Forgetting The Love of Your Life

Chapter Nineteen: Whisky

y/n's PoV:

You let your memory guide you to the right place - It's an Irish Pub. The doors swing open, you head to the bar and a kind face greets you. An older lady with bright blonde hair asks you what you want to drink. You hesitate for a few seconds, before ordering some Whisky. You haven't taken any pain meds today, so might as well, right?

After all, what better way is there to process memory loss and the existence of a fiancée, if not with the smack and the burning aftertaste that alcohol provides?

Bartender: Anything else for you, Sweetie?

She hands you the Whisky.

y/n: No, that will be all for now, thanks.

Bartender: Alright then, suit yourself, and holler if you need me...

You simply nod, as you nip at your drink. Fuck that burns. Truthfully you still feel like a Bitch for what you said to Charles, more so how you said it really, but you couldn't deal with any of it anymore. Like what the hell are you supposed to do in that sort of foreign situation, huh?

Okay... Maybe you should communicate and try to express your emotions, but how the fuck are you supposed to do that, if you can't even vocalise those emotions? It's fucking confusing - You feel everything and nothing at the same time. It's up one second, and down the next. You think you know that it's left, but supposedly it's right. It's confusing.

You don't want to be treated like a fucking delicate person, you don't want to be talked to like a toddler and you don't want to be faced with all of this right now. You take another sip.

Alright, so you agreed to go "home" - You went home, and yeah, no thanks, that freaked you the fuck out. Sure, you could call your Dad and he would come and pick you up, but it's embarrassing, you haven't even made it through a full hour at home. Or you could call Gulia, and she could rush to help you out of this place, but maybe all you should do right now, is sit in this Irish Pub, drink your Whisky and think.

You lean back your head, while you exhale. Is it time to open your stupid Photo app? You mull over your idea, before harshly rejecting it - Ain't no way you're doing that right now. It seems risky to do that publicly.

Another sip; Your cheeks start flushing, your head feels warmer and you stare down at the wooden countertop.

Charles' PoV:

Why is she being so fucking passive aggressive on the phone right now?

Charles hectically: No Gulia, I didn't do anything-

You put the phone on speaker mode, as you slip on your shoes.

Gulia: Okay, but if you didn't do anything-

She pauses.

Gulia yells: Why the fuck did she run away!?

Charles: Look, I freaked her out, all I'm asking is for you to tell me if she shows up at your place! Okay?

Gulia: Yes, alright, I'll let you know, but seriously, how the fuck did you freak her out? All you had to do is bring her home and not be a fucking weirdo!?

She's not helping in the slightest.

Charles yells: I wasn't acting like a weirdo man! She just freaked out, saying it was a lot or something like that!

Gulia: Fine! She's out though, so where did she go!?

Charles yells: Don't you think I'm trying to figure that out right now, I'm leaving the place-

Gulia: NO.

Charles confused: What do you mean "No"!? I need to go looking for her?

Gulia: You're fucking slow, aren't you!? Dude, what if she comes back, and no one is at home for her? Wouldn't that be counter-fucking-productive?

She's got a point.

Charles: Okay, you're right, but what should I do then?

Gulia: Don't call her - If she needs a knight in shining armour, she'll call you herself, but because she ran away, she clearly needs some space right now, so don't ruin it for yourself by suffocating her! Okay?

You swallow harshly.

Charles sighs: Yeah, okay.

Gulia: Look, she's a grown up - She lived in Monte Carlo before the two of you were together, this city isn't a complete stranger to her. She knows what she's doing, she's not some helpless lamb. She'll be fine. If she shows up at mine, I'll let you know. If she calls or texts me, I'll let you know. But I won't call her, or message her, or call her parents, cause then, One, she'll know you were a little tattletale, and Two, we'll freak out her parents... Which, believe me, we don't need.

Charles whispers: Fuckk.

Gulia: Yeah. It will be fine though. Stay put and be patient. I don't know, keep busy or something? Just don't call her and don't go out looking for her, she'll be okay.

Charles sighs: Yeah...