I'M NOT YOUR WOMAN. (✓)

10. birthday drunk.

|◁ II ▷|

nao — make it out alive.

THE DARK MOOD OF MELANCHOLY had not left Ebén's face — but he knew he was drunk.

Well, somewhere on the spectrum between slightly tipsy and really, really drunk. He was being celebrated by those that needed any excuse to shake a leg and he, too, was celebrating surviving his own deep-seated woes with hard, brown liquor.

Most people did not see him as a man who suffered, when he had, — but instead, they chose to poke fun at his overt obsession to sex and desperate women.

He cradled the glass which contained the brown liquor with his thumb and index, feigning a thought.

Ebén couldn't stop himself thinking down a spiral about all the things he wanted to change if time was something that could be bought.

Maybe, his mum wouldn't have succumbed to her habit. Maybe, his dad wouldn't have been forced to choose between a rock and a hard place. Maybe, he could finally understand what healthy love was.

He hated thinking about contingencies but it sort of helped to wash away the melancholy.

"Happy birthday, Mr. Cástro" chirped Eli, the baby-faced bartender, who called out to the disconsolate man who had not stopped drinking.

He tipped his glass up at Eli — as a nod of thanks but his lips could not sound out the word fast enough. Crowds had now gathered but his eyes were on the prowl in search of something in particular.

══════════════

"EB!" He heard his name being called out — but recognised that jarring voice immediately.

Ezra's YSL-twisted heels clacked against the marble tile; her slender hips moving in rhythm. Ebén watched as her mink eyelashes were batting at him; and could not help but feel nothing towards her.

He continued to down as she waltzed closer.

Her black duster coat hid her suspenders that she was wearing before flinging it open to preempt a reaction; a gasping one preferably but Ebén's face was locked, looking all wooden.

Her lips caked in a red lip skated down his neck, and was caught between his jawline and the bottom of his earlobe — making sure that whatever she was bound to say next; no one else heard.

She undid his shirt button as she slid a hand into the gap, leaning in — "Can we ditch this party?"

"What have you got in mind?"

Ebén had known already what she had come to him for, but, liked when a woman wore confidence and wanted her to tell him exactly what she wanted.

She deep-rasped, Cognac already rubbing harshly on her vocal chords, "I want you to myself... in ya bed"

She mirrored his eyebrow flick, wondering whether it was the dutch courage that gave her this bravery or whether it was a trait she had always had but never harnessed. Her red acrylic stabbers scuttled down his adam's apple and along the lapels of his crisp-cut sable black tuxedo, her hands landing on his buttons.

"Eli, set me 'nother" he mouthed, gesturing at the bartender to load up another of the same drink.

She didn't like how preoccupied he was to his drink and didn't think she had the strength to continue to vie for his attention but still chose to anyway. Her hands were on his jaw, trying to get him to take her figure from all angles, "Come upstairs?"