"No, thanks," I said quietly. "Just a gin and tonic."

"Okay," he said politely. "At least let me bring you an extra lime for your tequila shot. It's going to burn." At that, he walked back to the other side of the bar to get my drink.

I looked down at the small shot gla.s.s full of the threatening amber liquid. It's going to burn, I mocked him in my head; and then, in an action consisting mostly of stupidity and partially of spite, I picked up the gla.s.s, put it to my lips, and slammed the drink back.

"blech!" I sputtered while shaking my head violently. It was disgusting. I couldn't imagine how a lime would have improved that in any possible way. I must have been making quite a face. When the bartender made his way over to me, I could tell he was trying not to smile. Jerk.

I pushed the shot gla.s.s toward him. "Thanks," I coughed. He put my gin and tonic down on the bar, and produced a lime from a tray behind him. "You forgot this," he smiled at me, and left again.

If he wasn't such a condescending jerk, he could have been cute. He had a sweet smile.

That line of thinking, of course, led me back to Matt. Had it started like that with my Yoga instructor? Just a simple observation of how cute she was? Was it one of those, "One thing lead to another, and we were kissing," kind of things? That sounded so stupid. Thinking about it was so depressing. It was like, the instant I thought his name, or thought about what happened, a wave of sadness crashed down on me again. I let it take me under once more as I looked down, my teary eyes on my drink.

I had hoped that the fact that I was sitting at the end of the bar, literally crying into my drink would have stopped anyone from trying to approach me. Turns out, I was wrong.

About 20 minutes after I sat down, I was approached by a guy who I can only describe as "douchey looking". He was wearing not one, but two obnoxiously colored polo s.h.i.+rts, with both collars sticking up. His hair was slicked back, and half of his face was hidden behind a pair of aviator style sungla.s.ses. That's right, he was wearing sungla.s.ses inside a dark pub. At night. I took all of this in during the brief moment between Mr. Polo's tap on my shoulder, and his charming opening line.

"Hey Beautiful. You look like you need a friend. Why don't you come sit with me? I'll be your friend." I couldn't see where he was staring because of his stupid gla.s.ses, but his eyebrow movement alone was enough to make me uncomfortable. Even though this guy deserved the kind of witty tongue las.h.i.+ng and nasty look that I'd seen Sara produce, and even though internally I was thinking all of the same kinds of things that Sara would say, my response was still polite-too polite.

"No thanks. I'd kind of just like to be alone," I said softly.

"Aww, come on baby," a member of Mr. Polo's douche patrol chimed in from behind him. I hadn't noticed him until then. "Just come hang with us. We'll make you feel better," he said. He and Mr. Polo exchanged a look. It must have been some sort of douche code. I tried to be less polite this time.

"No, really," I said more sternly, "I'm fine. Thanks."

"At least let me buy you a drink," Mr. Polo insisted.

"Yo," he motioned toward the bartender with the nice smile. "We need a drink over here!" As the bartender made his way back over to where I was seated, I tried to insist that Mr. Polo and his friend did not, in fact, need to buy me a drink.

"Really," I pushed back, "I can buy my own drink. Thanks anyway." I was getting agitated. Couldn't a girl just go to a bar on a Friday night and cry?

The bartender was standing in front of me then, and Mr. Polo was giving him instructions on what I wanted to drink. It was some apple concoction that I had no interest in trying. Finally, Mr. Polo and his sidekicks went back to their booth, being sure to point out to me where they were sitting, so I could come "thank us later, babe". The thought of the type of thanks he had in mind made me cringe a little. What a creep.

The bartender walked over with a martini gla.s.s containing bright green liquid. He raised one eyebrow, "Do you even want this thing?"

"No," I said, probably sounding like a petulant toddler for the second time that night, "I told him that and he wouldn't listen. If he thinks I'm going to go gaga over some idiot with a Top Gun complex just because he bought me a stupid green drink, he's got another thing coming." Maybe my tequila shot and follow up drinks were acting fast. I always thought things like this in my own head, but saying them out loud, and to a total stranger for that matter, was something I had never done.

"No worries," the bartender said coolly, "I'll handle this." He winked as he walked a few steps down the bar toward a woman who could best be described as a "cougar", and she was clearly on the prowl. The two of them exchanged a few words that I couldn't hear, and I saw him point in the direction of the Douche Crew's booth. He gave me a slight smile, and then went to take care of some people who had just come in. I went back to my drink.

A few minutes later I looked up and saw the cougar lady get up from her place at the bar, and walk over to the Douche Crew's booth. She was wearing a skin tight leopard print top, black leather pants of equal or greater tightness, and a pair of five inch heels that looked like they were made of plastic. She wasn't old: maybe early to mid-40s. She had to have been really pretty at one point; but now her face was coated with makeup in what I guessed was an attempt to cover the leathery texture her skin had taken on. Her skin color was a darker shade of brown than my own, but you could tell from her features that she was supposed to be Caucasian. I winced at the thought of how many hours she must have spent in a tanning bed to have that sort of complexion in December.

