Chapter 17

The stupid buzzing sign outside joe’s tap was the first thing, like it was already needling me before i even touched the door, it makes that low hum that gets in your teeth and the pavement was slick and the colors were bleeding like the whole street couldn’t hold itself together. i don’t even know why i stopped there. i should’ve gone home. dad wasn’t there, late meeting, said he’d be late and i knew the apartment would feel like walking into a dead space, no sound, no warmth, just the walls. i couldn’t. i told myself just a drink, just noise to drown out the silence.

And then the heat hits me, that clinging smoky greasy bar heat, and for a second it’s better, like a blanket. smells like fries, beer, something sweet—whiskey maybe—something sticky. those dumb fairy lights draped uneven across the ceiling making everyone look softer than they were, shadows over wood, the bar gleaming like it’s too polished for this dump. wednesday and still packed, wings everywhere, pool balls clacking in the back like bones. and music that doesn’t match, old rock whining under the laughter.

i thought it was safe. i thought—stupid—but i thought i could breathe here for a second. and then. then i saw him.

dom.

corner table, like always managing to make the smallest space look like it belonged to him, jacket hung sloppy on the chair but sleeves rolled like he was ready for anything, arms on the table, body loose but not. you know that thing he does, like he’s on watch even when he’s smiling? yeah, that.

but he wasn’t smiling at me.

she was across from him. red sweater, black hair twisted up, a little loose like she wanted it to fall. laughing too loud, the kind of laugh that fills a room even when nobody asked for it. leaning in, elbow propped, eyes glued to him like he was the only man alive. and he… he gave her that smile. not the half-grimace he gives at work, not the one he used on me when he thought i wasn’t watching. this one was soft, warmer, like he’d been saving it.

and i swear i felt it burn in my stomach.

i should’ve walked. i know i should’ve, i even felt my body twitch like it wanted to turn and go, but i didn’t. i kept walking, straight for the bar, but angled so i could use the mirror behind the shelves. pathetic.

bartender comes over, beard, cap, doesn’t even matter. asks what i want. my mouth already said vodka tonic before i thought. lime cut too thick on the rim. i keep my eyes on the mirror.

dom’s hand slides a little across the table, not touching hers but close enough, like the air between them was shared. she leaned in more and his lips—yeah—his lips twisted that way that’s not meant for me anymore, maybe never was.

i drink half of it in one go, lime biting my tongue, vodka scratching down and making me cough, but i hold it down. try to keep my face blank. like it didn’t matter. but it did.

i hate that it does.

because what do i even have with him? nothing. no promises, no confessions in the dark, no anything except scraps of moments that he’ll probably forget before the week ends. but seeing him like that? it made me want to rip that smile off his mouth with my nails.

my shoulders hurt, pulse in my throat. i tried to look anywhere else, at the pool crowd, the flannel guy fumbling a pick up line, the woman rolling her eyes. none of it helped. my eyes dragged back to the mirror and there she was tucking her hair back like she wanted him to notice the bare of her neck. and he was noticing.

the drink was gone before i realized, ice clinking too loud when i slammed it down. the bartender glanced but didn’t care enough to ask. fine.

i pulled my coat too fast, almost knocked the stool. shoved arms through, jaw locked, walked for the door. i didn’t look at him, i swear i didn’t, but i felt it. like heat between my shoulder blades.

outside the rain was worse, steady and heavy under the streetlights, collar up, boots splashing, lungs tight, and i kept telling myself i didn’t care. he didn’t owe me. i didn’t owe him. i’m free, right? then why did my chest feel like something cracked open.

and then—

izzy!

i ignored it.

izzy. sharper, closer.

my legs moved faster but then his hand. on my arm. through my coat but i felt it, hot and firm, pulling me still.

what are you doing here? he asks like it’s his place.

leaving. i said.

i can see that. his eyes on me, searching. what’s wrong?

nothing. i tugged back.

izzy… he glances over his shoulder, back at her maybe, i don’t know. is this about—

i said nothing’s wrong. sharper. too sharp maybe. don’t let me keep you.

his brow twists. it’s not what you think.

and i laughed. a jagged ugly laugh. you have no idea what i think.

rain dripping down his face, his hair plastered, his mouth working like he wanted to explain but nothing came. we just stood there. wet. not saying.

and i turned away because what else could i do. every step heavy, don’t look back don’t look back. but at the corner i did. of course i did. he was still there, under the flicker of joe’s sign, staring at me like—like what? i don’t even know.

apartment was worse. quiet so loud it roared in my ears. i threw the coat on a chair, paced like a caged thing. tv flickered through channels, noise but no meaning. kettle screeched in the kitchen, i shut it off, couldn’t stand it.

all i could see was her hand, close enough to touch. him watching her. and the punch in my chest every time i replayed it.

dad would tell me i’m being dramatic, he’d tell me to use my head, keep focus, don’t let people under my skin. but what do i do with this? how do i not feel like my ribs are breaking in on themselves.

i’m so tired.

and i can’t stop thinking about it.