It had been a couple years since the last time i was in love. I was 17, and i thought that it would never end. I was wrong. I now realize that nothing is forever. There wasnt a thing that i could do to keep my heart from breaking, and to keep my mind from going into an endless pit of misery. Since that time i've had nothing more than one night stands, and i was the one who left before the sun rose. I couldn't stand waiting, cuddling, and any notion similar to the feelings of love because i don't want to be hurting again. I don't want to feel the pain that comes along with falling in love, and then trying to stand back up. My friends would always tell me that it wasnt love, and that i was too young to know what real love feels like. But what does age matter? Who is to tell me that i wasnt in love? Just because we were in high school, and i was barely experienced in relationships, doesn't mean that we weren't completely and utterly head over heels for each other. My friends and I constantly battled because they saw me drinking away my misery every night, and killing myself physically and mentally because i was emotionally dead. I am still emotionally dead after all those years, and my everyone I've known has given up on me. They didn't understand. It was my fault. I was the one who was caught passed out in bed with someone else, with nothing more than a bra and boy shorts to cover me. It was stupid, and nothing happened, but all evidence apparent pointed towards me cheating. So yes, i am regretful that i was even caught in those compromising circumstance. But they don't get it. They don't understand what it feels like to live a life full of regret, especially a life with a broken heart. They weren't in love in high school. I haven't spoken to them since the day they asked me to make a choice. They said if i didn't pick up my attitude and make a change, they would leave, and i told them to leave. i didn't have an attitude. I didn't have anything against them. But i also didn't have the one thing i needed: my heart.
My name is Emily Fields and I am 25 years old. My life is spiraling out of control. I don't sleep, i don't eat, and i don't dream. But i do drink. I won't say I'm an alcoholic but i do enjoy my 10 shots of tequila every night, and thats a light night. But what can i say, I'm a bartender, and we get free shots on the job. When i do sleep, i usually leave my gucci shades on so the sunlight doesn't blind me in the morning and cause more of a headache than i already have. You can say that I'm wasting away, but i don't really care. I have no money, and the money i get from my job goes towards my alcohol and the cost of living. I do get a lot of tips, though. I use those on clothing and other necessities. I have no free time because when I'm not working at the bar I'm spending my time getting over a massive hangover from the night before. I didn't graduate from college, but i got close. Like i always say, close is close enough. I live at my moms house, but she passed a few years back. I feel alone, and empty.
2 weeks later…
Time has been moving slowly all day. i've mostly been slumped over the counter, playing with an empty shot glass. Sometimes i like to slide it back an forth on the counter, looking through the center, and seeing how distorted my view is, even though my view has been actually distorted for some time now. I was in my own world when someone rudely stops my shot glass mid slide.
"Hey!" i shout without looking up.
"Whats wrong, afraid I'm going steal your drink? don't worry theres nothing in it."
Shit. I don't want to look up because i know who will be waiting there when i do. I turn around so i won't have to meet her eyes because i know that raspy voice anywhere. I grab a rag and start wiping the counter, hoping she won't recognize me. I look a lot different than when i was 17, but i know i look similar enough that i could be easily recognizable. I'm hoping she forgot about me.
Without looking up i decide to be a good bartender,
"What can i get you?" i ask her while still wiping at the counter.
She puts her hand on mine to stop me from moving. I shut my eyes knowing what comes next. A chill runs through my spine and my breath is shaky.
"Em," she whispers. "Look at me"
I slowly lift my eyes, and there she is. We pause for a minute as we come to the realization that we are now both staring at whom we thought was the love of our life so many years ago. I finally find the strength to speak.
"Maya,"