When Does the Burnout End? A Collection of Short Stories & Poems

Another Stranger

Another breathe escaped through the space between my lips. The air is thick here. I suppose that's expected in a basement bar. I enjoy locations like these. They are little gems tucked away in a corner. Not that they don't want to be found, but only want to be found by those willing to find it. People I am willing to meet congregate here; all walks of life meaning to escape their realities even for a short time. And that's exactly what I'm doing.

I can still hear the phone ringing, the rustling of papers, and sighs of frustration from neighboring cubicles. I take another deep breath, allowing the tension in my chest to relax. Cigar smoke and hints of whiskey fill my nostrils. An eclectic collection of souls are scattered across the bar. A couple on a date reserved a booth in the back corner, a woman sneering at another gentleman across the bar, and one final soul. He's alone, but not lonely. For some reason I can tell he enjoys going out alone. Companionship isn't a necessity all the time. His posture is tall, a cheeky grin plastered on his face having a good banter with the bartender. As I approach the bar, I can hear the ice clink in his glass. Be tips the glass upside down over his mouth as he took the last swig of his drink. I couldn't decide if I should keep a stool between us, or just take the shot and snuggle up next to him. Before I mentally made a decision, I sat directly next to him. My eyes widened but calmed myself before he could notice me.

He looked over at me, but I didn't meet eyes. Despite my need for social interaction, eye contact is a huge obstacle for me. While it can make someone appear disinterested or even rude, I am simply nervous. Eyes are windows and I prefer to keep the blinds shut and curtains closed. Despite my social anxiety attack I just briefed you on, I couldn't help but notice him. His energy was gravitating; his aura lassoed me and I could not help but sit in the stool right next to him. I internally panicked, second guessing my seat of choice.

I still not dare look over at him. I could feel every glance between sips of his whiskey dancing with the aroma of his cologne. I almost wanted to pass out but I forgot I wasn't breathing. Another deep breath in; lungs expanding, fists clenching, nostrils flaring, and breathe out.

"Are you going to say something or are you waiting for me?" My face changed when I heard him, but I could not tell you what the face was. He definitely knew what expression it was, though. Not only could I feel his soul-sucking brown eyes looking at me, his British accent made his words seem like they were dancing. He might as well have been singing to me. I cleared my throat and straightened my posture.

"Who said we had to talk?" I heard his jacket swish against his shirt as he shrugged. His bottom lip curled.

"No one, but out of all these seats along the bar," He points and my eyes follow all the empty stools descending beyond us. "you decided to get cozy right here." He taps the edge of the stool I'm sitting on. "So, were you waiting for me to make a move, or?" I smirked but jerked it away with all my might.

"That depends. Are you getting me a drink?" He seemed impressed but taken aback slightly. I was almost shocked with the confident that just oozed out of me. Now was not the time to panic, again. Clearly this man is worth impressing.

"Do you want what I'm drinking, or do you want a little fruity drink?" My eyes narrowed towards him. He was mirroring my expression as if he were playing a game, or at least starting it.

"Sir, we met merely five seconds ago and you are assuming I'm a fruity drink kind of girl?" I felt my eyebrow jerk up with sass and a mini smirk or celebration. Normally confidence comes with a drink but I'm bone dry sober.

"Then what will it be, milady?" Exaggerating his accent, he lifts his glass and drinks his whiskey barely breaking eye contact. I chuckled but he could still feel my tension and I'm barely making eye contact still. "Do I make you uncomfortable?" I shake my head immediately.

"No, no! Not at all. I'm just a little shy with new people at first." He narrows his eyes again.

"And yet you're flirting just fine." He licked his lips and flagged down the bartender. "Can I get a dirty martini for the girl, please?" He nods and turns his attention back to me. "This is my favorite drink, so if you enjoy this, or at least just drink it down without showing regret, then I'd say you have my respect."

To be continued