Chapter ２

Possible futility of this effort. David has an eerie knack for knowing just before I completely lose it. That's how I feel right now, but it hasn't always been this way on my birthdays since my parents passed away. Any skepticism that may come from such a hypothesis is dismissed. The situation is unique. I really need this to end things. A full stop after so much mourning.

I used to throw myself into bonfires in an attempt to experience anything.

Tonight, I'll be jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft and crossing my fingers that my parachute doesn't suddenly stop working.

I raise a glass and let the scotch dance on my tongue. There's a tinge of nostalgia in the flavor, and it causes my throat to tighten.

"Darling, you're too lovely to be downing that."

I stifle an impatient sigh. There are three guys seated at a table in the corner, and they have been staring at me ever since I stepped in. They are all at least 10 years older than me and have families of their own. Before mustering up the nerve to approach me, this naive creature inadvertently lost his.

When I'm uncomfortable in my own flesh, I don't have many standards. Nonetheless, there are boundaries that not even I am willing to breach. It's one thing to cause pain to myself by my acts, but quite another to cause pain to another else. I just can't bring myself to do it.

In other words, "Are you going to tell me that only elderly guys drink scotch?" I raise the glass to my lips and take a deep drink while maintaining eye contact with the stranger. Perhaps I'm just not your cup of tea.

He looks at me blankly, the effects of alcohol on his faculties making it difficult for my words to register. Slowly, insight is gaining ground. His already bright red complexion becomes an almost purple shade of crimson. To paraphrase, "You've got a mouth on you."

That's what "the vast majority" of people would say.

His gaze lingers on my crimson-painted lips, which complement the dress that clings to me like a second skin. I'm willing to bet you already have a plan for it.

Having to talk to a guy who thinks a lame pickup line and a quick temper are appealing is becoming old fast. Ultimately, "there's no way to find out."

I look away from him and return my attention to the bar, but I can't help but keep one eye on him. I really doubt he can accept a direct rejection now, given how violently he responded to my statement regarding his evident lack of interest. The bartender has his attention diverted by two attractive ladies on the opposite side of the room. He won't be of any assistance. It's not that I'm in need of assistance, but if I get into an argument, tonight won't go at all as planned. I can't predict when David will arrive, and I certainly don't want him to come to my rescue if I don't really need it.

Certainly not in this calendar year.

The guy straightens up, and I let out a sigh I've been holding back for a while now. It's a direct confrontation. Assuming I can have this taken care of fast, it shouldn't ruin the remainder of my evening. "Hey, you come out as a very pleasant man."

"Have you heard of me before? You can't address me in that manner. He moves forward and into my personal space.

I look across the room at the wall of bottles. All of them are high quality and pricey, however the packaging is boring. Similarly to this person, I suppose. To that, I can only shrug. It's a land of liberty. Don't feel obligated to explain yourself to me for having shown up here uninvited. Whatever I want to say to you, I can say.

"You little' bitch. So you think you're quite hot, huh? His tone becomes agitated and shrill. Pay attention to what I'm saying, babe.

The atmosphere of the tavern changes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I shudder. Oh no. Before David got here, I had planned to handle this alone. I was beginning to think he wouldn't come at all. Well, it seems I was mistaken on both of those things.

"Are you taking me seriously?" The guy leans out to put a hard touch on my arm.

Without fail, he avoids any attempts at communication.

I take a deep breath and turn to see the guy at my back, but David has already grabbed his wrist. A female respondent said, "She wasn't interested." A quiet but distinct voice comes from him. He also seems to be quite enraged.

Oh, man.

Cursing, "Who the fuck are—" his hand splays out as David tightens his grasp. “Fine. Fuck. And even if she weren't, she'd be unattractive.

“Leave.” David's tone chills me with its subtle brutality. I wouldn't find it appealing if I were more intelligent. I wouldn't be secretly pleased if he defended me, even if it would make my plans for the evening more challenging.

He showed up.

Because of Philip, I feel dizzy all the time. To the point that I almost didn't hear what he said next. "Get up. "We're getting out of here."

Leaving. Simply put, he is not actually here for me. As he has for the last six years, he has come to save me by wrapping me in blankets and carrying me to safety. I won't stand for it, and his trying to intervene now will make today seem like any other birthday.

I have a single shot at making things right. My options for making a scene are limited to neither raising my voice or being too emotional. Seeing it would just convince David that he was correct and that I am really in danger. There is nothing else to do except to give him nothing to work with. Soon enough, the bartender comes back to the actual bar, and I wave him over, grinning. Inquiringly, "May I have another?"