“A whiskey,” I rasp.
The bartender doesn’t ask questions, just nods and pours the drink, as if he knows exactly what I need. I grip the glass tightly when he slides it over to me, my fingers trembling as I take the first sip.
I can’t stop thinking about what Sebastian said. I squeeze my eyes shut and take another drink, desperate to wash away the flood of emotions crashing against me. But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps.
I find myself leaning against the counter, watching the amber liquid swirl in my glass. How did I end up here? A bar, of all places. My mind is numb, and yet it’s still racing, chasing the aftermath of Sebastian’s truth like a wave I can’t outrun.
The bartender notices my silence but doesn’t push. Instead, he sets down a napkin in front of me, giving me space, letting m
