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It finally happened. You just didn't think it would happen as soon as it did. You always had suspicions that he was being unfaithful, but you just couldn't bring yourself to believe it, even after all this time. He just made everything feel so believable.
You were more stunned than anything. You were still in that initial phase where everything felt surreal -- like a soft veil had been placed over reality; everything sounded muffled. Lights had a soft bloom effect. People moved in slow motion. You weren't actually there; you just... existed.
And then one day, out of nowhere, reality finally sunk in. It hit you harder than anything ever had before.
You wept for hours on end. You spent a lot of time sifting through your social media and your phone, sloppily removing all traces of him that you could find. You thought that maybe it was foolish -- maybe you didn't have to do this because there was still a chance that he'd come back to you, but logic dictated that there was absolutely no chance of that happening. You unfriended mutual friends and untagged yourself in posts that had him tagged as well. You blocked all of his accounts and deleted his number. You took all the albums he had burned for you and dumped them in the garbage, then ripped his photographs off of your mirror and tore them to shreds.
Your heart bled and you felt emptier than the abyss itself, but you knew this was necessary. The first step in getting over someone was to remove all traces of them, and so that's exactly what you did.
You laid dormant for a few months. You declined offers from friends to hang out on the weekends. You listened to nothing but sad music that reminded you of the breakup. You droned through your shifts at work and endured the wrath of your manager who was highly disappointed in your declining performance. You would go home at night and eat nothing before going to bed and eventually crying yourself to sleep. You couldn't eat while you were like this; the anxiety and anguish you felt constantly prevented you from having an appetite, and your body couldn't handle this. You didn't care very much.
One night in particular, however, you finally had had enough.
You were through with feeling sorry for yourself. You were done with denying the presence of other human beings in your life because of some dumb breakup. You were ready to just leave all of this behind you for good. You also didn't have work the next day.
You carefully picked yourself up out of bed and stepped into the shower, allowing yourself about thirty minutes of unadulterated self care. You washed every crevice of your body and thoroughly cleaned and conditioned your hair -- all of which was desperately needed.
You stepped back out and began to groom yourself, gently applying makeup and rubbing lotion on your arms and legs. Every time you felt like your thoughts were about to drift back to him, you immediately averted your attention to something else.
After putting yourself into something decently attractive for the evening, you took a step back and looked at yourself in your mirror. You were honestly impressed with how well you put yourself back together -- at least physically, and at least for one night. You didn't look half bad, you told yourself. Maybe you would be worth someone's time tonight.
You left your apartment at about half past midnight and took off to the nearest bar, deciding not to care about how late you stayed out. You had a fair amount of money in your pocket. You wanted to drink, and you wanted to meet someone. You didn't care if this someone turned out to be another romantic partner, or a new friend, or perhaps someone to just casually talk with for the night -- you were going to meet someone, and you were going to leave it up to fate to deal whichever card was in your favour.
You quietly made your way into the bustling bar and took a look at your surroundings, gauging the likelihood of yourself finding someone gentle enough in a place like this to talk to. As far as you could tell, your options seemed limited. Most people were fixated on the news -- why did people watch the news at a bar? The other people who weren't obsessing over politics were either keeping to themselves or were casually chatting with the bartender and each other. You hoped to be among them in the next few minutes or so.
You took a seat towards the end of the bar and patiently waited to be tended to. You had already decided exactly what you wanted to drink -- some of your favourite in the world: peach lemonade vodka with water to chase it.
After ordering your drinks, you pulled your phone out to look like you were involved in something. The people at the bar were not as talkative as you had originally anticipated; most of them were older men who looked like they only associated with other older men. You did notice, however, that one in particular who was sitting off to the side by himself shot a few occasional glances at you -- presumably when he thought you wouldn't notice, but you did. You just brushed it off and told yourself he'd probably had too much to drink for the evening. You made a mental note not to look his way too much.
It wasn't long after you received your first round when the liquid began to spread warmth throughout your body, and that familiar wooziness set in nicely. You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, letting out a small sigh of relief. This was the first time you had drunk anything in months, and it was so very welcome.
A few rounds later, however, your mood began to take a turn for the worst. It happened every time you drank, and it wasn't necessarily because you were an emotional person; alcohol would keep you happily high for a little while before completely sucking your soul from your body and crushing you completely the more you consumed.
