It was hard. Not knowing what happened to him.

Gone. Just like that.

Telling me the night before that he was going to tell his dad about us, then...

Gone. Disappeared into thin air.

I thought about it a lot. Thinking about the worst. If he didn't love me in the first place. If everything was just one good dream.

All my questions were unanswered.

Getting out of bed was probably the hardest thing I had to do.

I moved to a new town after graduating from the police academy, got a good job, slowly worked my way up, and found myself sitting as the top police officer in my station.

There were a lot of problems within the system itself, but being mixed raced made me feel like it could change one day.

But today was one of those days. The day that getting out of bed took more energy out of me than my daily workout.

My depression held me down, wrapped me up in my comforter, and kept me in bed.

I fought myself for 5 minutes, before finally pulling myself out of bed.

Shower. Get dressed. Coffee. Lots of coffee.

Eating wasn't my thing. I hated eating. It just seemed like a waste of time. I ate lunch or dinner, occasionally a few snacks, but never breakfast. Coffee was my starter. And I was okay with that.

I adjusted my uniform, poured my coffee in my portable container, and walked out the door. Locking it. Got in my cruiser. Headed to the station.

Repeat.

Dragging myself out of bed. Showering. Uniform. Coffee. Cruiser. Station.

Bed. Shower. Uniform. Coffee. Cruiser. Station.

It's getting old. And the days are blurring together.

How boring.

Saturday.

The days dragged on. The room was too quite. I felt alone. Nothing felt right.

I felt empty.

I got over him a long time ago. I just wish I had the closure. Asking why he left out of no where. Why he left me.

I poured myself a glass of whisky and sat on the couch.

I sat on the end of the couch, leaning my back against the arm rest. Resting my legs on the rest of the couch were my body didn't quite fit.

My legs were too long, so my feet rested on the other side of the couch. Less like a couch, and more like a large love seat. But with less love and more coffee stains.

My studio apartment echoed my sorrows, it was too open. Hearing only the ice clink against the glass as I drank.

I looked around, finding my apartment to be spotless. I hated it. I hated that I couldn't distract myself by cleaning.

I needed a distraction.

I didn't have that many friends, but I had one that I could trust. Well... not really a friend. More of a close acquaintance. Abby. The bar tender at a bar I went to often.

Right across the street. Convenient.

I groaned getting off the couch, heading to my room. Also spotless. Gross.

I opened my closet and pulled on a grey T-shirt. Taking off my basketball shorts and threw on my black ripped jeans. I stuck my badge in my front pocket, hiding it, just in case. I looked like a douche bag. Not surprising.

Walking to the front door of my apartment, I grabbed my black converse, tied them, and grabbed my keys off the hook. Out the door.

The crisp night air was nice. Not too cold, not too warm. It was soothing in a way.

Opening the door to the small bar, the smell of alcohol and sweat hit me like a ton of bricks. It was a nice familiar smell. Smelled like shit, but was familiar and comforting.

"Hey Abby." I sat down in front of her at the bar counter.

"Well what's up sugar? The usual?" She asked me wiping down the counter with a wet white rag. The same rag I see every time she's bored.

"Make it a double please." I looked down towards the counter, rubbing my head with the palm of my hand.

"You got it." Her heavy southern accent was familiar. It was nice. I liked routine. Some things that were familiar to me always seemed to calm me down.

"Thinking 'bout him again, huh?" She gave me a pitiful smile.

"Yep. Always am." I said before taking a sip of whiskey.

"Well sugar, I don't know what to tell ya. It's been 5 years... maybe you should start dating again..." She gave a small cheer to her words, hoping for my response to change.

"No... I appreciate it Abby, but I'm not ready. And I don't think my future partner would appreciate my baggage. Yaknow. Still hungover his ex. And actually hungover. Yeah. Not pretty." I finished off my drink and had her refill it.

"I get it sugar. But it never hurts to look. You'd be surprised." She wiggled her eyebrows at me, giving a cheeky grin.

"Thanks." I said with a small chuckle, rolling my eyes as I took another drink.

"I gotta help other customers honey. Call me or one of the other servers if you need anything. You know the drill." She smiled before walking away.

The chatter in the bar was all white noise. It was quite to me.

The loud bar seemed to disappear, only really seeing the bar counter and my drink.

I rolled my eyes and finished off my drink.

I knew I needed to stop where I was. I hated being drunk, but I did like alcohol. But I still wanted to be in control of my actions.

I swirled the ice in the glass and stared at it. Thinking. Nothing in particular, I just tried to gather my thoughts before I had to work on Monday.

I started to dread going to work. Just too much effort to get out of bed.

I scanned the room, looking at the variety of people in the room.

Some beefy bikers in the corner wearing too much leather, a few women in a group at one of the booths obnoxiously loud, a random old guy that always buys just their breadsticks, some creepy rich guys that always sits in the darkest corner of the room, and a few waiters maybe about 2 or 3 besides Abby.

I shake my head, looking back at my drink.

None of these people peaked my interest.

What a waste.

"Hey. Hands off buddy." I look across the bar, seeing the booth where the rich guy sat, starting getting handsy with one of the waitresses.

Fucking dickbags.

I get up from my seat and walk to the booth.

"I said. Hands. Off." The waitress snapped.

"Oh, dressed like that, you're asking for it boy." Boy?

"Hey. They said hands off buddy." I towered over the waitress. Waiter? Waitress? Worker. I glared down at the guy sitting in the booth.

He wore a black suit jacket over a red silk button up, black skinny jeans and shiny black shoes. He looked like a rich asshole. Played the role well too.

"Oh, he's just playing. He was asking for it anyway."

"They said. Hands. Off. Now get out of here before I call for backup and have you arrested." I barked at him, showing my badge I shoved in my pocket earlier.

"Fine. He's a faggot anyway." He bumped into the worker, knocking them to the floor. He pushed his way past me and walked out the door.

"Go!" I barked at the others in the booth. They quickly got up, and followed their friend out the door.

"Are you okay?" I kneeled down, offering my hand to help them up.

"Yeah... I'm fine. It happens a lot." They brushed their hair out of their eyes. "I'm used to it." They turned over and looked at my hand. Then me.

"Thanks." I helped them up. They brushed off their skirt, and adjusted their apron.

"Can I get you anything? As a thank you?" They looked up at me, and I looked at their small petite body.

"Your name?" I put my hands in my pocket and looked down at them. They smiled.

"Jaylynn. And, thank you. For helping me. I hope to see you around sometime soon, ya?" They winked at me before strutting away.

Cute... I smiled before walking out the bar doors.