I let the coolness of the AC seep into my skin as Peter began talking about something to the driver. He was in the passenger seat, knowing I didn’t like sharing so close space with anyone.

Anyone but Michael.

My eyes shut, and head leaned back on the head rest as I tried to recollect my scattered thoughts.

If five years back someone told me that I would have to face this day, that I'd become a person I couldn't control, I would've laughed in their face.

But when reality hits, it hits you like an unpredicted meteor, unexpectedly. And one day, you're just driving in a car, to a destination opposite to the place you once called home. Like me.

I didn’t want to go somewhere that wasn’t home.

A hotel was not a home.

"Please drop me off around the grills, would you?" I told Peter, my voice hoarse and throat dry.

He glanced back knowingly with a worried expression.

"Are you sure? Maybe you could just rest today, and tomorr—”

"Or maybe I could take a cab myself." I shot him a drop-the-crap look, and he adjusted back into his seat, clearing his throat.

Peter murmured something to his driver again, who curtly nodded at him.

Just round the corner of the street, two blocks down, and the car came to a slow halt.

As I rolled the window down, Peter hurried out of the car to open the door for me.

"Thanks, Peter," I said, taking my purse from the backseat, ready to leave. “Thank you for everything.”

He eyed back the almost deserted street and squinted his eyes. "Maeve, are you sure about this? This place looks—"

I walked past him, patting his shoulder, "Bye Peter. Give my regards to Sarah and your son."

I didn't look back after that, my feet a little too tired to carry my own weight. And I walked, and walked. Eyes down, tracking my footsteps and my new pair of black heels. If I really had to survive now, I needed to stop buying unnecessary items like these. But shoes did me crazy. I could hardly hold back when I saw a pair of shoes that would add to my beautiful collection.

But now I was forced to stop my only favorite hobby.

I sighed, kicking a stone out of the way. The sun was still glowing bright in the sky, a red ball of fire, resembling the heat inside me.

My hotel was way ahead from where I stood before the bar. Little colorful lights hung from the roof outside, and I would have bet it looked better at night. Men were swooning in and out of the main door as I locked my gaze on the steps.

A long time back, I would have taken this opportunity to get wasted pretty simply. But now my brows squinted in disapproval.

Not again. I won't.

But my legs spoke and understood a language of their own, I think, because in the next moment, I found myself slipping in through the sliding doors of the bar, and into the dimly lit space.

Deep yellow, almost golden lamps of light hung from the hardwood ceiling, shedding their lights over most of the little space around the bar. There weren't many people but there were people, mostly men.

All men.

Is this a men's bar? Who cares?

I made my way to the counter where the bartender, who looked visibly fed up a few moments back, shot up from his seat, and smiled a welcoming grin.

"Hello, beautiful. What can I get ya?" He perked.

Taking a seat right at the center of the trail of empty barstools, I dropped my purse on the counter, and helped myself to some single malts. The bartender, who now looked very satisfied—I don't know why—smiled, pouring my drink, and I did as much as I could to avoid his creepy face.

I liked, and was used to, men who had a straight, emotionless face. Who didn’t show any interest in me whatsoever.

Thanks to my ex-husband.

As I savored my drink, through my peripheral vision I saw some heads turn my way. Then some whispers and murmurs rose, like smoke from an ash tray over the counter. And as I helped myself to drinks, slowly, the time faded away.

My head hung low as the whiskey burned down my throat. How long had it been since I last tasted alcohol? Six months? A year maybe? I couldn't recall.

Michael had prohibited me from drinking, considering what my physician had to say about my health and my excessive drinking habit.

I raised my glass, and poured the liquid down my throat again, angrily, ever so slightly scrunching my nose at the warm sensation.

I needed to stop.

Seeing my empty glass, without my request, the bartender refilled my glass in an instant.

Maybe not.

My eyes lingered over the glass, still clasped between my fingers. There was nothing left to lose. I didn't even know why I was hesitating.

I raised the glass and chugged everything down.

Just like earlier, my glass was refilled, and it kept coming. So, I kept going. Track of time was lost long ago, and I didn't realize how much time passed. Minutes? Hours?

People came and exited. Some throwing glances at me, and some of them brushing past me over to the counter. I was too tired to react, or kill anyone at the moment.

My head felt lighter. Like all the tension, and staggered thoughts were lifted off me and evaporated into thin air. And as the alcohol kicked in more powerfully, so did the pain and anguish. I stirred the liquid in my glass, eyes droopy, and fingers shaky.

This is it. I was free now.

Lonely. A hushed voice whispered in my ears.

Free.

Lonely.

I huffed out in exasperation and gripped the glass. Free and lonely.

Definitely better than married and lonely.

I couldn't believe I was a divorcee now. That left a bitter taste at the tip of my tongue. Bitter than the alcohol.

My lips parted, welcoming another mouthful of the whiskey, and just when the glass touched my lips, a voice, soft and, and....and sensual? halted my movements.

"That would be the twenty second one. "

My hand, first halted, then lowered on their own, like the little force of the voice was pushing it down. My head still hung low. And before I could turn or retort, he spoke again.

"I think we've had enough for one night, haven’t we?"

Head still ducked down, my eyes opened, fully opened. My mind sobered up for just a moment, because I think I recognized the voice. I had hardly ever heard it properly but I did.

It was so familiar. And before I could recall, he spoke again.

“Shall I drop you home, Miss? Or are you with someone?”

As the last hint of consciousness returned, slammed onto me and knocked me awake. My ears perked up and eyes widened with recognition of the voice.

Ian…