I must have drank until I passed out. I don’t know how many bottles of wine I went through with my friend but it was enough that I woke up with cotton mouth and a pounding headache.
I found out that WineBar had gotten drunk with his friends.
Two days later, he was on a flight to Miami.
And I cried.
I loved him.
This was the man that had driven me around my city, showing me parts of it that I had never known.
Here was a man that made everything feel new.
Who once drank all the Tito’s in a bar.
Who put me on a pedestal and worshipped me.
And who now with his absence caused that pedestal to crack and break.
I was broken. On the floor.
Dragged through the mud.
Torn.
There was no hope.
How could I have been so stupid?
There was no us.
Only me.
And the dark night of despair.
Emilia
Not that damn song again.
I swear, it’s haunting me. Following me everywhere I go.
Can’t a girl just wallow in her heartbreak in peace?
I knock back my shot of tequila and try to forget. A challenge that’s becoming nearly Herculean.
“Can I get another?” I gesture frantically for the bartender as soon as my glass hits the polished wood.
He’s right there, pouring my fourth—or is it fifth?—shot.
“Let me guess,” he says with a wink, “you don’t like flying?”
I nod my head, even though flying doesn’t bother me in the least, because it’s a lot easier to just go along with what he says rather than explain to him why I’m actually drinking myself into oblivion while I wait on my flight to Fiji.
Yeah, that’s right. I’m drowning my sorrows before I run away. Go ahead and judge. You wouldn’t be the first.
As if on cue, my phone lights up with a text from Erin.
Are you sure you’re making the right decision?