ILLICIT AFFAIRS | NATASHA ROMANOFF

ONE | march twenty-second.

RILEY

"A vodka soda, Joe." I order, throwing myself onto the only empty bar stool, happy hour seemingly later than a typical Tuesday night.

"Rough day?"

I groan in response to Joe's question and run my hands down my face. "God, you have no idea." I pause. "Actually, can you make it straight vodka instead, and keep them coming?"

"I can, but I'm giving you a limit tonight. You need to quit running from your problems."

I've only really come to know Joe in the last six months, but he's become one of my closest and only friends.
On my many drunken nights, he always makes sure I get home safe. Typically he'll shove me in a taxi, but there have been a few occasions he's driven me home himself.

"Really Joe? Out of all days, today is the day you decide to give me a limit?"

"Why not today, Riley?" he gives me a look. "You're a borderline alcoholic."

"I am not," I roll my eyes before taking a breath. "It's the twenty-second of March."

The realisation hits him as he slides a shot glass in my direction. "Fine, but after tonight you have a limit."

With a single nod, I thank him before pouring the alcohol down my throat.

"How are you holding up?" My friend asks with an empathetic tone.

"Fine," I respond bluntly. "It just...it feels like it's been longer than a year. I miss him."

"Is there anything I can do?"

Whether he'd ever admit it or not, Joe's a big softy. He feels other peoples pain and seems to have developed this overprotective big brother-ness these last several months. He looks out for me.

"No," I sigh, reaching behind the counter for the bottle of vodka used to previously pour me a shot.

"You got money to pay for that?" Joe queries. I ignore him, at the same time my phone vibrates in my pocket. It's a message.

Soph🦭
I can't be with you anymore, Riley. It's clear that you don't have the time for me, and I'm tired of asking. I'll leave your stuff outside your door.

I'm left staring at my phone for several seconds. We from the beginning our relationship was never going to last. I mean, we met on a very drunken night that neither one of us remember and only spoke sober because I was too loud trying to sneak out the next morning.

I only agreed to be her girlfriend because she made me feel shit about not wanting anything more than sex. Still, I at least deserved to be broken up with in person.

"Riley, do you have money? I can't cover the cost for you again," Joe repeats himself.

I drop my phone into my bag and pull out my purse. "I have my ex-girlfriend's debit card that I forgot to give back?"

-

It takes me thirty minutes to finally decide on whether or not I should reply to Sophie.
I will not.

Another thirty minutes pass by and I'm sobbing at the bar, downloading my whole life's story to Joe. Childhood trauma and all.

I talk about how my mother assured me that I was only ever going to be a problem and a burden to everyone around me. How I was only ever going to be mediocre on a good day.
I then went onto explain that I only became a doctor to prove something to her but she's dead now anyway so it was all a waste of time and ugly tears.