We Fell In Love In October

Prologue

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malibu nights - LANY

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J A Y C E

Orange light pierced through the crumbling layers of the brown shack, shedding light on the drunk, lonely people of Haletown. A strong smell of stale bread and intoxicating wine flooded my senses and if I were any other first-timer, I would have scrunched my nose at it. But the smell had become too familiar to be called a stench.

Distorted chatter and glasses clinking on the wooden table sounded from all sides of the room. The bar was brimming with people, some making fun of each other's flopped lives and believing that humor veiled pain, while the others soaked in their regrets and failures with alcohol. The scene wasn't any different than yesterday's and the day before that, and a week before that. I was used to it.

"Watch where you're going dumbass," a man snapped when I stepped on someone's discarded shoes and stumbled into him. I quickly looked away, fisted my hands, and kept my eyes trained down to be conscious of my footsteps.

Haletown was known for its effervescence and bright atmosphere. It was very common for people to assume that the people exuded equivalent happiness. To one extent, that theory came close to being proven true.

But every happy town had that one secluded corner, housing the heart-broken miserable souls in need of temporary comfort. And that little corner was this nameless bar located a few miles from the heart of the town.

I moved to the counter and ordered a drink in hopes that the alcohol would drown out the voices in my head. The blonde-bearded man studied me to check if I would be able to handle the drinks and save him the trouble of lugging me out of the bar later on. When I tipped my chin, he pushed my drink towards me with the same bored look he had earlier. I took a seat and immediately glanced above, feeling insecure about sitting under a hardly stable roof.

Insecure. Insecure. Insecure.

I gritted my teeth and tightened my fingers around the glass. With the determination to wash away the cursed feeling, I gulped down my drink and slammed the cup on the counter with a force I didn't mean to apply. My fingers looped around my tie, loosened it and popped open two buttons on my shirt. I rested my elbows on the counter and balanced my head in my hands. I hated myself for everything I'd done. I hated myself for constantly being insecure. I just... hated myself with a passion.

Reckless. Heartless. Selfish. Broken. Angry. Pathetic. And a recent addition to the list: Suspended.

How many other words did I have to earn to push myself off the cliff permanently?

I downed the drink and tapped for another. I didn't know what I was hoping for, or what I was holding on to. There was nothing in my life except for breaking branches and parched leaves, both on the verge of giving up. My eyes lazily glanced around, hoping to catch something to focus on to distract my edgy thoughts.

I observed. Noticing details, small meaningless details, helped me get a solidified grip on the ground. A brown wallet on the ground, the usual mess of beer mugs, the occasional loud laughter and the thump of mugs. There was at least one glass mug that broke every day. But drunk people, sagged against chairs and brooding over their problems didn't make a catchy picture. I stood up from my seat, picked up my half-empty glass and travelled to the other side of the bar.

My feet paused when a red-haired huddled figure caught my eye. She wasn't sitting on one of the chipped tables or the benches with peeled paint coats. She leant against the wall, a bottle in one hand swinging lightly in her slender fingers. Her head rested on the wall, chin tipped up and eyes vacant, as if she was confined in a memory she didn't want to escape.

Something about her stood out to me. Maybe it was her attire - a white cotton button up with a low neckline, carelessly tucked into a black tight skirt. Her stretched out legs glinted under the citrus light, pulling my focus from her black heels to her beige skin. Or maybe it was how her red hair fell messy on her shoulders as if tugged in frustration, and how tight her other hand was squeezing a crumbling ball of tissue. Something made me unable to walk right past her.

I stepped closer to where she sat and buckled my legs so that I could slide down the wall next to her. She cast a sideways look and flushed the remaining drink into her mouth. I watched her gulp down the drink like it was the very oxygen she survived on. After she was done, she let the empty bottle roll towards me.

"I am not interested," she announced with a sigh. Her voice echoed in my brain, so similar to how mine always sounded like. Defeated but strong enough to push others away.

"Neither am I," I muttered and spun the empty bottle on the floor. I didn't know what pulled me towards her but I knew it wasn't because I wanted to make a move on her. Her eyes stole a quick glance at me and then narrowed on the rotating glass. I had a feeling she was spiraling back into her own thoughts.

"Life is so cruel," she mumbled after a few silent minutes, letting her head fall on my slumped shoulders.

"I second that."