He downed the last traces of his amber scotch and toasted the bartender with his empty glass. He really ought to stop drinking down. Four scotches down, he was already inviting the mother of all hangovers. Yet, as the bartender refilled his glass, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out towards. He ran one long finger through the glistening condensation and then picked the glass up. He looked around himself.
It was the usual weekday crowd, sprinkled in between were small groups of celebrations. He liked these moments the best. The people didn’t crowd around you and blow smoke in your face, but they didn’t desert you completely either. His eyes parked on at the woman sitting on the couch beside the mirrored wall. She was looking back at him too. She smiled seductively at him and raised a silent toast in his direction. He returned her toast and then turned his back on her.
In the mirror behind the bartender, he could still see her. But all he could think of was black eyes. Almond shaped black eyes, fringed with thick long lashes; eyes which sparkled with laughter and misted with emotions. He was in love with her eyes. But then he was in love with the way she spoke too. The unnoticed lisp she tried so hard to cover? That was so adorable. She had sexy feet. The pink toe nails she wriggled to relieve stress? They turned him on in a way in which horny porn stars never could.
And yet he was here, alone in a bar drinking scotch after scotch, seeking traces of her existence in the burn of the liquid. His love undeclared, unclaimed, silent. Why didn’t he tell her about it?
He took a swig of his drink. He didn’t tell her because he had dreams, where she had constrictions. She had problems, to which he had no solutions. She had the strength, but he lacked the will to back it. She was trapped and he couldn’t slay the dragons to set her free. But he loved her. He loved her with a passion he couldn’t explain to himself. He hated himself for being such a coward. But if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t strong enough to carry both their burdens.
Maybe he was. Maybe he just never tried. Maybe he should try. He wiped the traces of liquid from around his lips and headed out of the bar. Maybe he should tell her tonight. Maybe she had all the answers. Maybe tonight would be his last maybe.
As the clear breeze of the cool night slapped some sobriety into him, he pulled his cell phone out. For a long moment he stared at it. He heaved in a deep sigh and dialed her number. The phone just kept on ringing. It seemed she would never pick up.
“Hello?” she said groggily. God! She sounded so hot when she was sleepy.
“Hey..” he managed.
“Umm.. is it me or is it really one in the morning?”
“Uhuh.. you been drinking?”
“Ok! Is this something important?”
“Is there something you want to say?”
“You called just like that?”
“ok do you want to hang up?”
“You want me to guess what you called for?”
“This is exasperating. Do u need a taxi home?”
“You know what? Guys normally call up in the middle of the night to make romantic proclamations. Are you in one of those moods?”
“You want to make a romantic proclamation?!!”
“Ok, who’s the girl?”