THE BARREN EX-WIFE WHO CAME BACK
After thirty minutes of forcing myself to have fun I wasn't actually having, I gave up and headed to the bar.
"Whiskey neat..." I told the bartender as I slid onto a stool.
He poured my drink, and I downed it in one gulp, welcoming the burn that did nothing to ease the pain in my chest.
"Another," I said.
As the bartender poured, I felt someone sit down heavily on the stool next to me, and the smell hit me immediately—alcohol, cigarettes, and something sour that made my stomach turn.
"Damn, baby," a rough voice said. "You look like you need a real man to fuck that sad look off your face."