Tears began to flow freely from your eyes as all the memories of your ex began to flood your mind. There was no longer a mental block that kept those thoughts away -- they tore through your mind almost as fiercely as they had when the breakup first happened. Maybe going to a bar late at night and surrounding yourself with a bunch of middle-aged men while becoming increasingly drunk wasn't such a good idea after all.
The bartender eventually took notice and made his way over to you, concern written across his face. "Excuse me, Miss, are you alright? Do you need to talk to someone?"
You quietly shook your head and hurriedly wiped the tears from your eyes. "Oh, no -- thank you, really. I'm just trying to get over something. Trust me, this is good -- me crying right now is good. I needed this." You tended to over-explain yourself when you got like this.
He smiled knowingly and nodded. "I understand. I'm here if you do decide you want to talk at all, okay?"
And then it finally hit you. You really didn't want to talk about anything to anyone. You just wanted to go numb for a while.
"Okay," you murmured in response, giving him a small smile before he turned away to continue serving the other patrons.
Not much time passed before you realised that you had no contingency plan for making your way back home. You obviously couldn't drive back -- you'd get pulled over in an instant. You couldn't navigate your own feet while this piss-poor drunk, much less an entire vehicle. You could potentially hitch a ride with someone there at the bar -- but no, that was entirely too dangerous. You could stay at the motel across the road -- that was a viable option. Wondering what their review score was, you were just about to pull out your phone to check before you heard a voice beside you.
"Life's just a bad trip gone horribly wrong, isn't it, baby doll?" The rough, jaded voice made you jump and turn to see who was suddenly sitting beside you. Oh... it was the man from earlier. The same one who kept shooting you random looks. It kind of creeped you out how he suddenly appeared next to you, especially without you noticing he had approached you at all.
Your brows furrowed slightly and you pouted, turning your attention back to your phone. "I quite enjoy my life, thank you very much," you fibbed slightly as you brought up the name and location of the motel across the street to read its reviews. You frowned in response. Rated 4.5 out of 10... not enticing at all.
"L-let me guess, some-some dumbass broke your heart -- probably either fell out of love with you or cheated on you -- and now you feel like you have to try to mo-move on with your life and forget aaaaall about him. Did-did I get that right? That's usually how the story goes." He just sort of babbled loudly before he resumed sipping from the glass in his hand.
You stared at him for a solid minute, slack-jawed and offended beyond belief. You were completely appalled at this man's audacity to think he knew every little detail about your life and your feelings and the reason you've been completely distraught for the last few months. It wasn't like he was wrong, but still, he had the nerve to assume as such! He could have been completely incorrect!
You briefly considered coming up with some elaborate lie just to make him feel like an absolute, pompous idiot, but then decided against it. You didn't take too kindly to the thought of karma getting you back for lying to a stranger.
Instead, you simply faced forward in your seat and closed your eyes, deciding not to dignify what he had said with an actual response. After a minute or so, you could tell this irked him, as he shifted in his seat and glanced back over at you a few times. Good, be uncomfortable, you thought to yourself.
"Huh, not the-not the talkative type. I don't blame you; most people are assholes. It's better not to share too much. It's dangerous to let your guard down and shit; I get it." The fact that he himself was coming off as a huge asshole must have gone completely over his head, then.
"Hmm, if it's obvious that I'm not the talkative type, then why are you still here? I'm obviously not content with you sitting beside me." The words fell from your mouth surprisingly smoothly -- you usually weren't comfortable with confrontations at all. There was something off about this exchange, though. Something not immediately threatening? You couldn't quite put your finger on it. But, then again, you were pretty drunk, so it could have just been that, too.
"Wh-whoa, aren't you feisty? There's-there's no need for the hostility, sweetheart, I'm just trying to make conversation." When he spoke, it almost seemed like he was choosing his words carefully. Maybe he pitied you? That was entirely possible. He probably had seen you crying just a few minutes before.
You turned to look at him again, confusion written clearly on your face. "Why, though?" Your voice was surprisingly small. Vulnerable. More so than you had intended for it to be.
