Chapter 2: The Bar, the Bombshell, and the Goodbye

2.

Derek showed up at my place with a six-pack and a lopsided grin, refusing to take no for an answer. “Dude, you gotta get out. No more moping alone.”

He said it was only fair—I’d made him suffer through my sappy couple years, so now he got to watch me drink away my heartbreak.

He was right. I’d been that guy—always posting couple selfies, ordering extra fries so we could share. Now it was my turn to be the sad single friend.

The bar was neon-lit chaos. The jukebox in the corner blared classic rock, the floor sticky with spilled beer and regret. For a minute, it felt like college—loud, messy, immortal. We snagged a booth and shouted our order over the music.

Derek clinked glasses with me. “It’s fine, man. Lillian’s a ten, you got to sleep with her—no loss! With your paycheck, you couldn’t afford a girl like her anyway. Take it as a blessing.”

I glared. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

He grinned, backing off. “Alright, alright. Let’s drink.”

He raised his shot glass in a fake toast to my misery. The tequila burned, but I welcomed the numbness.

We yelled half our conversation, laughed too loud, and for a while, the heartbreak felt like someone else’s problem.

Derek kept telling me to drink, but he’s a lightweight. After a few rounds, he was already slurring his words.

He tried to arm-wrestle a guy twice his size, nearly toppled a tray of drinks. I had to drag him back to our table like a toddler.

I still had work in the morning.

I checked my phone, the glow reminding me of real life—work emails, client pings, all waiting for me to sober up.

I thought about calling in sick, but rent was due and my boss had zero chill. No dice.

After dropping Derek at his place, I took a Lyft home. The ride was quiet, the city lights blurring by, rain tapping on the window. I watched my reflection, looking tired and a little lost.

Honestly, I wanted to cry, but my jaw just locked up. I stared out the window, clenching my teeth until my head hurt.

I wanted to text her, too, but I held back. Every draft sounded too desperate or too cold. My hands shook. I deleted them all.

I felt like a joke—three years of planning, saving, dreaming about a future with her. Now it all seemed pointless, like building a sandcastle before high tide.

She always said her family was poor, that she never felt secure. I believed her. I wanted to give her something real.

But now? Were all those moments fake?

She said, “had enough fun,” and that was it? I wanted to punch something, scream, but all I did was stare at my shoes.

I leaned my head against the window, letting the bumpy road rattle my thoughts. The driver glanced back once, didn’t say a word. Just another sad guy on a Thursday night.

Finally, I got home.

The apartment was cold and quiet. I almost dropped my keys. The silence was heavy, pressing in from all sides.

A gust of wind made me dizzy as I stepped outside. The city air was damp and sharp, stinging my eyes—or maybe that was the tequila. I sat by the curb, waiting to sober up.

The concrete was freezing, but I barely noticed. I watched headlights sweep by, listened to the distant hum of traffic.

Then, someone blocked the streetlight. A shadow over my shoes. I looked up—Lillian.

She was in a sleek black dress, hair in big waves, jewelry sparkling. She looked like she’d just stepped off a Vogue cover—glamorous, untouchable, nothing like the girl who wore my old hoodie.

She looked down at me, voice sharp: “Why are you so pathetic? Do you really hate to let me go that much?”

Her words stung. For a second, I felt like a kid, scolded for crying over a scraped knee. My throat clenched like someone hit mute on my soul.

I just stared, stunned.

Her gaze was cold, like a stranger’s. She didn’t fidget. No shifting weight, no nervous tucking of hair. Just stillness, like she’d practiced this goodbye.

She used to always smile, to pull me back into bed, tease me until I admitted I loved her more today than yesterday. Those memories felt like someone else’s life.

I took a shaky breath, tried to ask calmly: “Why, really?”

She didn’t answer, just waved her hand. A black Mercedes pulled up. The engine purred, headlights flashing. I flinched—cars like that didn’t belong on my block.

The door opened, and a girl with wild red hair swaggered over, chewing gum like she owned the place. Her grin was pure trouble.

“Poor guy, you still recognize your cousin?”

It took me a second—Aubrey.

She grinned, all attitude. “Wow, you remember! I thought you’d forgotten.”

Aubrey looped her arm around Lillian, fire and ice. I felt like I’d walked into a reality show crossover.

Her face flashed in my memory—four years ago, I’d been her tutor at Maple Heights. She was a rebel, always late, her backpack stuffed with concert flyers. She tried to bribe me to cover for her skipping class, tried to climb out the window to go party. I called her mom instead. She got grounded, cursed me out, and made it her mission to hassle me on campus. Eventually, I just ignored her until she got bored.

Now here she was, arm-in-arm with Lillian.

Aubrey pointed at Lillian, smirking. “This is my sister, you know? She dated you just to get back at me.”

The words dropped like a brick. Lillian frowned, almost like she wanted to say something, but didn’t.

The silence between us said everything.

Suddenly, I felt like laughing. “So now you’ve had your revenge, are we even?”

My laugh was bitter. Aubrey looked stunned, her bravado slipping. She hesitated, then nodded. “I guess... I guess so. But aren’t you angry?”

She needed me to be mad, like it would make her feel better.

I shook my head, smiling wider. “Nothing to be angry about. A bet’s a bet.”

I felt oddly free—like I’d finally let go of something heavy.

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll go home. Ladies, have fun.”

I stood, dusted off my jeans, nodded at them like we were just regular people. Turned and left.

Their voices echoed in the stairwell as I walked away:

“No way, this guy isn’t even sad. That’s not right. Did Lillian lose her touch? Three years together, and he didn’t fall for her at all?”

I didn’t look back.