She sat down at the booth without a word. I could tell from her body language that she had no intention of going anywhere, or taking no for an answer. It served them right for being jerks.

The bartender came over then, interrupting my catty reverie.

"Can I get you another?" he asked, glancing in the direction of the now Cougar occupied booth. He gave a grin. "I told you I'd take care of your friends. That's Lonnie. She'll be on them like a hawk until they leave the place.

A couple of hours later, I had ordered a few more drinks, finding that the more I drank, the less I felt like randomly bursting into tears in public. I had also discovered that the bartender's name was Brennan, and that every female in the place, including those who worked with him, had seemed h.e.l.l bent on flirting with him. It was hard to blame them, but it was still disgusting to watch. Didn't they know how stupid they looked?

I didn't know why I was so annoyed that these girls were flirting with him. I certainly had no claim over him. He just seemed better than the type of guy that would be interested in those giggly girls with tiny s.h.i.+rts and painted on jeans. I was probably wrong, but since there was no one around to correct me, I went with my own theory.

Shortly after one in the morning, the crowd in the bar started to file out. Even the Douche Crew had left, glaring at me as they pa.s.sed. Lonnie followed behind them, chatting away. She smiled and waved at the bartender as she left.

Soon after that, it was just the two of us at the bar, and few old guys in back by the dart boards. Since arriving at the pub, I had set my phone to vibrate. After the fifth time Matt called, it almost buzzed its way off the bar, so I just turned it off. I made an exasperated noise.

"It seems like someone really wants to get a hold of you," Brennan noted, eyeing the phone as I put it into my pocket.

"Yes," I said in a clipped tone. "And I don't want them to succeed." I raised my eyebrows in an expression that I hoped would say 'let's just leave it at that', and Brennan went back to his busy work of wiping down the bar. A feeling of guilt hit me hard, and I leaned over the bar in an effort to make my voice reach him on the other side. "I'm sorry," I called. "It's just been a bad night." Brennan walked toward me once more.

"Do you want to talk about it?" his green eyes were looking straight into mine. I gave a slight chuckle.

"Sure, why not?" I said, eyeing my gla.s.s as I swirled the ice cubes around inside of it. Maybe not knowing Brennan and not having a reason to care what he thought of me would be reason enough to open up. In all honesty, my fourth or fifth Gin and Tonic was just as good a reason as any.

CHAPTER 2 - BRENNAN.

In response to my question, the girl put her gla.s.s down on the bar with only a sip left among the ice cubes.

"You know, Brennan," she contemplated, "those are getting better." I rolled my eyes, grinning at my own joke. The poor girl was clueless to the fact that only the first couple of drinks she ordered had been served to her at full potency. I could see after the first drink she was a light weight, and I was not about to serve five full strength gin and tonics to a girl who stood no taller than 5'4 and was probably a buck twenty soaking wet. It was almost closing time and I was wiping down the bar. This girl had been here for 3 hours, 5 gin and tonics (3 of which were watered down), and two bowls of pretzels. Clearly, something was not going right for this girl.

"Think you've had enough?" I asked, half grinning. Her big brown eyes looked up at me through the ma.s.s of dark curls that had been falling in her face since she ran into the bar.

"eh" she mumbled incoherently. "'Enough' is a meaningless word, Brennan. One day, you think you have enoughand the next day, you're sleeping with your fiance's Yoga instructor." She stared down at the bar, and continued, her tone soft and her voice close to cracking, "Suddenly, the things that were enough, and the people who were everything, mean nothingor at leastthey don't mean enough"

I ducked my head downward, trying to get in her line of sight. "Were you the fiance , or the Yoga instructor?" I asked, raising one eyebrow. I was relatively sure of the answer, but I thought it was better to not a.s.sume.

She laughed, apparently finding my question funnier than I had meant it to be. "The fiance" she sighed. "The stupid fiance who is soon to be the ex fiance." She hit the emphasis on 'ex' hard, and her words held the unsteadiness of a woman who did not need another gin and tonic.

" I want to hate them," she muttered, and stared into her gla.s.s of ice cubes. She slowly brought her hands up to cover her face and I heard her sniff.

"Hey," I said, handing her a tissue from under the bar. "you don't have to talk about it anymore. For what it's worth, it sounds like your fiance is an idiot."

"Thanks" she gave me a half smile. "You aren't the first person to say that tonight"

I didn't know this girl, but that sad face of hers just killed me. She was like a puppy: too cute for her own good, and something just drew me to her. Not that she looked anything comparable to a dog. She was beautiful. Even in all her sadness, her eyes were beautiful, chocolate brown-- the most demanding feature on her soft face. The closest compet.i.tion were her lips-subtle, yet full, and right under a small, round nose. I couldn't see her body, but I was imagining it was- "Brennan?" she interrupted my thought, which was probably for the better. This girl was clearly damaged goods. There was no reason to stand here marveling at her features.