He shrugged as he took another swig of his drink. "You just, you looked lonely as all hell, and you're in a bar surrounded by old, drunken idiots. This isn't really a place for young women like you -- I-I'm actually surprised you came in here at all tonight. And, n-not gonna lie, it wasn't, wasn't really fun watching you cry into your drink like that. No-no one should ever have to go through that. At least not alone." His words sounded... genuine, but a bit forced, as well. Like he was hesitating to express himself.
It took a moment for you to completely process what he said before you began sniffling, fresh tears beginning to fall from your eyes. He clearly noticed this, but you turned away from him and brought your sleeves up to your face, pathetically dabbing your cheeks with the fabric and trembling. You were miserable, and it was painfully obvious to anyone who even so much as glanced at you.
"Th-thank you," was all you were able to make out as silent sobs took over your body. That's all you really wanted, honestly. You just wanted someone to make you feel like they were there for you, and that everything was going to be alright despite everything that's happened. And while you didn't know this man's name, you were thankful he had found his way over to you.
He didn't immediately respond to your reaction. He just sat there beside you -- you felt like he was hesitating to say something else, but nothing ever came. He was probably waiting for you to stop crying like a baby so he could actually carry a conversation with you.
After a few minutes of sharp intakes of breath and gathering yourself together, you finally let out a small laugh. "I probably look like a hot mess right now."
"Eh, I've seen much worse," he cracked a smile in response to that, probably glad to see you'd finally lightened up a bit. "What's-what's the matter with you, anyways? You loo-look like you have the lowest tolerance for booze in the whole fuckin' world."
You flinched slightly at the harsh language. You weren't really used to it, but you tried not to react too strongly to it. You cleared your throat quietly before speaking again. "I haven't had anything to drink in a long time. I also haven't eaten in about three days, so I'm sure the alcohol took over quickly because of that--"
His eyes widened in disbelief, his brow arching upwards. "Holy shit, kid, are you serious?"
You nodded slightly, casting your gaze down at your hands in your lap. "That's bad, isn't it?"
He let out an aggravated sigh and set his drink down on the bar loudly. "I want you to listen to me, and I want you to listen to me reeeally good." He started speaking, his voice lowering in volume, but his tone becoming more serious. "No guy -- and I really mean no guy -- is worth killing yourself over like that. That shit-for-brains probably thought he-thought he could do better than you, but he thought so fucking wrong, sweetheart." He turned to look at you, his eyes boring deep into yours all of a sudden. The frown on his face let you know that he knew exactly what was ailing you, and it didn't make him the least bit happy. How could he read you so well like that? You were a stranger to him!
All you could do was nod in response, completely taken aback by how real that moment was. Something inside you just made you feel like you could trust this man. That feeling was also accompanied by a deep warmth that seemed to radiate throughout your entire being. That certainly felt really nice and welcome.
Apparently you were a sight to see, as he suddenly cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from you, taking another sip from his drink. "Yeah, so just-so just keep that in mind from now on."
You hummed thoughtfully and turned back to the drink in front of you. You briefly considered asking him if he could give you a ride home, but then you thought that maybe he was probably even more drunk than you were. That would not be a good idea at all.
...You gave up. The place across the street was probably riddled with prostitutes and drug dealers, but you didn't care. You were not going to drive back home for the evening by yourself. You took a look at your bank app to see how much you had -- the rooms were undoubtedly no more than $50 a night.
"I-I wouldn't think about staying at the place across the street, if you-if that's what you were thinking about doing." It was like he could read your mind. You were blown away.
You lifted your gaze back up to him, your eyes glassy and tired. He looked sober, but he had probably been at the bar for quite a while before you showed up. And he had been drinking the entire time. How could someone be such a functional alcoholic? A few shots of rum yourself, and you were out like a light.
...maybe it was a skill you acquired with age. And he looked to be a little bit up there in age. You weren't about to play the guessing game, though. Although you were pretty curious. But -- you didn't even know his name, yet. You made a mental note to ask him later.
Wait. What were you originally thinking about, again?
"I'm sorry, I don't... oh, the place? The motel? Why?" You shook your head, as if that would help the haziness that finally settled all the way in. Your judgment was completely impaired at that point, and so was the rest of your mind and body.
"Because it's dangerous and someone was murdered there a few-a month or so ago," he spoke after taking another sip. This time he kept his eyes on you. Probably to make sure you didn't suddenly get sick or something and wanted to quickly get out of the way.
