𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝟮 ⁑ t.holland

10. violated

I circled the tip of my finger around the edge of the glass. My elbow on the wooden bar, the side of my face resting in the palm of my hand. 

I wanted to believe everything Tom said about not wanting to hurt me this much for so long. All I wanted to do was forget all about it or at least have the courage to forgive him. It's been six years, you'd think I would've gotten over it by now.

Often, I'd ask myself why exactly I was still so upset about the things he told me that day. Was it what he said that hurt me the most, or what he had been lying about the whole time we were together? Was it the fact that he never looked back after leaving or that he assumed it would make things easier?
What made me hate him so much for so long?

It was probably because I really did love him and I still do even though he left so abruptly. 

Yeah, sounds about right.

The bartender slid me another drink across the bar, giving him back the empty glass in exchange for the new one. I sat up and flashed him a quick but polite smile, wrapping both my hands around the drink. 

I looked down and sighed.
This is my fifth one. I should probably just go home.

I know I've been saying how all of this was an attempt at a newer, better Brooklyn. But, so much has been on my mind lately, I just needed a little quiet.
There's one thing that never changed though; my tolerance for alcohol.

I unscrewed the cap and poured some of it into my cup, Mateo tilting his head and grimacing as he watched the bitter liquid mix into the juice. "Maybe just put a little-- or half of it. Yeah, that works too." Harrison said, grabbing the flask once I was done.

He screwed the cap back on, watching as I chugged the entire thing in a few seconds.
All three boys observed the punch slowly disappear from the cup, a surprised scoff escaping Tom's mouth. I lowered the cup and squinted, shaking my head a bit before throwing the cup out into the garbage bin.

"How did you...?" Mateo trailed off, astounded by how I was able to take the entire drink with little to no reaction.

I was often told how dangerous it was to drink this much liquor. How it would eventually kill me. For a while I'd say; I don't give a fuck if it kills me. Now, obviously, I think about it a little more, especially with this "new me" thing surfacing. 
It's still just as irritating though. In order to get that kind of numbing feeling back, I had to down half of the bar's stock. All I wanted to do right now was forget for a little while and distract myself from the real world.

How did they expect me to do that without a drink?

A man walked up to the bar, glancing over to me. My head remained down but I knew he was looking at me. Eventually, once I remembered that there were millions of crazy fans walking the face of the earth, I turned my head and forced a smile. 
He smirked a little and looked up at the bar again. "What do you usually get?" He asked me, my smile slowly fading away.

It was clear he wasn't a fan. A fan would've quickly asked me for a picture or some kind of autograph. He was just trying to flirt. It was cute, really.
I shrug my shoulders and look down at my drink for a while before locking eyes with the handsome stranger again. "Whatever's strongest." I admit.

He let out a breathy laugh, sitting down next to me. The man nudged his head up to the bartender and lifted his index finger in front of him. "I'll have what she's having" He said before turning his body to me, leaning into the counter. "What's your name?"

I chuckle a little and turn my body, mirroring his position with my left hand still wrapped around my glass. "Brooklyn" I answer.

He nodded his head, sending me a satisfied smile in return. "Brooklyn, that's a pretty name" He said, "I'm Jason"