The tears trail down my cheeks as the song trails off; the last mournful tones slowly fading into silence. Ah, I'm such a sap. I open my eyes to the dank interior of a bar as I quickly wipe my cheeks, hoping that nobody's seen me cry. It's been an okay day, but sometimes I just need to hear sad music to tip me into a place where I can let the frustration out. It's really the only release I have anymore. This bar's always been a place where I can come and feel anonymous. For the most part people left me alone, but that didn't stop me from being paranoid about crying in front of a group of strangers - for any reason. It always felt like they'd see it as an open manipulation in order to receive comfort of some sort.
I spot a movement out of the corner of my eye and turn to check it out as a guy casually steps up to the table I'm sitting at, two beers in his hand.
"You alright?" he asks, moving to sit in the booth across from me. Awfully assumptive of him. I frown back at him, annoyed that he's forcing his presence on me when it's not wanted. I cock my head as I look at him, curious. "Why do you care?"
The man, who is actually damned attractive - now that I've had a chance to actually check him out, raises an eyebrow and calmly answers, "Tears usually mean problems." I can feel my expression becoming sour as I mutter, "And what's it to you?" What, is he another 'Mother Theresa'? He really doesn't look the type.
"Looked like you could use an ear," he replies.
I let out a sarcastic laugh. If it's a line, it's a shitty one.
"What're you lookin' for here?" he asks, surprising me.
I'm not sure if he's fucking with me or not, but for some reason I decide to answer honestly. "Some kind of release."
He shrugs and quietly places one of the beers in front of me. I eye it for a moment, then look back over at him. "I don't drink." I explain.
"Why not?" He looks mildly interested in my possible answer. We are, after all, in a bar.
"Don't like the taste." I shoot back.
"When's the last time you tried it?" He asks, leaning back into his seat.
"Many years ago. Hated it then. I'll probably hate it now."
"Never know 'till ya try." He's goading me. He knows that I know he's doing it and he doesn't care. As he smiles, something in his eyes catches me. I feel my heart give a single loud thump as he murmurs, "It'll cure what ails ya."
At a loss for words, I let out a bark of laughter, then pick the beer up. Why am I even bothering? This guy's a just another cocky, nosy prick. And yet - he's taken an interest in some chick he doesn't know from Adam that he's seen getting all emotional in the back booth of a local watering hole. I take a swig, unsurprised to find myself still disgusted with the taste. I grimace and place the beer back on the table. "Yep. Still as shitty as I remember." I grumble, wanting him to leave - but also wanting him to stay. The inner conflict is frustrating. Another irritation to add to the pile. It's getting pretty big of late. I blink as I notice something. He seems interested. When was the last time somebody was honestly interested in me that didn't turn me off entirely? Years. Easily.
He takes a long slow swig then looks me in the eye, his voice becoming a low, husky rumble. "There are other ways to find release, y'know."
