At The Bar Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The woman then turns her attention away from me, where she looks at her husband, who was trying to get her attention. He holds out a shot glass to her. Seems he got three shot, one for her, one for him…and one for his friend.

Even I know how cringe that is. She probably was thinking it was going to be the two of them on Valentine’s. After looking at her face, I can see that annoyed emotion all over her face.

Grabbing my drink, I get up and walk outside to the patio. A pang of pain runs over me as I do this because those three shots bring back a painful memory of my own. When basically the same thing happened to me.

It was my birthday, the last birthday I had when I was still married. My wife took me out for my birthday, which I was really excited about as she never did that. Then I found it was to meet up with her friends and had nothing to do with my birthday. This included the white trash she would run off with. During that night, I purchased a shot for the two of us, but so did her white trash. She made a point of shooting his drink and cheering with him, then shooting mine fast, not even bothering wanting to do it with me. She didn’t even look at me.

At times I feel bad for calling my ex-wife out on the crap things she did when we were trying to work things out. It makes me feel that I was being mean or too harsh. But then I remember things like the shot glass and think I wasn’t being harsh enough. Not sure why on earth I thought I could save that marriage when she didn’t care about me at all.

Knowing how vulnerable I am at the moment; I walk to the patio to get away from looking at that perfect creature. The more I look at her, the more I feel those weird feelings. Feelings of wanting to actually do something to make her mine. To ease myself in her life and save her. After all, why don’t I deserve someone that perfect?

I’m surprised to find that there is no one else outside. Probably because it’s rather cold out here. The loving couples probably want to be huddled in the warm bar then trembling in the freezing cold. But as hot as I’m feeling, the freezing cold feels good.

I find that I’m able to look through the glass patio door and see the bar without anyone noticing. There I’m able to see her…and the crying man. Her expression has now changed from the sweet smile she had to an annoyed expression for her husband. I’m not a mind reader but she is NOT wanting to have a friend’s night, rather a husband’s friend night. From the way they interact the guy is the husband’s work friend and not her friend.

It’s pretty clear to see that the crying man isn’t letting his friend leave. I can’t hear the conversation, but the guy has made a few moves to walk off, but the husband keeps pulling him back into the conversation. The crying man is using him as a buffer so he doesn’t have to deal with the situation of not getting anything for her.

It is cringe, but to be honest, I understand. The husband is scared, and he has the right to be. He doesn’t know how to deal with telling his wife he didn’t get anything for her. And instead of being honest with her and sharing that he doesn’t get whatever computer program at work, he kept it to himself for months. Probably embarrassed because he knows she could look at it once and know how it works while he’s spent days studying and still can’t.

Looking at the corner of the empty, cold patio, I see the display case. I stare at it, thinking how she and I wouldn’t care about how cold it is once we move back there. All that would matter is the two of us want each other. And unlike what she has now, I would give her all my attention and want to be with her.

“What’s stopping me, huh?” I ask the universe as the urge to go up to her and talk to her is so fucking strong. All it would take is one sentence. A sentence I already have in mind; “Where did you get that shirt?” And then I would follow it up by telling her the truth, which is that I’ve never seen such a beautiful woman wear such an awesome shirt before.

I’m not scared of the guy, that’s for sure. I don’t mean that in some macho way either, like I plan on beating him up to impress his wife, that’ll be stupid. I’ve studied martial arts for most of my adult life, so being able to defend myself against some drunken idea is no big feat. Especially as I think he would throw two punches and get winded.

I want her. It’s as simple as that. I want her. Why am I the one always playing by the rules when it doesn’t seem that anyone else does? My ex-wife didn’t when she treated me like shit, cheated on me and left with that white trash asshole. My ex-girlfriend didn’t either when she ignored me after years together, as if I had done some horrible act to her.

Why can’t I be the asshole for once? Especially if it would be to save such a perfect woman from the sinkhole that is her life? Don’t I deserve to be happy? Or at least deserve a chance at happiness? I bet she wouldn’t even care about my health issues.

Men like the crying guy…he’s the type that would run off with my ex-wife. He would do the same to me without a second thought. Men like that justify their crap actions. They make it that they are the victims if you try to stop them. That you are the evil one.

“Fuck it,” I growl, downing the rest of my fresh drink. Riding a high of what I am about to do, I march back into the bar. There I move back to my seat and order a shot. It’s a special shot I get when I’m about to do something that requires a lot of courage, such as karaoke or dancing. It’s more of a ritual as the shot is rather fruity than harsh as it is a “StarFucker.”

I shoot the shot, allowing it to power me for what I’m about to do. Not that I needed it as I’ve already had a few drinks.

Standing at the bar, I try to amp myself as well as be calm at the same time. But then I remember something that changes everything. All I need to do is be myself.