I'm sitting in my little hideout. Well, that's what I call it in my head, a dingy little bar which seems dingier at the moment. It's the afternoon and yet you'd think it was night time. Other than the bartender, I'm the only one here.

I find it necessary to get away some times. I'm not as brave, as fearless as people thing I am. It's not often, but that there are times when I can reach points where it is all is too much. Too much to fathom too much to handle…so I escape to this dingy little bar…this little bar, on a quiet corner, that I've only told one person about.

My thoughts are jumbled, a mess of snapshots of the crime scene that won't stop. The alcohol is not helping me to forget the tangle of blonde hair…of honey blonde hair. Eyes staring, fixed…never to light up again. I've never shook at a scene, and yet, my whole body wouldn't stop…from the moment I saw her lying there, I haven't been able to stop shaking. I finish the whiskey in front of me and signal for another. It stopped burning after the second glass…I've been chasing it with beer. I just want to forget.

The door to the bar opens I don't bother looking up…what would be the point, I'm not here for company…not here to socialize…I just want to drink…I just want to forget. I repeat that in my head, "just forget."

I hear the click of heels on the floor and I look up at the bartender who is watching his newest customer. I can tell by the sound of her shoes, that she is making her way to jukebox. I hear the sound of quarters, then the start of "One and Only."

I can't help it…I start to cry, not a sobbing mess, but tears spill down my cheeks. I shut my eyes, willing the tears to stop…they aren't listening, the keep coming…in what feels like a flood. I will them to stop, they won't and soon I feel a hand on my back, a familiar hand. I turn to face her, in all my teary glory…wishing she could fix it, and maybe she can, if I'd just let her. She does her best and opens her arms to me. I tuck my head into her neck, breathe and cry. I need this…I need to cry…I need for someone to see me, to see me like this.

The familiarity of her touch, her smell encourages me to talk. "I thought it was you. I've never been so terrified" I manage to almost squeak out.

"I'm here. It's okay," she says as she strokes my hair.

"It's not." And I do what I haven't been brave enough to do…through all the nights that I've laid next to her, I simply turn my head slightly and lightly kiss the side of her neck. Just one brief kiss.

I wait for her to tell me to stop, that I'm drunk. Instead I hear her breath catch. I want to ask her if this is okay, but we've talked enough, talked around this subject for too long…so instead of talking, instead of asking, I kiss her again and hope that it will be okay.