A Stranger at the Bar

DEMI

Laila's explanations don't make any amount of sense. All I can see is that she's not in the slightest bit sorry. I try to think of the many times I ignored the signs, but I don't have time to figure that out.

After all, It doesn't matter what Laila says to justify their actions or what cooked up explanation Ernest tries to give. They betrayed me and whatever relationship there was, it's over.

One last look at my now ex boyfriend and ex best friend and then I walk out of the room with yells of my name from Ernest filling the air.

I've been trying to bottle up my feelings since I walked in on them, but as soon as I step into the elevator, tears come flooding like they have now been summoned. The wound in my heart is still fresh from five seconds ago.

Lucky for me, I have no audience. I walk through the streets, not knowing my destination, my body still processing everything. My mind is still skewed, making me zone out in thoughts, and the next thing I know, a car comes to a sudden halt in front of me. The speed of my heartbeat accelerates as I come back to reality. That was close.

I expect someone to walk out and shout at me, but surprisingly, there's no action for the next few minutes.

Just me, in front of the car, waiting for someone who isn't getting out any time soon. Seeing no action taking place, I proceed with my journey to nowhere in particular.

It's only when I find somewhere to sit, do I feel my heart calm.

“No, you can't lose control.” I mumble to myself.

They don't deserve any feelings from me. 

That's when I think, what if something bad had happened to me on the road? Was it really worth it?

After a few minutes of pep talk, I decide to let it all go. They say it's not easy, but accepting is at least the first step. I can't keep on crying because of traitors. They don't deserve a single tear, which is why I decide to drink the night off.

Let tomorrow take care of itself. 

I would have invited Leon and Natasha, but tonight, I need to sit this one alone.

It's been a while since I went drinking alone. It's usually the four of us. Sitting at the counter on my own suddenly feels odd….and lonely.

I don't want my feelings to take over again, so as soon as I make myself comfortable, I order three shots of tequila.

The bartender barely turns to pick a bottle when a shot glass appears in front of me, and I don't mean magically.

A hand pushes the shot glass to my side.

I narrow my eyes in confusion as I turn to look at the deputy bartender beside me. It's a man in a black hoodie and a black cap, covering most of the upper part of his face like he's trying to hide. Almost as if he's wanted by the police.

“Looks like you need more than just three,” he speaks up with his deep sultry voice that makes my insides rumble.

I push back the glass to his side. 

“Sorry, I don't talk to creeps,” I say.

A soft laugh escapes his lips. “How quick of you to assume,” he counters.

“If you were in my shoes, would you assume otherwise?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Trust me when I tell you, I'm not.”

My drinks come before I utter anything else to the stranger. I accept them quickly and take the first shot.

“Why would I trust you?” I ask, scrunching my face.

“Because we're two strangers at a bar, and after this, we'll go our separate ways.” 

I ignore him and gulp down another shot.

“Boy drama?” He asks as I slum the glass on the counter table. Just something I was trying to forget and then he brings it up.

I stand to walk away but he grabs my wrist before I get past him. 

“I just want to have a normal night. Only for today. I don't get that often. So, will you please sit with me?” He requests. 

Request? No, scratch that.

He used the word please but his tone is far from pleading. It's almost as if he's ordering me. 

I might be riding in a train of insanity, because tell me why, in the next few minutes, I'm sharing drinks with a stranger, ranting about my scornful ex. Right, I tell myself he's a stranger. Is there anything wrong with that? We'll never meet again. Besides, isn't that what people normally do at bars? Normal people would rant to bartenders, but well, okay.

The good thing about my stranger is that he's a good listener. He doesn't give me the sympathetic look and maybe it's because I don't get to see his face fully.

In the middle of our conversation, I ask, “Who are you hiding from?”

He smiles, and for the first time, I get to notice how sexy his lips look when curved. He should do that often. How can a smile look this beautiful yet I don't see his entire face clearly?

“We're on a truth basis, remember? And you're the one who asked me to sit with you. So, don't lie,” I remind him.

“Okay,” he raises his palms to show surrender.

I cock a brow waiting for his response.

“Would you believe me if I told you I'm hiding from the paparazzi?”

For a split second, I think of it as a lie, but then I remember, “we said no lying, so I do believe you….wait?” I gasp in realization.

“Are you a celebrity?” I pry.

“I wouldn't say that. Let's just call it a public figure.”

“Kind of the same difference,” I counter, but he disagrees again.

“No, it's not the same.”

“So, what are you really doing here? Drinking in this bar…alone.”

I gasp again when a thought crosses my mind.

“Don't tell me you also have relationship drama.”

“Like I told you, I just wanted a normal day.”

I look at him skeptically. How miserable does one have to be? Is he more miserable than me?

Maybe we deserve each other. Brought together by misery.

Silly. 

I scold myself for having such thoughts about a stranger. The alcohol must be taking dominance in my brain. I've had quite a number of shots, and even though I don't feel drunk, I can't say I'm fully sober.

On the positive side, he's the one person who's made me smile tonight.

Talking like we've known each other for ages.

“If I asked you to show me your true face, would you?” I probe.

A soft laugh escapes his lips. “You know you're making me wonder if you're one of those undercover paparazzi,” he says 

Fair point.

Although…we agreed to be honest, since we'll never see each other again, and I remind him just that.

“I'll be too honest with you if I took off this cap.”

“Is there a problem?” I ask.

He looks around, leans closer. I feel his intoxicating scent, and for a few seconds, I'm lost in it. Why would someone smell this good?

“If I showed you my true face, what would I get in return?” 

It takes a while for my mind to register his question. 

A crazy

thought crosses my mind. Now that he's closer, can't I just take it off and see who he truly is?