Lust over Love

Chapter 3 : Past Memories

With the ring now in my right Jacket pocket, I re-enter the pub hastily almost knocking down the portrait that hung by the entrance.

"WOAH, you okay hun?" Kat asked.

Still trying to process the chain of events that just unraveled, I slowly pull out the stool I was previously sitting on, took my seat and plainly replied,

"I'm fine. Thank you"

Without breaking eye contact, Kat leans over the bar getting as close to me as anyone can get while keeping to a professional standard and whispers,

"You're a bad liar, but an even worst drunk sweetheart. I find it adorable and refreshing. A pleasant change to the regulars here who lie out their ass and can drink all day."

She regains her regular position behind the bar and continues polishing the wet, just-washed glass cups. Upon closer inspection of the glasses she was polishing, I noticed they all had a distinct symbol on them on the inside part of the bottom glass. Such thoughts helped ease my mind but didn't disregard the experience I endured. As I said before, I can be very observant, but I've never noticed how observant until now. Was it always to this degree? Am I still just drunk? I feel almost completely sober following what happened, especially after finding... the ring.

I slowly lift my right hand and slide it into my jacket pocket, as I reach the bottom to my surprise I find nothing. Frantically, I check the remaining pockets on both my jacket and my pants while at the same time looking around the floor along the path I took from the entrance to my seat. I find nothing. No shimmering glare of anything in my vicinity nor the feeling of anticipation in the air. Was it all just my imagination? Have the dreams I experience every night progressed to haunting me even when I am not asleep? Such questions tend to linger longer than most. Almost screaming within my mind no matter how calm the environment.

The bar is almost completely silent now. Nothing but the sound of glass cups clinging together and the crackling sound of burning logs on the fireplace. You could almost feel the in-sync energy of every soul within The Vaguely Cup. The level of common sense diminishing within us all after every cup finished, as if the effect of every drink was shared collectively among us.

A loud thud on the wall toward the backroom where I assume the bathroom would be ends the peace we've established. It was James. Stumbling as he makes his way to the stool next to me. He takes his seat and clears his throat. All the while staring at the beer he neglected to finish before following me outside earlier. His line of sight following the little beads of condensation slowly falling from the side of the bottle only to add to the ring of water resting at the base of it. He is clearly replaying something in his head, but what? A memory? Regrets? The other mystery person who was given what I drank tonight? I wanted to continue my endeavor of uncovering the truth but neither did I want to pry. Knowing there's a chance it all means nothing and that my own imagination is my biggest enemy is the only thing keeping me at bay.

The tiniest clonk followed by a brief sliding sound of a glass cup breaks my train of thought. I look in front of me only to notice another round of the exact drink I had earlier bubbling before me.

"This is a bar sweetheart; all are welcome if you're hear to drink" Kat said as she uses her emerald-green eyes to indicate my drink.

Honestly, it's a hilarious concept to me, I am not sexually attracted to Kat, but I constantly find myself wanting more of her. Not physically per say, but mentally and metaphorically. I want her around me like a new-born wants the comfort of their mother. There's no hesitation to her or any falter. Everything she does is muscle memory, and it makes her seem flawless.

Whilst grabbing the cup and never breaking eye contact I respond,

"I suppose you're right; some would say not drinking in a bar is as unnatural as having your kind of beauty and no partner."

She looked down for a second before speaking, seemed to me like she understood the compliment but didn't agree with it. Staring at me she says in her honey-bathed voice.

"Some beauties are only worthy of themselves."

I could tell she was hurt, either from her own mistakes or someone else's. Scared by her own past experiences, longing for a moment where the world stood still. Unable to come up with a response, I raise my glass to her, grin slightly and say to her just before taking my first sip,

"Genuine beauty comes from what we don't see. The mental scars and hidden meanings behind ones habits and routines. Now that's a woman worthy of absolutely everyone. A woman I could drink to."

I felt like a fool saying such words, after all I've never been a big social bug myself but, seeing Kat smile to herself and not to her customers for the first time was worth breaking out of my comfort zone for. Following my embarrassing toast, I slam down about half of my second round of whatever was in that dusty mysterious bottle.

Almost instantly feeling the aftermath of impulsively intaking half my drink, I feel... not drunk, but enlightened. Like I was greeted by a familiar friend after so long apart. Is this the feeling that alcoholics around the globe chase? The rush of nostalgic reminiscent emotions? Or is it just artificial comfort made to ease life's many struggles? Whatever the case, I will chase this feeling and hold on it to it as long as I can.

The fireplace's light dims and the heat along with it as the last log burns out. The temperature quickly drops to the cool setting awaiting anyone who steps foot just outside the doors. To keep warm I quickly stuff my hands in the silk-woven pockets of my jacket and there it is. Once again i feel it, the smooth circular texture of the small piece of jewelry I had found in the midst of my earlier experience. The surface is sleek and lacking imperfection, except for the thin engraving housed within it.

Pulled from reality and thrown into the endless abyss that is my curiosity of she who haunts my dreams. What I momentarily thought to be complete fiction becomes as real as time itself. Forever denying me any memorable experience within the world I share with everyone else.

I mutter to myself...

"Why now? Where did it go before when I was sure it was lost? Nothing has changed! Why does it appear now? I've done nothing out of the ordinary except... *clears throat*."

That drink... the mysterious forever questionable bottle resting atop the highest shelf in the dustiest corner. Logic is telling me it's impossible, but my intuition is telling me anything related to the dream I keep having or experience I endure is linked to that bottle I saw resting on the top shelf. The ring was for all purposes gone until I had the second drink, only at the peak of my buzz from the first drink did I experience the incident with the streetlight outside that led me to the ring in the first place.

"You're doing it again" I hear Kat say as she pours a beer for the man who was smoking a cigar when I first entered.

"Doing what?" I questioned.

"You're puzzling something in your head. Like you know something everyone else doesn't."

Trying my best not to get lost in her eyes again I reply,

"I'm starting to believe I don't know anything anymore. Just out of curiosity, that streetlight outside... it seems to be a bit faulty. Does it flicker often?"

She stops her current task, with one hand on her perfectly curved hips, looks at me with one eyebrow raised and says,

"Sugar, that light out there hasn't worked in 2 years. Its funny you should ask..."

"How so?" I questioned.

"Well shit... the last person to ask about that there streetlight was... him. He who gave me the value of my own self-worth. Liked him so much I even cracked open that bottle for the first time in hopes of seeing him unravel. he was a smooth talker and had many layers shielding the person he truly was deep inside. Figured that occasion was special enough to open it for."

James's eyes shot almost immediately toward the bottle. It's clear to me now that the last person to drink that from that bottle was the same person to break Kat's heart and was also a dear friend of James. I don't think James ever wanted to drink it out of self-pleasure. But out of necessity to understand his friend.

Gripping the ring in my pocket, I ponder a new observation. Who was this man that shared in this drink's experiences?

What happened to him? How does it connect to "her" ... she who haunts my dreams and occupies my every thought with every passing moment. I will stop at nothing to discover the truth.