PLATFORMS ↛ D.A

The Unforgiving and Unfaithful

Waterloo | 21:37pm

Solo pub crawls were fucking depressing. London was fucking depressing.

Amelia had concluded this on more than one occasion however this night was different, she was on one. Spinning between pubs like a tornado — shooting back every drink she was bought and swiftly moving on without paying so much as a penny. Men were stupid like that, one glance and suddenly a shot would be near slammed in front of her.

Gorgeous.

Her and Damon hadn't spoken in days. He hadn't tried either, which was now becoming a regular thing that she couldn't find care for. Not this second anyway, she refused.

"You here alone, doll?" A man croaked from beside her, setting his beer down and pulling a stool over. His patchy beard was the first thing she noticed.

"What's it to you?" Amelia leaned an elbow on the bar and upon closer inspection grew more interest in him. His hollow cheeks and bagged eyes running the face of someone harbouring an addiction. "You look fucked."

"So do you." He hummed.

She dropped her lip with a slight nod, "Fair enough." Her reply was pierced with drink, the words merging together into one Northern slur.

"You got a fella?" His smile was inherently feline.

Amelia tried to stifle her laugh, looking up to the dingy pub ceiling. "If you want." She looked back at the man who had taken a short swig of his pint, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning closer.

"So you don't?"

"Buy me a drink?" Her eyes roamed his face for a name, teeth sinking into her lip when he had flagged the bartender down for a drink.

"Joe." He supplied.

"Joe."

The surreality of another man stubbornly pushed her mind astray to Damon for a few seconds.

Being in a shitty Southern pub didn't feel complete without him and she was finally forced to face the music with a comedown. Never once had it crossed her mind to miss the way he gagged at the sourness of any given shot, it played an embarrassingly sad smile across her face and she wondered if he would answer a text, maybe even a call. Hell, It could've been the nights drink going to her head but she pulled out her phone regardless.

His name was a few screens deep in her recent contacts. The last conversation they had text each other being a photo of a shirt Damon asked her opinion on, to which she replied: Fuckin awful mate.

"Give us a minute."

Amelia excused herself from the bar, pushing through the dozens of men and outside where smokers eyed her abrupt exit. There was definitely something in the air other than smoke that pushed a semi sensible decision into her irrational head. Backing out of Damons contact and clicking on Jamies felt like she'd solved world hunger, a petty smile forming on her face when the phone began ringing.

Falling short, however, when he hadn't answered.

"Fucking christ." She cursed, her teeth grinding together as she stomped her boot on the dirty pavement. A cigarette felt futile although she accepted the offer from some guy who looked no older than sixteen and upon lighting it, she looked up to the sky.

She hadn't really been back to Damons since Manchester. Aside from the odd swing by when he was at work, pointedly leaving a mess behind her. The few times they had inevitably bumped into each other were comical at the bare minimum — he would always give an awkward smile and mumble a few pleasantries while it was clear he didn't care anymore. Or at least it seemed that way.