Betty The second the door closes, the bottle shatters into a million pieces, and the bar falls into chaos, I slip away into the storage room without alerting anyone. I realize I haven’t locked the door after I’ve found the best hiding spot behind a bunch of empty crates, Before I can crawl out of my spot, Andy comes barreling in, panting like a fish out of water. “Lock the door,” I hiss urgently, but he just stands there, the door still half open. “Betty?” He sounds completely out of breath, his chest heaving. There’s a dark colored liquid dripping down his shirt from his hair. Even with the distance between us and the heavy musty smell in the air from the room not having proper ventilation, I can still smell the beer. “Close the door,” I point out, with an impatient grunt. He looks at the door for a moment, before the words click. Then he slams it and turns the lock, before slumping to the floor, like his legs chose that exact moment to give up. I shake my head, out of pity, a
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