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By: Calliope
“Does it always end up this way with you?” A sigh. A sip. Well, maybe more like a gulp. And then the inevitable burp that even Jay Leno had smiled at. “What way?” “This.” He waved his hands around with what he knew to be crazy gestures. “At a bar. In the middle of your God-knows-what-number drink. Moping about her.” There was a defensive gathering of glasses and a glare towards the offender. “I’m not moping. Shit. Especially not about her. Can’t a guy just get a drink without people asking so fucking many questions?” His friend offered a shrug and slid onto the bar stool next to him. “Sure thing, man. Just be careful that you don’t inspire so many questions next time.” The younger man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks. Don’t try to spare my feelings or anything.” “Spare your feelings?” Behind a conspicuous pair of yellow-tinted lenses, an eyebrow arched. “In order for me to spare your feelings, you’d have to be fragile state of mind like…oh, I don’t know…moping. And I thought you weren’t moping?” “I’m not.” “So what do you call this sudden affinity for Sam Adams and friends?” “Discovery.” Bad answer. He shouldn’t have said that. Discovery was what had landed him there in the first place. Discovery of her, discovery of him, discovery of how right the two of them felt together and how wrong she seemed to think they were. Only fitting that he should end up discovering the very thing that had brought them together. Maybe he’d actually get some answers. Of course, he wasn’t thinking about her. “Well, in that case,” the tattooed man with sunglasses paused to stretch backwards. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough discovering for one evening?” He scoffed. “Like you’re one to talk.” “I am. I know what it’s like to lose a girl because you didn’t chase her long enough. I know what it’s like to give up before the war’s even started.” His friend paused in his pep talk to steal the half-empty bottle away and stow it on the other side of his wiry frame. “Let me tell you, man, it sucks. You don’t want to go down that road. It’s nothing but dead ends and lots more liquor.” He sighed. “I don’t know. Liquor and I are getting pretty tight these days.” “Yeah, but you and her don’t seem to be getting any closer together.” “I thought we agreed that I wasn’t thinking about her?” “No, you agreed that you weren’t thinking about her. I, on the other hand, quickly picked up on the fact that you were feeding me more bullshit that you’ve been drinking and decided to discard it.” He slammed his hand down on the table in frustration, running a hand through his hair. “Dammit, what do you want from me?” His friend’s arm muscles rippled as he folded his arms across his chest. “I think the question, little man, is what you want from her.” He knew the answer to that one. He’d figured it out the second she walked out the door, the second he’d quit wanting anything from her. When she walked out the first time, he figured out that she wasn’t going to go out of her way to give him anything he wanted, and he knew that the best solution at that point was to quit wanting. “I don’t want anything from her.” His voice was softer than he cared for, but he wasn’t slurring his words anymore. “Never have, really. I just wanted her to be able to be her while she was with me, instead of going off and being her with another guy.” His friend sighed. “Well, that didn’t quite happen the way you planned, did it?” “I swear…next time we go out in public and it doesn’t involve alcohol, you’re taking some lessons in the art of tact.” “Just like she should be taking lessons in the art of reception?” “Shit.” He needed another drink, or at least the second half of his prior one. Truth to tell, he couldn’t remember what number he was on either. It was already time to hand over the keys, though. The lights were starting to make him dizzy. “Shit.” He didn’t have to be able to see straight to know that his companion was shooting an eye roll in his direction. “What?” “The way I see it, dude, you’ve got two choices: you can either accept the fact that it’s never gonna happen between the two of you and surrender to whatever poison you prefer while she bags a bunch of other, lovelier men, or you can get your sorry ass out of this dive and start thinking of alternative methods of pursuit.” “How insightful. Thanks for the pep talk. Now, what the hell am I supposed to say to her this time around? I mean, it’s not like we haven’t done this twice already…” “Didn’t know there was a special on sarcasm today.” “Fuck you, too.” And, finally, the friend sighed. “Look, I’m trying to help you out.” Oddly enough, he understood that much. He didn’t want any more help, though. He figured that, somewhere along the line, the two of them had gotten to the point that they were beyond help. “Then buy me another drink.” “How about we drive you home and I make you one?” At last, he could raise an ash-blonde eyebrow over a wide, glassy blue eye. “You gonna continue to make conversation about her?” His friend’s expression matched his exactly. “Only if you’re going to keep moping.” He sighed in consent. “Fine. No more moping.” “So you admit you were moping?” He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, okay? Can I ask you a question?” “Sure. Shoot.” He groaned inwardly at how pitiful he sounded to himself. The question wasn’t even out yet, and he was already cringing, but he had to know and so he asked it anyway. “Has she said anything about me?” He closed his eyes against the sigh that met his question. “Yeah. Yeah, she has.” “What’d she say?” “You really wanna know?” He did. Maybe. Maybe not. He could still see the look on her face when she’d walked out the second time, and he wasn’t exactly sure he was ready to hear any of the words that had formed behind a glare that intense. “Not exactly.” “Didn’t think so. Now, what do you say we go make that drink?” He sighed with relief that time, because he’d spent another night without her. “Sounds good.” If he were lucky, he’d end up passing out before they got home, and then he’d get a few hours rest before he had to think about her again. “Man, you’d better not fall asleep on me.” “Why the hell not?” The warning look he got in response was ominous. “You might dream about her…” He already had his eyes closed.
Part
Eight: Over Spilled Drinks
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