She turned and left without hesitation. I stood on the terrace as the ocean wind whipped my tie against my face, stinging and numb, but I didn't want to move. Her words kept playing in my head. I stood there clutching my phone for a while, then turned and pushed through the door into the ballroom. The lights were still on, champagne tower still standing, servers clearing tables.
I crossed the dance floor and walked along the road beside the hotel. Walked for a long time until I reached a street I'd never been on before. A small bar with a neon sign above the door, flashing pink and purple. I pushed inside. No tuxedoed waiters here. Just a bartender covered in tattoos and a few local guys drunk off their asses. Jukebox playing scratchy country music.
I sat in the darkest corner of the bar and silently downed three bourbons. The burn in my throat did nothing to fill thehollow numbness in my chest. "Another." I rapped the bar, voice hoarse.
The bartender looked at my wrecked state and smirked, filling my glass with ice and dark liquor.
Casey's words echoed in my ears. Back in Boston, I thought spending money on her, taking her out, that was love. She had to work around my schedule, live by my rules, and do what I thought was right. Whether she wanted to or not, I never asked.
Same thing here in Hawaii. I thought I'd changed, but I'd just changed tactics. I thought bringing lunch was right, so I did it. I thought installing a slide was good, so I did it. I thought she should forgive me, so I waited for her to forgive me. I was still the one calling the shots.
I lowered my head and buried my face in my hands. My knuckles still had scars from making those desserts. I thought those burns proved something. Even I believed I'd changed. Turned out I was just lying to myself.
The alcohol hit fast. My vision blurred, lights and shadows weaving together like a suffocating net. "Casey..." I muttered, the fire in my chest burning hotter. I started hallucinating, seeing her everywhere in this dive bar.
In a booth nearby sat a woman with her back to me. Long black hair gleaming softly in the dim light. She wore a black dress, exactly like Casey's.
I staggered to my feet, knocked over my glass, and stumbled over.
"Casey..." I grabbed her shoulder, yanked her toward me, my voice desperate and wounded even to my own ears. "Don't go. Let's talk... I fucked up. I really did. I'll listen to whatever you say, just don't leave me."
"Hey! What the hell! Psycho!"
The woman screamed and shoved me away. When she turned around, it was a complete stranger's face. Heavy eyeshadow, startled eyes, cheap perfume. Not Casey at all.
"You got the wrong person! Drunk asshole! Let go!"
I stood there frozen, brain not catching up, but my hand still gripping her sleeve. "Casey... no, who are you?"
"Hey! Who the hell you grabbing?" A massive shadow rose from beside her. Her boyfriend—a hulking guy in a leather jacket, arms covered in tattoos. He'd been lighting a cigarette, but now he stood and shoved my chest hard. I stumbled backward, hit the edge of a table, glasses crashing to the floor.
"I made a mistake... sorry, I made a mistake." I shook my head, trying to clear it.
"You make a mistake, you can just grab my girl? Where the hell were your hands going?" The guy pressed closer. The other drunks started hooting and whistling.
"I said I was sorry." I looked up, something vicious in my eyes. All the rage I'd been holding in tonight was looking for a way out. The fury at my own uselessness, the brutal regret over the past, the despair when Casey walked away—it all converged into violence in that moment. I wasn't just angry at him. I was angry at myself.
"Fuck your sorry!" He swung, his fist whistling through the air toward my face. It connected with my cheekbone with a crack. My head rang, mouth filling with copper. I staggered back a few steps.
The pain was real. Shot through my whole body like electricity. I grabbed an empty bottle from the table and smashed it against the edge. Glass sprayed everywhere. I gripped the broken neck, pointing it at him.
"Paul!" I heard myself shout in my head, but I didn't stop. I laughed instead, a bitter laugh that split my lip and made blood leak out.
"Come on!" I roared, voice raw as an animal's. "You want to fight? Come on!"
I charged at him like a lunatic. No gentleman's boxing technique. All those expensive private lessons thrown out the window. I grabbed his collar and pounded my fists into his face, even as his fists landed on me.
We rolled between the narrow booths. I took a heavy hook to the face, my eye splitting open instantly. He took several from me, too, blood smearing half his face.
The dull thud of impact echoed through the bar. Every punch I took made me feel slightly better somehow. Like these wounds could redeem me, bring me closer to the pain she'd suffered, though I knew that was bullshit.
Hemorrhage, alone, nobody to sign... These images flashed with every blow.
"Do you understand what respect means?" I shouted, slamming him against the bar. Bottles shattered, the crash deafening. He was dazed now, hadn't expected this well-dressed guy to fight like a man with nothing to lose. He kicked hard at my stomach. I flew back and knocked over a row of stools.
The owner and bouncers finally rushed over. "Stop! Get the hell out, both of you!"
Several burly guys dragged us apart and outside. Two thuds—me and the guy dumped on the curb. He spat bloody saliva, glared at me hard, then limped off with his girlfriend, muttering curses, probably thinking I was insane.
