18 ✓

EIGHT

HUNTER

Eyes staring down my half-empty glass, I found myself drinking as much as I possibly could to forget what I had walked in on. Her legs straddling his waist on the living room couch, his hand tangled in her golden hair, the light laugh she let escape out of embarrassment when she realized I had walked in.

Those green eyes of hers that I once learned to read so well, now told me nothing. And that drove me insane.

I drained the remainder of my whiskey, motioning the bartender for a refill. I ignored her mindless chatter, and she poured me another, finding pity in the way she twirled her hair. While he had her, I had nothing except an endless supply of booze at my disposal to help me forget. I found myself here more frequently since that night. Every time I was here, however, it did nothing. I still remembered everything; the dress she was wearing, that look in her eye, the ease of being so close to her once again, how I told her I needed her.

I brought the glass to my lips, closing my eyes as I took a long sip. I assumed the worst part was knowing what I knew, and she didn't. I knew the truth. But I couldn't be the one to tell her. I could never. And every day, it seemed more likely that she would never know.

Maybe if she knew the truth about that night and why I truly left, everything would be different. Then again, perhaps she would hate me. Maybe if she knew the truth, it would be me with her. Not Charlie. It would be me with my fingers tangled in her hair, teasing her in every way I knew how.

But it wasn't. It was him. And I was left drinking to forget.

I hated that she didn't know. I hated that I needed her. I hated that I couldn't forget. I hated that she was with him. I hated that I still loved her.

I picked up my glass, taking a long sip as I realized the bartender was still talking to me. I pinched the bridge of my nose as she continued on, draining the contents of my glass once again. I slowly rose to my feet, slightly stumbling over myself.

"Are you alright?" The woman asked, the sound of her voice becoming increasingly annoying.

I reached for my wallet before realizing where I was. My footsteps felt heavy as I walked towards the door, stepping outside into the fresh air. I turned, facing the sign of the building. I had to blink a few times to make out the sign of the building.

Club A. Club Angel. 

I even had to name the fucking place I owned after her.

It was pathetic. It was stupid. Yet, I did it.

The journey to my front door was a haze, I couldn't remember how I had ended up here. But nonetheless, I was home. I found myself more often than not heading back to my old apartment. The one she had been in many times. I couldn't help but laugh, thinking about how I moved to clear the memory of her, yet here she was again. Just not with me.