"One more." I tell the bartender who nods his head and pours another glass of Irish whiskey in my glass before going away to attend to other customers.
My phone lays in front of me on the bar-top, flashing with Rhys' name for the thousandth time tonight but I could really not give a f**k about him right now.
I returned from Paris a few hours ago and the only place I could think of going is this nightclub that I am currently sitting in. It is past midnight already and I don't know how many drinks I have had by now.
But clearly not enough if I can still feel my chest aching and my heart pounding with pathetic hope every time that my phone rings and it says that it is my darling husband calling me.
The entirety of the last month was a f*****g whirlwind and right now, I am so f*****g e
