Better Than Losing You

Chapter 1

Inside a dark bar, there sat a man. His black hair was loose and disheveled, his green eyes glassy and bloodshot. The odor of strong liquor hung about his body. Every once in a while, a good-natured someone would attempt to make conversation with him. However, they all gave up quickly, as their words fell on deaf ears.

Anyone who knew this man would have been startled by his behavior. At twenty-five, he was usually as excitable and agreeable as a child, and there was hardly a person who didn't like him. Unfortunately, tonight was different.

At the sound of a woman's laughter, tears sprang into his eyes. Impulsively, he downed another shot and allowed the alcohol to force him further into oblivion. He didn't care if he passed out on the street and never made it home. He could care less if he crashed his car and died. At the thought of a car crash, he took another swallow. The drink burned his throat and clouded his already muddled mind, but this was exactly what he wanted. Anything to suck him out of his unbearable reality was a good thing.

His mind numb and stupid, Gray pulled his phone from his pocket. Turning it on, he stared unblinkingly at the lock screen. It was a picture of Claire and himself just a day before it happened. Her blue eyes shone with pure joy, and her contagious smile almost seemed to make her adorable, round face glow.

"Who's that?" said a smooth voice from beside him. He glanced up slowly to see another man sitting next to him. He was clothed all in black, and wore a darkly colored fedora on his head. The bottom half of his face was shrouded by a black mask, but his eyes shone like gray beads, glittering ominously in the semi-light.

"Why do you care?" demanded Gray, his words slurring as he glared at the man.

"Just curious," he responded in his level, velvety tone.

Gray paused for a moment, his green eyes lingering on the picture. "She's my girlfriend," he said bluntly. "She's dead now."

The stranger patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. "It must be very difficult for you."

Gray nodded, his mind numb with grief.

"What's your name?" the stranger asked him suddenly.

"Gray – Grayson Atlin. What's yours?"

The man didn't respond immediately, so Gray turned back to his drink.

"Wyrd," he finally said. "I am Wyrd."

Gray set down his shot. "Wyrd?" he laughed. "That's a weird name. Why would your mother name you something like that?"

Wyrd seemed to laugh under his mask, his eyes twinkling in amusement, but he didn't answer the question.

Staring at the lock screen again, Gray felt another vague, faraway twinge of sadness. "I wish I could turn back time," he mumbled, his eyes lingering on Claire's beautiful face. "Then I could save her." He thumped his head on the bar, suppressing a sob. For a moment, all was silent.

"Do you really mean it?" the stranger, Wyrd, asked suddenly. His tone was mysterious, yet full of authority. "Would you really do anything?"

"Yes," Gray responded loudly. "Whatever it took to bring her back, I would do it."

With that, he downed his tenth shot. He'd never drunk so much in his life. The stress on his body was plainly evident, as his head instantly grew fuzzier and he felt himself tilting backwards precariously. A moment later, his brain completely shut off and he knew no more.