whole world stood still for that moment in time. I never really believed it, I always felt as if this was part of some sick, twisted nightmare and I just couldn't wait, deep down I was screaming for someone to simply pinch me.
I wiped down the bar top, gathered all of the dirty glasses, taking them into the makeshift kitchen which was equivalent to the size of a tiny apartment's kitchen. Starting the dishwasher, I slowly walked back out into the bar, looking at my watch once again. It was 4:15 am and all I could think about was my bed, and how lonely it must be without me.
I took a shot of top-shelf Jack Daniels, letting it burn all the way down my throat and began my journey back home.