"Uh-yeah? Sorry, I was thinking about something. What's up?"

"Drink?" she asked, one eyebrow raised. I guessed one more watered down Gin and Tonic wouldn't hurt. It would kill time while I closed down. This girl was not getting home on her own.

As I prepared her drink, I watched her out of the corner of my eye, hoping she wouldn't be able to tell what I was doing. Sitting there, all alone in the corner of bar, she looked so sad, and more vulnerable than anything I'd ever seen. I didn't know her well, sure, but, she seemed sweet. What kind of idiot would cheat on a girl like that?

I walked over to her end of the bar-watery drink in hand. She looked up when I approached, and I noticed she was crying again. What an a.s.shole was all I could think.

"Here," I said, sitting the drink down in front of her. "After this one, I'm taking you home though." Her eyes shot straight in my direction this time.

"No," her big brown eyes grew even larger. "I can't go home right now." She was serious. It made me suspicious, and a little concerned.

"Why are you so scared to go to your own house? Has this guy hit you or something?" I worked to keep my tone even.

"No, no." her voice was calmer now. "It's nothing like that. It's justhe has this way about him. He's too persuasive." I gave her a look, my brow furrowed.

"Oh come on!" She demanded. "Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. Some people are just good at getting their way. Matt is one of those people. If I go home tonight, he'll be there, and he'll see me, and we'll talk, and eventually, I'll start seeing things his way. And you know what Brennan? I don't want to see things his way. Soavoidance is key."

I was still just looking at her. Apparently, this made her defensive. "Don't give me that look! I know I'm a chicken s.h.i.+t, but I am trying to deal with this the best way I can. Some girls could just say, 'screw you, d.i.c.k!' and be done, but I'm not like that. At least I can recognize I'm not strong like that. Give me some credit. I'm trying to work around my weakness"

"Why not just strengthen your weakness?" I gave her a teasing smile. "Sometimes, some people deserve to be told 'screw you'.

"Screw you," she slurred, only seeming half serious, and looked back down at her drink.

"I'm only trying to help. If you don't want to go home, where do you want to go? 'Cause, I hate to break it to you, but you can't stay here, and I'm not leaving you on the curb." I looked at the clock. It was close enough to closing time. I went to the door of the small, dusty pub, and flipped the "open" light off.

"You have five minutes to decide," I said, taking her gla.s.s away to wash it.

"Hey!" She began to protest, her face scrunched up in an angry pout. "Forget it. I was done anyway," she said, and her expression changed to something cutely defiant. This girl was drunk. She then started to rummage through a giant bag, I a.s.sumed, looking for a wallet.

"Heartbreak special," I called. "It's on the house." No way was I charging a drunk girl for watered down drinks on the night she found out her fiance cheated on her.

It looked for a second like she was going to protest, but she instead gave in. I a.s.sumed it was because she had no idea where her wallet was, and I a.s.sumed that because I'd picked it up an hour earlier where it had fallen behind the bar.

"I guess I should go to my friend's house," she said after a long silence. "I'll call her to pick me up." She pulled out her phone and began pressing b.u.t.tons in no particular order. I seriously doubted she would get anyone on the phone. She held it to her ear, looked confused, then pressed the end b.u.t.ton. She did this more than a few times before she finally seemed to reach what must have been her friend's voicemail.

"Sara, it's Charley. Can you come get me? I'm at the end of the bar. I'll wait here until you show up. Thanks."

I just rolled my eyes, sure that this Sara girl would be here any minute. h.e.l.l, maybe she was psychic. I had learned something interesting though. Her name was Charley. At least, I thought it was. She could be Sara who was calling Charley, and who was extremely drunk and confused. With this girl, there was really no way of knowing.

A few minutes later, I put the last gla.s.s away, gave the bar one more good wipe down, and grabbed my keys. I had decided to just drive her to Sara's houseor Charley's housewho-the-h.e.l.l-ever's house, instead of waiting for some ill-informed person to show up and take her home.

"Okay. You ready? I think you should just let me drive you where you need to go." There was no answer. I looked over to her spot at the end of the bar to find her slumped in the stool, head on the bar, brown curls cascading around her. It had taken her all of two seconds to fall asleep-- or pa.s.s out. I wasn't sure which at that point. I walked over to her and tapped her shoulder.

"Umm...Charley?" I tested out the name. No response. "Hey! Get up," I said, poking her a little harder this time.

She groaned a dry "huh?" sound, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Come on. I'll help you out," I said.

"Where are we going?" She asked sleepily. "Is Sara here?" her voice perked up.