You gasped loudly and clutched your purse in your lap, suddenly fearful for your life. This whole night was a mistake, you thought to yourself. How in the hell were you going to get home? Was there anyone you could call? You were sure all of your friends were either asleep or busy and wouldn’t be able to find time for you--
This apparently amused him greatly, as he started laughing to the point he had to set his drink down. "Damn, you're too-too easy, baby doll!"
You huffed in annoyance and tried not to tear up at the display of cruelty, but your body betrayed you -- fresh tears began to prick the corners of your eyes. You hurriedly wiped them away before he could notice.
But, lo and behold, he noticed.
He just sort of stared at you long and hard before he let out an exaggeratedly long sigh. "Come on now, give me-cut me some slack, here. Now, seeing as I'm a c-capable adult, and I've decided to strike up a conversation with a stunningly beautiful, young woman -- who-who's quickly turning out to be an actual, literal child, you cry-baby," he emphasised the last few words there, "obviously I had two options from the start: eith-either I'd let you spend forty-five dollars of your hard-earned money at a run-down, piece-of-shit joint across the street, or I'd offer you a ride back to your place. I'm not a compl-complete asshole."
He paused for a moment to take another drink, tracing his eyes back over to you in the meantime. Before he allowed you to speak, however, he continued. "But I can be rough around the edges, and I like to crack jokes, like I'm sure you've noticed already. It makes life a hell of a lot easier to deal with, believe me. So lighten up; you're-you're kinda ruining the good mood, here."
This time he stayed silent, curling and uncurling his fingers around his glass as he studied your face, waiting for you to say something, anything. His expression was unreadable.
You suddenly felt a myriad of emotions. You were immensely flattered by his compliment, but you were also flabbergasted by just how honest and blunt he was about everything. You were surprised, yet thankful that he thought enough ahead to consider asking to take you home, but he knew you were in a vulnerable state and, by extension, probably knew you weren't going to maintain a consistently good mood all night. You didn't quite know what to make of the situation.
So, you decided to do what you did best in situations such as this -- feign ignorance to save face. "You were thinking about giving me a ride? To my home?"
"Yeeesss, I waaaass," he purposely spoke slowly, as if to mock you, and rolled his eyes. "It's-it's clear you're pretty hammered, so you should probably think about leaving soon. Just let me know when you wanna go."
So much for saving face. Nothing got past this man, it seemed.
"...I'd like to go now," you spoke quietly, your eyes downcast. While the night didn't quite go as you'd expected, you at least had a conversation with someone new. That was a small win in your mind.
"Alriiiight, sounds good, sounds great! Oh, and uh, I paid for your drinks earlier," he casually mentioned just as you were reaching for your wallet. You shot him a dumbfounded look, mouthed 'what?', then glanced over to the bartender -- who just so happened to be listening in and gave you a thumbs-up. You moved your eyes back to the man sitting beside you, confusion just perpetually settled in your features at that point.
He shrugged, "yeah, I come here a lot, I get discounts. Figured I'd throw yours onto my tab. You looked like you couldn't stomach much anyways, which turned out to be true. I'm the smartest man in the universe -- thought I'd-thought I'd let you know that, while I'm at it."
You probably looked like you had stars in your eyes. You took a moment to just absorb everything, then finally muttered a soft 'thank you'. Although, his last comment was a bit... pretentious. But, he was probably just joking again. You couldn't quite tell in your currently inebriated state.
~~~
After guiding you out of the bar, he immediately halted you and placed a firm hand on your shoulder. You were too disoriented to notice what was going on, so you looked up at him, about to ask what he was doing, but you were immediately silenced. His expression was grim; his eyes were narrowed and his jaw was set. You followed his gaze until you saw just what he was looking at.
A lanky man dressed in all black and wielding a knife was stalking towards you both. His eyes were crazed and he looked like he hadn't bathed in months. Out of pure instinct, you let out a loud whimper and immediately took a step behind your makeshift escort (you still hadn't thought to ask his name yet). He didn't move out from in front of you; instead, he just stood there, staring straight on at the lunatic and standing his ground.
