***This is a sequel to another story titled "The Reeling." Please read that first before starting this one. Thanks!***

Chapter 1
Waiting for the End

The heavy beats of the music rang through the air as I tossed a bottle of Bacardi over at my coworker. It spun and all the drunks at the bar gasped in anticipation while he reached out to grab it, not even paying attention to where it was going to land. At that moment, he was too busy pounding the ice, lime, and mint filled cup with a muddler.
As the bottle spun in the air, as the crowd watched, and he waited for the most important part of the mojito, everyone was thinking the same thing: Is he going to catch it?

Of course he did. He's Nathan. I heard the "oohs" and "ahhs" burn through the crowd while we did our various tricks, from tossing and juggling glasses to making cute garnishes. Hey, I even got a few dance moves in and even a couple flirtatious glances over at my coworker while we were at it.

The music was blaring. I was enjoying myself. It was so busy we'd given up on putting our tips in the jar. They wound up on the floor with the rest of the sticky mess of booze and mixers. We'd regret that later.

And Rita would be pissed that we fucked up all her one dollar bills.

It didn't matter. These were the moments I lived for.

... You're probably wondering if this is even the same story. Where's that cute little Jacob that we all know? And what about Alex, and Tina that crazy Asian chick, and what about Mo, or heaven forbid, Damian!

Yep. That's exactly what you're thinking.

Well I am Jacob, and for fuck's sake, I'm still cute. I'd even stretch my luck and say I'm sexy.

The events that had happened between me leaving Alex's not-so-humble abode and me pouring the very drink I was pouring on this night were not all that important compared to what happened after this night. At the same time, they definitely do not lack anything too boring, and I should probably bless this story with an explanation of my whereabouts all this time.

Now that I've done a five star job at being confusing and elusive, I shall get on with the story.

I came here a year ago.

The blonde had gorgeous ringlets and curls flowing down her back. Even though she was so fair and beautiful, and I couldnt stop staring at her luscious red lips, she was still a female. I didn't think of women that way. "Nathan! I'm going to fucking KILL Christopher the next time I see him!" she yelled across the bar.

I clenched the newspaper in my hand as I stood, completely unnoticed by the bar workers.

"You think you're pissed? I'm out rent money." the blonde guy across the room said as he wiped down tables. "You're lucky you're just out a bartender."

I could tell instantly that I wasn't going to fit in here. Everyone looked so perfect. They both didn't even have a hair out of place, and they looked so fresh. I felt like a wet blanket in here. When she finally looked at me, she leaned over the bar with a sassy smirk on her face while I caught a glimpse of her hazel eyes. If I were straight, my eyes would have gone straight to her cleavage, because her low cut shirt definitely wasn't modest when a female is bending over like that. "What can I do for you, sugar?"

I blushed. I was nervous. She was extremely intimidating. "I'm here for the dishwasher job?" I asked quietly, raising the newspaper. It was the only night job that didn't seem to involve truck driving.

She raised an eyebrow and smiled again. After ten minutes of useless babbling and a walk through the bar later, I was lead to the kitchen.

"Well, there isn't much to it. You just wash dishes, and don't fucking bother me, and if you absolutely have to, my name is Rita." she said before disappearing.

I looked around. The room was full of kitchen paraphernalia. The huge prep/serve station served as a barrier between the sink and the grills.

I heard sizzling but I saw nobody. So I walked towards the grill. My jaw dropped. He couldn't have been older than 10 and he was manning the grill and flipping burgers. This was child labor, highly illegal, and quite atrocious. I felt bad for the kid. He was barely four feet tall, and he looked like he'd rather be doing something else.

"Ay!" his little voice yelled. "Ay yew!"

I realized he was looking straight at me.

"Yea, Yew!" He pointed. It sounded like a british accent. "Yew got a pair oh worken' ayes yeh?"

I nodded.

"Then fucking mind yer own dam business yew bloody fuck! Yew all act like ya never seen a bloody 8 year old! Fucking bastards!" he ranted.

I went straight to the sink full of dishes with my eyes bulging out of their sockets. Maybe I shouldn't feel so bad for him.

"Yew fucking assholes! I'm probably fucking older than yew ya pig!" he yelled. "I otta shove ma foot in yer ass, yew'd probably like it too, yeh bloody perverted bastard!"

I concentrated on the sink and looked for gloves while that despicable child hurled insults my way.

"I see you've met the cook." I heard behind me. I jumped, startled, and looked behind me. My eyes met the deepest pair of blue eyes I'd ever seen.

They were like oceans. By oceans I mean like the pacific ocean in northern Cali, not like the ocean in Hawaii or Key West. They were a deeper blue instead of that aqua color. There were satin ribbons of grey running through out these oceans, and they faded to brown right at the iris. I thought I could dive right into them and stay for a while. I wouldn't of minded doing that.

I didn't think I could ever stare into green eyes again.

"Hey." he said again, shaking me. "You okay there?" he asked with an inquisitive smirk. I snapped out of it.

"Yeah, um..." I managed a tiny upward twist of the lips. I got utterly distracted by that child's continuous screaming.

"Yew think I'm too littal to handal the grill! Yew think that I'm stewpid because I look like a child! I'm 84 fucking years old yew bastards! I'm 84 years old and stuck in a bloody 8-year old's body! I don't wanna be 8! I just want to grow up and fuck and drink liquor BUT NO! Oliver's gotta be fucking young forever!"

"Um, did he just say he was 80?" I asked quietly.

"Don't mind Oliver, he's bitter. I'd be bitter too if someone turned me when I was eight too." he said nonchalantly. Then he extended a hand. "I'm Nathan."

"Jacob." I said, shaking his hand. They were still soft despite him washing his hands all day. "Wait, turned?" I asked, the guy's words hitting my brain.

"He's a vamp, duh!" the blonde in front of me said. "Most of us are, why do you think she hired you with no questions asked?"

It wasn't long before that upset child realized the blonde in front of me was there and made us both get back to work.

I didn't mind the tedious scrubbing of plate after plate. I started thinking of it almost in a therapeutic way. In a way, I was cleaning more than just uneaten food off plates. It was a place for me to escape.

"Hey, new kid." the redhead yelled as he plopped another stack of sullied plates. "You okay?"

I snapped out of my state and forced a smile and a nod.

It was the start of my new philosophy: if in doubt, just smile and nod.

That night, after my shift, I'd returned to the abandoned warehouse I'd begun to call home for the past month.

I finally allowed myself to crumble onto the floor.


I wanted nothing more to be in his comfort. I sobbed. I wrapped myself in my memories of him. His touch, his scent; I dreamed of both. If he were with me, he wouldn't let me ever feel this way.

He would have enveloped my doubt and loneliness and sent it away, only to be replaced with pleasant feelings. I pretended he was with me on that dirty slab of concrete below me.

I wished myself into his arms, engulfing myself with his memories. They were my own personal ghost. I longed nothing more than to be with him.

In my mind, there was no way I'd ever make it without him.

A/n: yay sequel! I'm really excited for this story. There are some really fun characters in here and I like this plot. I promise that Mo and Alex come around much later on. Anyways, tell me what you think!