Winona made herself small in the corner of her corner booth, swallowing thickly and willing herself to look away from the bar. It wasn't her night. It wasn't her week. Hell, it wasn't her
month
. Her friends took her out to celebrate her 'independence' from Peter.
They all knew that Winona was sad about the break-up. They all knew Winona had tried, and failed, to mend things with him. Even so, they urged her to 'recontextualize' what their break-up meant, whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. Everyone in their little circle of twenty-something ladies showed up.
Besides Veronica, but that wasn't surprising. Winona and Veronica mixed like fire, water and a heap of spilled oil, which is to say usually 'not great' and more rarely 'fiery and terrible'.
The night out didn't work. She stayed behind after they all left for one more drink, considering it her nightcap... and then Peter walked in. They had picked
this
particular bar because it was well away from Peter's usual stomping grounds. He didn't notice her, but Winona couldn't take her eyes off him.
She watched him do one shot, and then another, and ordered herself another drink. With all the liquid courage in her belly, she wanted to get up, go over and try again. She was
going
to get up, go over and try again, but then a woman sat down next to Peter.
Winona had recognized the dolled-up beautiful blonde immediately. That was when she made herself as small and as unnoticeable as she could. Why was Veronica here, and why was she smiling at Peter that way? Why was she touching his arm and leaning in so close to her boyfriend--
no, my ex,
Winona had to remind herself.
She ordered herself another drink.
And when that drink was done, she ordered herself a soda instead. Petite in every way that mattered, Winona knew she was at her hard limit for alcohol. She already felt on the verge of tears watching her ex flirt with Veronica -- fucking Veronica. Veronica was
almost
everything Winona herself wasn't.
Where Winona was short, Veronica was tall. People called Winona fun-sized, but they called Veronica a supermodel. Where Winona had a farmer's tan, Veronica was just the
perfect
fair shade. And where Winona had long, wavy dark hair, Veronica had perfectly straight blonde hair.
Naturally, it followed that Veronica had strikingly icy blue eyes and Winona had plain brown eyes. They were both slender -- but with her height, Veronica made it work so much better than Winona could. Where Winona was regularly mistaken for a boy with her flat chest, Veronica managed to use hers to her advantage. She knew how to make it work. She could make anything work.
Winona had always been jealous of how she could do that.
How long had she known Veronica? Winona grabbed a napkin and dabbed at her eyes, not wanting to cry while still not trusting herself to uncurl from her little ball. Almost her entire life; their birthdays were just days apart. Their mothers were friends before they were born, and up until they were eight they shared
every single birthday party
. It had become clear before their ninth birthdays that the two girls didn't exactly love one another.
Their mothers stopped that. Still made them go to each other's birthday parties, almost always back to back. Veronica's parties were always a touch bigger and just that little bit more extravagant. Now that she was dwelling on it, Winona couldn't even remember a time where she
wasn't
jealous or resentful of Veronica.
She balled up her napkin and dropped it on the booth's table, then sneaked another glance at the bar. Neither Peter nor Veronica were there any longer, but from the corner of her eye Winona could see the former disappear into the women's washroom. She had to do a double take on the sign to be sure of that. Had he wandered into the wrong washroom by accident?
Part of Winona knew she should just stay in her little corner, or go pay her tab and sneak out while Peter was behind a closed door. The part of Winona that was still madly in love? That part of Winona, intoxicated as it was, was mortified for Peter's sake. She couldn't let him make a fool of himself. She had to protect him from his own lovable stupidity. That was the part of Winona that cared the most, and that was the part that won the day. She got out of her seat and approached the door.
A bad feeling struck Winona and gave her pause, but then she swallowed it down, threw caution to the wind and opened the door. She expected to see her big old doofus of an ex drunkenly looking for a urinal, or maybe trying to use the sink as one in confusion. Instead, she saw -- nothing. Was she the only one in the washroom?
No, she wasn't. One of the bathroom stalls had its door closed. Had Peter found his way in there? That was good. He loved to go for the sink when he was drunk for whatever reason. Something told Winona to leave. She didn't. Fighting her better judgment, fighting what she suspected, Winona went into the stall beside the stall and put her ear to the wall.
"Mm... mm.. Mm.. haaa, not bad at all," Veronica laughed breathlessly between her moans and the softer, wetter noises her mouth made. Winona felt her own mouth go dry. Was she... she couldn't be sucking Peter's cock, could she? She heard a grunt chase those moans, more masculine, but it didn't sound anything like her boyfriend Peter.
My ex-boyfriend,
