What's for Breakfast?

Bonus Content: That Night

Light bounced off the silver key as I dangled it above my face, the number 1604 stamped on both sides. Patrick handed me the access to his–their–place the day before he left for the Maldives, and mentioned that I could hide in his room in case things get too difficult. I waved my hand dismissively then; I was so certain I'd be fine. I mean, it had been six years.

Well, fuck. I was wrong.

Seeing my father and his mistress together still lacerated the flesh above my heart, the mental image of my mother suffering in the hospital materializing in my head as if it was only yesterday. And I couldn't hold it in.

My amazing father and I engaged in a shouting match as soon as they arrived from their trip from Singapore because apparently, I was being disrespectful. What the hell? I simply didn't want to eat at the same table as him and his other woman, who was only six years older than I am. It was fucking disgusting.

"One more please," I said, gesturing to the bartender. He slid another glass of gin and tonic to me, which I consumed urgently.

I placed the key on the counter, tapping my fingers.

I'd hardly gotten enough sleep since I moved back, my nights typically spent like this, guzzling alcohol in bars. I did hang out with Patrick a couple of times, but I could not take him away for long from his soon-to-be fiance. Instead, he offered me his bedroom.

Across his sister's.

Maybe I should wait until my unit's fixed. It wasn't gonna take more than two months. I could probably put up with it.

But I wanted to see her, too. I wanted to ask how she'd been and talk to her, and perhaps, woo her. Because that time, I was back for good. That time, I could be with her.

If she could ever forgive me.

Shit. How could I tell Sam about what I'd done before? It had been so long. Would it still matter to her? No. I had to admit to it regardless. Patrick agreed. I had to come clean before anything else and start from scratch.

It should be fine, right?

My phone beeped, momentarily dragging my thoughts away from pondering about the only woman I'd ever truly cared for.

7:03 P.M.

Where are you, Derek? Your father is worried.

Ah, shit. My mood was ruined. It was all gonna go downhill from there.

7:15 P.M.

Derek, please. Come home. Let's talk.

I huffed out air, sucking my teeth. That was annoying. Donna acting like my mother was maddening.

I needed something stronger.

"Serve me your best vodka," I uttered.

The bartender obliged, and I drank my vodka straight.

That was how I like it. Yes. That burn was always good like it could wash away my darkest demons, though only for a few hours. Honestly, despite the head-splitting hangover in the morning, it was something I welcomed with open arms. It was also some sort of distraction.

As if she hadn't intruded enough already, Donna decided to call me.

Damn it. Why did she think she could mend my relationship with my Dad? She was the reason we were in this shit hole. The two of them could fuck off.

"One more."

I turned my phone off, depositing it into my sport jacket's pocket.

"Hey." A female voice.

"Mm? Yes, hi," I answered automatically.

"Buy me a drink?"

This female and I talked. The only thing I remembered was her name, Diana, and that she was a Master's student. Great. Not underage.

I threw Diana compliments; she twirled her hair. She placed her hand on my thigh, and I caressed the small of her back. It was the typical how-to-get-laid 101.

Except, I didn't stop drinking. I continuously consumed straight vodka until my throat had been immune to the scorching sensation, my eyelids heavy. Every single thing was beginning to appear mushy.

And I had stopped paying attention to Diana long ago, who was still talking. I didn't care. I think she had left. I dunno.

I fished my credit card out of my pocket and tossed it to the bartender.

"Uh, sorry," I managed to say as I hiccupped. I signed, then I returned the card to my wallet. Or at least, I think I did. My brain was all foggy. I was not hearing anything but the sound of my hiccups.

I rested my forehead on the counter. Ah, shit. How would I get home in that state?

I looked sideways, eyes barely open. I sat upright, squinting as much as I could.

Oh. A female figure was still sitting on the bar stool next to me. Long hair. Dark brown eyes. Was I seeing things?

"Sam?" I mumbled.

"Still Diana."

******

I thought I was kissing someone. Or maybe someone was kissing me. Someone was also touching my back pocket.

"There it is," she whispered to my ear. I could hear the door open.

I dragged my feet, or more like, that woman flung my arm over her shoulder. Then she landed soft kisses on my neck.

She attempted to push a door open, but it wouldn't budge.

I grunted. "Where are we?"

"Huh? Your place."

"Uh, what?"

I was walking backwards, and all of a sudden I could feel my back on soft material. It was a bed. It smelled fresh, like lavender. The woman was peeling away my clothes, and she was still kissing me.

"Sam?"

"Who's Sam? No, not Sam," she replied, tone sharp. She finally stopped fondling my torso.

I narrowed my eyes, vision still blurry. The figure was also half-naked, but I couldn't see what her face looked like. What was her name again?

"Sorry," I murmured, then I rolled over and lay on my stomach.

"Oh, come on," I heard her say. She grabbed a bottle of alcohol from her purse, the strong scent wafting out. "Can I just finish my drink here at least?"

I hummed a yes before my consciousness got suspended, oblivious to the upcoming arrival of the woman of my dreams.