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Feel like I’m gonna lose control *Author's Note: As a referrence note to understand the
circumstances surrounding
this
chapter, notions here for clarification purposes, are a direct parallel
to those found in Chapter
15 and the beginning of Chapter
16 of A
Tale of Two Popstars.*
He blinked. Brown eyes. How had he gotten here? He knew where
he was. The question
was how he had
gotten there. He couldn’t
remember. Probably had
to do with the fact
that he’d already had four drinks, was on his fifth, and was about to
order his
sixth. “Make it a
double,” he requested
when the bartender asked if he wanted a refill. “Problems?”
the bartender
inquired. Ritchie stared
at him
blankly. “Man, you’ve got no idea.” Nodding with
faux understanding,
the bartender went of to fill his order, and Ritchie was again left to
contemplate how in the hell he’d gotten there. Or rather forget
why he
was there. All he wanted to do was just forget. Just for a minute. That his life wasn’t his, or rather that it wasn’t such a fucking mess. He had no idea what he was doing. How had he gotten here? He’d had a run-in with his ex-girlfriend, but that wasn’t the problem. Sure he hated how it was so familiar being around her, but this time he hadn’t been rattled about it. Couldn’t care less. Ritchie frowned. That fact had distracted him all day. Distracted him to the point where he couldn’t lay down his vocals and when Aliesa had come into the studio he’d… Aliesa. Brown eyes. Ritchie blinked. He motioned to the bartender for another drink. How had he gotten here? He’d left his house to clear his head. Drove and just kept on driving. That was until he’d caught sight of a sign at the side of the road. Then he’d pulled over. Getting out of his car, he’d slammed the door shut, only stopping to pause and stare hard at the establishment whose lot he had just parked into. Knowing that it was only going to make it worse. Drinking and him always equaled trouble, but damn with the day he’d just had, did that dive bar look mighty inviting right then. Brown eyes. He had to stop thinking. It couldn’t be right. “Same thing?” Ritchie’s eyebrows furrowed, “No, something’s different…” The bartender gave him a sympathetic nod, “Maybe you should call it a night? It’s pretty late. We stop serving in half an hour,” he informed him. “You have someone you can call? Maybe your wife?” he suggested. Ritchie cocked his head, “My wife?” The bartender tapped the wedding band on Ritchie’s hand. Ritchie’s eyes squinted as he looked at it thoughtfully. “I never bought her an engagement ring, so it doesn’t count.” He waved absently. “And she hates me.” The bartender smiled. “Maybe you should buy her a ring then?” Ritchie blinked. “Aliesa?” Throwing the towel in his hand over his shoulder, the bartender nodded. “Tell you what-I’ll call you a cab.” How had he gotten here? Ritchie concentrated on the empty glass in front of him. And he frowned hard. All he could see were her brown eyes.
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