Ruin // Stare

Benedict Nolan

You spent a lot of money. Drink after drink, bet after bet. Money households make in a month you squandered away in an attempt to relieve the burning in your chest. It didn't help. Bathtub moonshine tasted as sweet as the finest wines by the time your "date" was set to start. After grabbing the few winnings you did manage to nab and shoving them in your pockets, you headed out. She'd be there, no doubt. Waiting with that sweet, beautiful smile.

No, don't. You can't fall in you know what she did.

You stumble, dropping a few bills in the piles of leaves as you make your way back to the bar. If you had run into any law enforcement you'd have spent the night in a cell to sober up, but luckily the Peackeeper's Post did not usually serve Peacekeepers.

You push the door in with your shoulder and squint into the dim light of the bar trying to see her. Your vision is blurry from all the drinks and a stain has traveled down the front of your fucking domestic sweater.

A flame stood out among the other patrons. A wide, dashing smile and thick red flames.

"There you are. I was getting worried."

All the venom your mind had been making filled your mouth. You step closer and see she's at least in a different dress. Good, she wouldn't fool two men in the same outfit.

Narrowing your green eyes at her, you start the irreversible train of vitriol that has been stewing in your heart.

"Oh you've been worried!," you say, too loudly for the intimate settings of the bar. The other patrons' eyes are on you but you can't hide your shame, not now. "Well stop the presses, Miss Alicia Klare has a brand new story! She's worried about me now."

The liquor was hard to think through, and the sweater was itchy against your neck.

"I wore a fucking sweater for you!" with that, you start yanking on the sleeves of the garment tearing it off your body and throwing it at the empty table. Dressed in slacks and undershirt you lean against a chair to help steady your grief stricken, drunken body. You stare at the bar floor, at the crumbs and sticky beer spills. They seem to waver and spin the longer you look.

"I loved you, Alicia... I really did."

Benedict Nolan

Grief felt heavy, like trying to walk out of a lake dressed in armor. You had become so accustomed to your metal plating that you didn't realize how dangerous they were to wear.

She was speaking to you, her voice soft and calm. She could always hold on to her emotions better than you. She was a steady stream, practiced and precise going down a path she had been down before. You were a fire, raging one moment and smoldering coals the next. Your chest had burned brightly for her, but now she had extinguished it in a single puff of smoke.

A damn good explanation. She loves you still, but is acting like the victim. Like you had just barged into this bar to confess your hurt and pain for no reason. Was she really this cruel? To pretend she hadn't been the one to push your love away.

It felt like another stake to the heart. A betrayal and then a denial.

Her fingers caress your arm and it feels like a shock of lightning. You snatch your arm away, and look at her.

She was never a stream, she was always a raging fire eating everything in its path.

"An explanation?" it comes out as a whisper. Your eyes sting and suddenly there is no stopping the tears that begin to drip down your cheeks. Crying like a child, you push through the thickness in your throat to get the words out. "How about you explain why you were in here earlier flirting with someone else."

Describing the act hurt worse than actually seeing it. It was no longer a nightmarish memory, but a true event being played back.

You shake your head, trying to remove the memory from your brain but its stuck inside your skull like sap.

"I saw you, I saw you smile..." you couldn't finish your thought that her grin had been reserved for you.

Benedict Nolan

Your tears let up as the truth spills from Alicia's lips. You recognize genuineness even coming from a master of deception. This should heal you. This misunderstanding should lift the weight spilled onto your shoulders. You should be happy.

But your heart stays in pieces and creaks as if it may shatter into more.

Awful. That is not a word you would use to describe Alicia. Awfully smart maybe, but never awful.

Did you really think that low of her? Did you expect her to go off and talk to other guys? Did you walk into the bar tonight wanting to get your heart broken?

Maybe it's the same reason you smoke cigarettes. They clog up your lungs and you've seen men with barking coughs smoke themselves into early graves and yet you still light up whenever the need strikes you.

Maybe Benedict Nolan likes to feel pain. To feel out of breath, tipsy, and heartbroken.

Perhaps you do like the burn in your chest that smoke gives, but you didn't like the look on her face. Her eyebrows together, looking for an answer from you.

"No, no, I-" you regret all the drinking you had done early. It was hard to think now. Your fingers reach your forehead, rubbing the skin there as if to jump start your brain. "I misunderstood, I was wrong."

You look at her again and your chest aches. You remove your hand from your face and start to reach for her. You don't know if you're going to pull her into a hug or simply pat her shoulder but you want to touch her more than anything else.

"I'm so sorry." You don't want to admit it but tears are starting to form again as the reality of the mistake you've made hits you. You blink them away but they still come, threatening to spill over once more.

"Oh, Alicia, I'm so fucking stupid."