Ficly

How About That Drink?

I don’t like alcohol. I just don’t. But maybe it was the fact that I was reunited with the person who once meant the most to me, maybe it was because my father was dying, or maybe it was because my past was coming back to bite me in the ass. Whatever it was, I was drinking whatever Matt ordered me, and apparently it was something that involved vodka.

“Feel better?”

I didn’t respond, I just glared at him, took a swig and then spit the ice that went into my mouth back into the drink. I could be just as disgusting as a guy, and I would do so now if it meant that I could go back to the life I had constructed in one emotional piece.

“I’m glad you came back.”

“Why? You didn’t seem to want me to stay ten years ago.” The image of him watching as I drove away was still crystal clear in my mind, like a knife of glass, and it pierced my heart.

“It was what you wanted to do,” he said cautiously.

I met his gaze. “So you were only thinking of me when I left?”

He went silent, and that was answer enough.

View this story's 3 comments.