Whiskey I [m.yg]

19.

Not only do I remember how that kiss ended, but I remember how it started too.

It was past midnight, I believe. I had just fought with my parents and left the house for a drink or ten.

It was a pretty terrible year for me. I couldn't get you out of my head. We weren't talking. You were dating that douche. My parents were being assholes and were always angry at me for being a careless senior.

I needed a break from it all.

I needed a break from the pressure I was under.

I needed a break from the pain I was going through because of your love for that guy and absence.

It's not like you weren't there, you were, but you weren't there for me.

You weren't there with me.

When I walked in, I felt as if someone had just knocked not only the breath out of me, but also every inch of blood and life.

You sat there, elbow resting on the bar and forehead lightly pressed against your palm. You had your fingers wrapped around an empty glass.

It wasn't empty because no one poured anything into it, it was empty because you already drank what was in it.

You slowly raised it to your eyes, desperately looking for a sip to drink, but you pouted when you couldn't find anything.

Still, you pressed it against your lower lip and tilted your head backwards, hoping some of that bitter drink would drip into your mouth.

You stretched out your arm, gesturing the bartender to refill it.

I slowly approached you, but immediately decided to walk past you and sit alone, but your fingers replaced that glass with my wrist.

They were as cold as your eyes.

I knew it. I knew it happened. I knew it would happen.

I hoped it would happen.

I feel selfish for wishing it would happen, but it did.

Your tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes said it all.

"I miss you." You slurred.

I smiled at you and I promise you, you may not remember that night, but tears gathered in the corners of my eyes.

"Are you okay?"

You shook your head.

I tried to hug you, but couldn't. You took a glance at the glass that the bartender placed in front of you and looked back at me.

You squeezed my wrist what so gently and let go.

You stumbled when you stood up and I couldn't help but laugh at you. I began to wonder if I did that when I got drunk.

You managed to look beautiful even when you were drunk.

No one could ever pull that off.

"What happened?"

Although I knew the answer, I wanted you to confirm it.

You slightly laughed and hit your forehead.

"That asshole broke up with me!" Your laugh was interrupted by broken sobs and flowing tears.

I wanted to wipe that silly, selfish smile off my face, but I couldn't. I was so happy that you were single again, but I was pretty devastated that someone else hurt you.

"You once mentioned always falling for jerks."

"I can't believe you remember that."

You laughed.

You actually laughed.

Then, you kissed me.

Your approach wasn't like the one in movies. You didn't slowly stand on the tip of your toes and stared at my lips, asking for permission. 

No, you wrapped your arms around my shoulders and roughly pulled me down, so I could reach your height.

Then, you kissed me.

The way you kissed me stated that you were way hungrier for my lips than I was for yours.

Your tears weren't the only ones slipping in between our lips, mine did too.