"No, Sara is not here. I'm going to take you to her. Do you think you can remember her address?"

"Yup!" She said with certainty. "Its 1.umm...1It's on Lakeland Circle. But I can take my bike. It's ok."

With that, she hopped off her barstool, wobbling a little with her landing, and started to stumble toward the door. I followed her, catching her just before she fell after tripping over her own feet. I scooped my arm under hers and wrapped it around her waist in an attempt to keep her upright.

The problem was that she was so much shorter. I either had to stoop down to keep my hand at her waist, or stand up straight and risk having a drunk girl think I was trying to grope her. I went with a third option, and hunched over to pick her up and place her over my shoulder-fireman style. I probably looked more like a caveman, but it would get us out of the bar, and allow me to lock the door without worrying about her.

"Haha!" she gave a drunk laugh. "This is like that Spetor song!"

"Who?" I asked her, having no idea what she was talking about.

"C'mon, bartender, just a little more tender," she slurred in what sounded like a singing tone. "I ate all your peanuts. Now return me to sender!" She sang loudly, then began giggling at a joke I didn't understand.

She was unbelievably drunk. I should have cut her off sooner.

After a few more seconds, she began kicking and demanding that I put her down "Now, dammit!" It was kind of funny, but I put her down once I got outside the door.

"Stay right there, okay?" I said loudly, while staring directly into her eyes. I did this in the way that obnoxious people speak to others who don't speak their language. Loud and slow, as if volume and speed are all it takes to break a language barrier. I hoped in this case, it would work.

"Regina!" I heard her say behind me. "Regina Spektor. That's who sings that," she went on. "Matt hates her. I asked him to go to a concert of hers with me once, but he said he'd rather stick a rusty nail in his eardrum. Said my taste in music sucked'you like c.r.a.p' that's what he said," she trailed off. I was trying to find the right key to lock the shop up.

"Uh uh," I humored her, "Sounds like a jerk. You're better off," that part was true as far as I could tell. "Just stay still, okay?" I said without turning around to see her.

She was mumbling something about shadow twins. I had no idea what that meant. I kept fumbling with the keys in my hand, quietly cursing the old locks that my boss insisted on using.

The next few seconds went by too fast, and I still have trouble remembering the exact order of things. As I was turned to lock the door, I heard the light sc.r.a.ping sounds of shoes on sidewalk. In the few seconds it took me to make the connection that those shoes belonged to Charley, it was too late. I turned around to find her stepping into the street. At some point, I screamed to get her attention, but it was useless. One moment she was bathed in the headlights of the large dark car, with its horn filling the cols night air, and the next moment, I heard the unforgettable sound of the car's front colliding with the fragile girl's body. It had hit her before either of us could react, leaving her sprawled on the pavement, her limbs bent at unnatural angles, and blood trickling down her face.

I ran over to her, not even thinking about the car that had hit her, or its driver. Both would be long gone by the time that thought occurred to me.

CHAPTER 3 BRENNAN.

A couple of hours later, I was standing in a hospital room with almost no idea how I'd gotten there. I say 'almost no idea' because I know what I did to be allowed in, but to this day, I still have no idea how it worked. After I'd called 911, it only took a few ridiculously long minutes for the ambulance to show up. Once the paramedics arrived, I moved back from where I had been kneeling next to Charley, and let them take over.

After they established she was still breathing and her heart was still beating, they stabilized her, and lifted her limp, small body onto the stretcher. The right thing to do would have been to say my goodbye and stay and talk to the police. For some reason, I just couldn't leave her like that. There was a small ping of panic in my chest at the thought of her being in the ambulance alone--or--without me. That was when the lie was born.

"She's my fiance," I blurted out as they loaded her into the ambulance, not even really sure what I was doing at that point. "I need to go with her," I told the police officer who was questioning me.

The man was lanky with light brown hair and a 70's movie star-style mustache. He looked like a creep, but turned out to be pretty understanding. He asked me a few more questions as I let him into the pub to retrieve the video tape from the surveillance system that was installed to monitor the front of the building. After that, he let me go to the hospital. He gave me his card, and I agreed to meet him at the police station the following morning to go over any other questions he had.

As I raced over in my truck, I had worried about how I was going to find her. I was supposedly her fiance, and yet I didn't know her last name. Just then, her phone buzzed in my jeans pocket. I fished it out of my pocket, while reducing the trucks speed. The last thing I needed was another accident tonight. While stopped at a red light, I looked at the phone's screen. It was black, so I pressed the "unlock" b.u.t.ton at the top. The phone woke up, and the words "This phone belongs to Charley Vaughan. One new Text message" appeared on the phone's screen. I ran my finger across the screen to unlock it, and read the message.

"Where are you??

~Sara"

I didn't know what to say to this girl. I put the phone back in my pocket.