REINA
The ice in my glass had melted into something cloudy and sad. It swirled around the cheap whiskey like dirty rainwater. I’d lost count of how many I’d had—three, maybe five—but I could still feel everything I was trying to forget.
This bar hadn’t changed. Same faint smell of citrus disinfectant and old beer. Same lazy ceiling fan groaning above our heads. Same wall clock ticking too loud, like it was mocking me for being here, for being this.
Across the street, I could see my aunt’s house from the open window. Curtains drawn. Her car parked outside as if to indicate she was home.
I’d been parked outside my aunt’s building two hours ago, for about twenty minutes I was sitting in my car, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, telling myself I’d go in. But I couldn’t.
I cou