"Look, guy, we're just trying to get home right now -- you-you can put that thing away. I don't want any trouble and neither does she," he said, maintaining his stiff demeanor. You were astounded by the fact that his voice was completely devoid of fear or uncertainty. Meanwhile, you were halfway crouched and had a death-grip on both your purse and his arm, your eyes wide and body trembling like a leaf.
The man spat on the ground and continued his pursuit, baring his teeth like an animal. "Nah, that's too bad for you, I want your fuckin' money or you're gonna fuckin' die, both a'you's -- y'hear me, old man?!"
You wanted to begin yelling out for help, but you couldn't find your voice; you were completely paralysed by fear. You were also mentally impaired and it looked like the entire night sky was spinning, which made the entire experience much worse for you.
"I really mean it, man, just back the fuck off and nobody here has to get hurt." Your escort sounded more inconvenienced than anything -- you couldn't believe it! Did he have a plan of escape? What was going on in his mind?
The man just sort of growled in response. "You really gone and pissed me off now -- now, I'm gonna kill you's, and I'm gonna start with her," his deranged eyes were suddenly on you. You let out a choked shriek and instinctively moved backwards and towards the entrance of the bar. Your hindered reflexes betrayed you once again and you suddenly plummeted to the ground, falling on your rear hard. You were too panicked to cry out in pain. All you could do was stare up in horror at the still-advancing menace, your eyes on the knife the entire time.
"Yeah, I don't fucking think so," your entourage sneered as he reached inside his coat and pulled out an odd device... some sort of gun? You couldn't quite tell, you were sitting on the ground directly behind him.
The next thing you witnessed was a huge flash of green and yellow out of absolutely nowhere -- it was so bright compared to your dark surroundings, you felt like you were going blind. Before you could peer around to see what had happened, you suddenly heard somebody screaming out in agony -- but both the screaming and the lights were gone before you could fully process what was happening.
Blinking rapidly and rubbing your eyes, you hurriedly scrambled back up on your feet. That was too much. Way too much.
"I... what was...? Oh, gosh." You whined breathlessly as you held your head, realising you stood to your feet too quickly.
He turned around to look you over, presumably worried you had hurt yourself, but just kind of shrugged in response. "He was a piece of shit thief who thought he could scare a couple of strangers with a dull, rusted knife and then take their money. He looked like he actually wanted to hurt us, though, so I took care of the problem before it started. He's gone -- you can relax, now."
You felt like you were about to faint all of a sudden. Between what just happened, not eating in three days, and drinking to the point of complete intoxication, you knew you'd finally reached your limits. Before you could utter a response, your vision became totally black -- the last thing you saw before passing out was a flash of white and felt two arms hooking underneath yours before you hit the ground.
~~~
You groaned quietly in response to the unwelcome rays of the sun seeping through your curtains in your room, reaching for the edge of your comforter and pulling it up and over your head. Your head throbbed, and you no doubt would have to throw up if you even thought about sitting up, so you remained as still as possible.
You just sort of laid there and felt like death for a few minutes, knowing that since you were awake, it was going to be nearly impossible to fall back asleep -- especially with how you were feeling. It took a few moments, but the previous night's events suddenly flooded your mind. The bar, the strange man who talked to you for a while and kept you company, the terrifying guy with the knife, the huge, blinding flash of light. Your eyes snapped open and you sat up suddenly, nevermind your head feeling as though it was splitting apart. You looked around your room and your eye caught a piece of folded-up paper on your nightstand -- along with a water bottle?
You bit your lip and slowly reached for the paper, carefully unfolding it to read its contents.
Hey, baby doll.
You kind of freaked out and passed out on me last night. It's fine -- I just checked your ID and did some digging to find out where you lived and took you home, safe and sound. I promise I didn't take anything of yours. Your purse is at the foot of your bed and I left some water for you close by.
Take care of yourself, and eat something so you don't starve.
- Rick
"...Rick." You muttered out loud as you scanned the written words on the page in your hands. You almost didn't catch it, but there was a small arrow drawn at the bottom of the page. You quickly flipped the paper over.
It was a phone number.
You suddenly burst into a fit of giggles for the first time in a long time and snatched the water bottle into your hands, opening and drinking from it, not stopping to take a breath until it was completely gone. You didn't know why you were laughing, but regardless of the reason, it was entirely welcome and you didn't want to stop.