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Chocolate. He liked chocolate. He orders a chocolate martini. He idly wonders if it’s a girly drink or not. But then, what does it matter? It’s still alcohol, going straight to his gut because he hadn’t eaten anything. Plus, he’ll probably chase it with a few shots.

It was early afternoon, but it was extremely dim inside of the bar. As it should be, he supposed. It was fitting to his mood; to the mood of the several people in there. From the outside, the bar is nothing but dark tinted windows, making it impossible to see the inside without putting your nose up to the window.

There’s a “Welcome” mat at the double door entrance, but he feels it should say “Bottom of the Barrel,” where it’s black, cramped, and filthy. There are many hanging ceiling lights on, but they’re all on the lowest setting possible. The brightest areas are where the televisions are on; one behind the bar, one in the front right side of the bar, hanging by a ceiling fixture, and one on the left, vice versa.

The bar is only a couple of years old. All of the leather seats are still in tact with hardly any scratches or holes. It is early, so all of the ash trays are clean. The bar is more or less quiet except for the game that’s on, and the sounds of clinking glass as the bartender mixed a drink.

He takes out a cigarette and lights it up. He stares at the red embers. Damn it he thinks. Just when I was on the verge of quitting. He was so close to having at least one problem out of his way. Until she fucked up his life. Beautiful, betraying, bitch. He was certain that if he thought hard enough, he could trace back every ounce of pain and misery that occurred in his life over the last ten years back to her. Forget six degrees of separation; make it three.

Three. The man three stools down from him appeared to be on his third drink. Scotch. There were three patrons in the bar. Everything comes in bloody threes. Then, he thought, if that’s true, that means that as soon as she leaves me again, betrays me somehow, I’d have to do it all over again, one more time, the last and third time, before I die. Fucking threes.

He deeply pulled on the cigarette as he looked at the older man down three stools. He had a large, bulbous nose, and his back seemed hunched. He trembled as he thought that one day, that could be him. Old, alone, getting drunk off his ass at a lonely bar for the dregs, with a protruding gut. He thought of choking her for putting him there. But no, that would be too easy. Maybe hitting her with his car, running over and over her tanned body, leaving skid marks of blood on the blacktop. No, she’d probably die from the initial impact of the first hit. Or maybe a harpoon… It would be glorious. He gave a grin of sick satisfaction.

What does it matter for him to have murderous thoughts? A thought couldn’t hurt anyone. So what if he wished her bodily harm? Thoughts were meaningless, as long as he didn’t let it evolve into a plan. Plans were bad. They had plans. Of marriage, 2.5 kids, and white, picket fences. Maybe a sheep dog. Though, he had wanted a black Doberman. But what did it matter?

How could she just break my heart? The whole situation just left a sour taste in his mouth. Mouth. She has a nice mouth. Her soft, pink tongue could spit fire though. Oh boy, could she cut a man down in size in a matter of seconds. Yea, that’s what the bitch did. She emasculated him.

It wasn’t fair. But then again, what was? Nothing was fair, and nothing mattered. Not anymore. Except for when she looked at him. Those large, hazel, intense eyes would penetrate him to the core of his soul. She really burned him, and yet he was still drowning in her. She has to be the devil. She is everywhere, and is all that is evil. Lord knows their relationship was nothing but a trip- to Hell. Yes, she was the Princess of Darkness, who took many forms. Satan, Old Scratch, El Diablo, Beelzebub… but he knew her as Buffy.

********


I really didn't want to go. I thought it was just going to be another boring day at the supermarket. Especially since I was with my mother. Just another uneventful Saturday afternoon. Well, for me anyway.

"Why do you keep avoiding my questions?" I heard the man ask. He was directly behind us in the checkout line.

"Stop it. People will hear you." The woman tried to whisper.

"Hear me? Hear me?! You think I actually give a fuck if they hear me? What? Am I embarrassing you now?"

"Shut up, Will. Now is not the time."

"It's never the time, is it? It's never time for me. Always him, isn't it? I'm not good enough, right? Why do you keep on punishing me?" He said in a pleading voice.

"Please, can we discuss this at home? Please?" I could almost feel her darting her head back and forth, looking at their pseudo audience, who were pretending to not watch at all. It felt too weird for me to just turn around. So I listened instead; intently.

"Home? What Home? I wasn't aware we had one. Doesn't a home consist of love, a family? Which we clearly lack."

"Look, I promise as soon as we- "

"No! I'm tired of this. I'm tired of you and your bullshit. How much can a man take? You belittle me endlessly in front of our friends and family. Do you even love me anymore?"

"Of course I do." She said in a slow, steady voice.

"But you're not in love with me, right? You're not in- God, I can't do this. If you can't forgive me, fine. Then leave me. End my torment. If you won't forgive me, then just leave me, alright? Just leave, cause at least then, the pain would be quicker. It would be easier."

"No! You can't just give me an ultimatum in a grocery store, for crissakes! You –”

"What? What?! You actually have the stones to tell me what and what the hell I can't do? Sod this!" I heard a small piece of metal drop on the floor. I figured he dropped a ring.

"Good bye, Buffy. I hope you and Liam work it out." He said somberly. I saw him walk away out of my peripheral vision.

"Don't go. Please." But only I heard her. Maybe someone else actually saw her lips move. Before he walked out of the door, he turned back and gave her a quick glance. His shockingly blue, soulful eyes were burdened with salt water.

I don't know what made me do it, but I felt compelled to turn around then. She seemed to stare at the floor for hours. Then she looked at me. She was a sad, sorry sight. Her large green eyes looked so bleak and hopeless. I bent down and picked up the gold band. I placed it in her hand and closed it.

"Go to him." I don't know why I said it, but she listened to me. She nodded as tears leaked from her now red eyes. Then she ran.





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