"You Get What You Deserve"

The front door creaked open every few minutes. The massive steel hinges expressing their feelings about that cold mid-December night. Winter came late that year. The snow began to fall early one morning and had not stopped for days, accumulating over 20 inches of firmly packed snow. The bar was crowded with people escaping the snow, trying to warm their souls and spirits with other souls and spirits.

"He's here," Tom said in a surprised voice.

Jack was staring into his drink, lost in some day dream. He looked up and over to the front door, where a group of two guys and three girls had just walked in, their coats and heads covered in snow. As they shook themselves off and found a place at the bar, Jack was sure that they hadn't noticed that he was there. But he knew. He knew before Tom had even said a word.

"What are ya gonna do, Jacky?" Tom asked.

Jack took a deep breath, finished his beer, and let out a sigh. He clanked the glass down onto the bar, bringing some attention his way from the most recent guests across the room. That's when Phil knew it. Jack saw Phil exchange some remarks with his group and then go on with the start of the alcohol consumption that was planned for the night.

"Can I get you boys another?" The Bartender asked.
Tom nodded yes.
"And a shot, please. Whisky," Jack requested.

The little blonde scurried around, grabbing two pints of Genesee and Jack's shot. When she returned, she delivered the drinks and put her hand on Jack's.

"You okay?" She asked.
Jack nodded.
"What are you going to do?"

Her soft voice would've comforted any one else, but Jack just sighed, took his hand out from under her's and threw back his shot. His stomach tightened and then loosened as the liquor filled his veins.

"We all know what I'm going to do," Jack said before taking a swig of his beer.

And he was right. As he got up, the whole bar, full of regulars, saw his 5'11" body stagger gracefully across the floor. They all knew what was coming, even Phil. Jack came up behind the man seated at the bar. His 5'10" frame slouched over a drink, trying to sink himself deeper into the wood grains, through the floor, through the snow, into the ground, and he didn't want to come out until morning. A muscular tattooed arm rose and set a hand on Phil's shoulder.

Phil took a short, hard breath through his nose and threw back a shot of liquor he had ordered the second he noticed that Jack was in the bar. He coughed and turned around to face Jack, who, because Phil was still sitting, seemed to be miles above him.

"Hey there, Jack," Phil said, tightening his jaw around his words.
"Home for the holidays?" Jack asked.
Phil nodded.
"Mmhmm."
"You should get up," Jack said, his voice drunk but exact.

At that moment thoughts and memories filled both of their heads. Jack thought about college, living with Phil in their shitty little apartment, crashing parties together, and always protecting and having Phil's back in the many skirmishes they (or just Phil) were thrown into. That was the worst part for Jack. They used to be as tight as blood.

Phil remembered all of that too, but at this point, all Phil could think about were those drunken, lustful nights he would periodically spend with Mary, Jack's girlfriend at the time.

After Jack had found out about the small affair, he quickly ended it with Mary. Jack took it hard, but not as hard as he thought he should've. Mary meant a lot to Jack, but after he found out, he didn't have the drive to forgive and forget, to work through it. That's how he realized that although he loved Mary, she was not the one for him. Sometimes he was almost glad that it happened the was it did.

But the fact that Phil, his best friend, could do that to him, over and over, without being a man and admitting it, made Jack angry and bitter. After the breakup, Phil moved to Chicago, never even saying goodbye to Jack. And now here he was. Phil knew what he had coming, and frankly, he knew that he deserved it.

Before Phil could even get his balance getting off of the bar stool, his collar was tight within Jack's strong left hand. Jack's first punch was accurate and planted hard onto Phil's left cheek. A sharp pulse of pain surged though Phil's face. He could feel his knees go a little weak but Jack's swollen hands kept him standing. Another swing. Phil's upper cheek and eye felt crushed beneath Jack's massive hammer of a hand. Phil thought alcohol would have dulled the pain. Phil should have started drinking hours earlier. A third and final blow to Phil's jaw put him on the floor.

The bar was silent. No one dared to get in the middle of this and no one felt the need to.

Phil let out a groan of pain and slid himself onto his knees, opening his right eye enough to look at the damp, black floor. He let out another soft groan. He felt like he was trying to suck in the pain through a straw, swallow it, and keep it down. He covered the left side of his face with his hand, feeling for blood or bumps. Suddenly he felt a strong arm around his body, helping him to his feet. It was Jack. Phil wobbled a bit, taking his hand from off of his face. He squinted in pain at Jack's surprisingly calm face. Phil felt like throwing up, but clenched his jaw, despite the pain and swelling.

"We good?" Jack asked.

Phil nodded and Jack did something no one expected. He embraced his old friend in a hug, something they hadn't shared in years.

"Hey Mia, two more please," Jack said, helping Phil back to his seat.

The little blonde bartender placed two pints of Genessee in front of Phil at the bar. Jack picked one up and clinked it against Phil's.

"You might want to put that on your face for a minute," Jack said, smirking through his drunken lips.

Phil chuckled softly.

"Right."