A Hell Of Love

I had never really been a “bar person.” The thought of sitting on a stool surrounded by strangers, drinking until your head spun, always sounded like something other people did. But that night? That night I needed to disappear. Everything felt too heavy. My phone had been buzzing all day with calls from Sophie, my best friend, but I didn’t want to hear her voice. If I picked up, I knew she’d talk me out of breaking down, and for once, I wanted to. I wanted to fall apart, drown in it, let it all consume me. So, I switched my phone off, shoved it deep in my bag, and told myself I wouldn’t exist for a few hours. The neon light outside the bar flickered, painting the ground a dull shade of red. I hesitated before pushing the door open. The air smelled of alcohol and faint cigarette smoke. People were laughing too loud, glasses clinking like some sort of background music to misery. I slipped inside, hugging myself tightly, because even though the room was warm, I felt cold. I only wanted a drink—something strong enough to numb me. But then, there he was. Sitting at the far end of the bar, like he owned the place. A tall man, broad shoulders slouched just slightly, dressed too well for the setting. He didn’t mingle, didn’t laugh like the others. He sat there quietly, a glass in front of him, the same glass every few minutes refilled with a cocktail the bartender seemed to know by heart. He didn’t even speak—just a slight nod, and his drink appeared. That was Rex Maddox. I didn’t know his name then, of course. But even without knowing, I could feel it: he was the type of man people didn’t just “forget.” Rumor around the bar (because you know bartenders always talk) was that he came at the same time every night, ordered the same drink, and left at the same minute like it was some ritual. They said he never entertained anyone who tried to talk to him. He was just… there. Silent, unreadable, intimidating. It was as if the whole world could collapse and Rex Maddox wouldn’t care—so long as his drink was served exactly the way he wanted it. “Evening, Mr. Maddox,” the bartender said quietly, sliding the same cocktail toward him, like it was a holy ritual. No menu. No questions asked. Just the usual. And Rex only nodded. Not a word left his mouth. I hated people like him. Or maybe, that night, I hated everyone. Because I wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn’t the type of girl who spent her nights in bars. I didn’t even like the taste of alcohol. But something about how messy my life had become pushed me through those doors. My phone was switched off. My best friend would’ve panicked if she knew where I was, but that was the point—I didn’t want to be found. I wanted the world to spin without me for once. “Something strong,” I muttered to the bartender as I slid onto the stool two seats away from Rex. The man raised an eyebrow, probably reading the desperation all over me, but he poured it anyway. I didn’t even ask what it was. I just swallowed. And when the burning taste hit my throat, I welcomed it. For the first time in weeks, the chaos in my head quieted down. Just for a second. I almost forgot about the man sitting beside me—until I felt his eyes on me. “What?” I snapped, turning to glare at him. His stare was sharp, almost lazy, but it cut through me like a knife. “You’re drinking it wrong,” he said simply. His voice was deep, steady, the kind that didn’t need to rise to be heard. I blinked. “Excuse me?” “You’re supposed to sip it, not gulp it like water,” he continued, eyes lowering back to his glass as if I wasn’t worth more than two seconds of attention. Anger bubbled inside me. “Who asked you?” “Clearly not you,” he muttered. “But someone has to teach you before you choke to death on whiskey.” I wanted to throw the rest of my drink in his face. Who did he think he was? Sitting there like some god of alcohol, correcting strangers? “You think you’re an expert because you sit here every night and drink the same thing?” I fired back, my voice sharper than I intended. That got his attention. His eyes lifted, cold and unreadable. For the first time, I realized how dangerous they looked—gray, stormy, like they could see right through me. “And you think you’re special because you decided to ruin your liver in one night?” he replied. I gasped, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Wow. You don’t even know me.” “And yet I’m already right.” He leaned back in his seat, sipping slowly from his glass like he’d just won some battle. I hated him instantly. But I couldn’t look away. There was something magnetic about his calm arrogance, like he’d built walls so high that no one dared to climb them. And yet, here I was, arguing with him after less than five minutes. “Stay in your lane,” I hissed, turning back to my drink. He chuckled under his breath. “I was in my lane until you barged into it.” The bartender cleared his throat awkwardly between us, sliding another glass my way. I grabbed it too quickly, needing something to distract myself from how much Rex Maddox was getting under my skin. For the next few minutes, silence fell. Well, not real silence—the bar was alive with low music, clinking glasses, and murmured conversations—but between us, it felt like a war truce. We drank without speaking, without looking at each other. At least, I tried not to look. But I caught myself glancing his way too many times. The way his hand wrapped around the glass, steady, controlled. The way he barely moved, as though nothing could disturb him. The bartender didn’t even bother checking in on him because he already knew Rex’s routine. This wasn’t just drinking. This was a ritual. And I hated that I wanted to know why. Finally, I broke. “Why do you always sit here?” His eyes flicked to mine, unimpressed. “Why do you care?” “I don’t,” I lied quickly. “I was just curious.” “Curiosity kills.” “Good thing I’m already dead inside,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. For the first time, his lips twitched. Almost a smile. Almost. That tiny reaction made my chest tighten in the weirdest way. I quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the burning liquid in my glass. I shouldn’t care what Rex Maddox thought of me. I shouldn’t even be talking to him. But somehow, in this dim corner of the bar, with the rest of the world fading into background noise, it felt like something had shifted. Something I wasn’t ready for. And when he leaned forward slightly, voice low enough that only I could hear, his words sent a shiver straight through me. “You’re going to regret sitting here tonight.” I froze, glass halfway to my lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His gaze held mine, steady and cold, but there was something dangerous flickering underneath. Something that told me Rex Maddox wasn’t a man who made casual statements. “You’ll see,” he said simply. And just like that, the air between us turned heavier than the alcohol in my veins.