this is what falling in love feels like

teacup of whiskey

He was the victim of a devilish wife, the man who owned the bar. Acquired a decade or so ago for a reason no one knows or particularly cares enough to ask, Teacup of Whiskey resides on the outskirts of a small town life. Graffiti shatters the brick structure from the inside out. The white brick with paint peeling off like wrinkles lines the walls while dented metal adorns the ceiling. Fluorescent lights attempt to illuminate the space, managing to only shine beyond a dim directly above the bartenders from possibly the original fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Faded red leather covers the two sofas on the far side of the room as old barrels acting as high tables take up the rest of the floor space. Retired tractor seats littered with rust reside under the bar, only a few occupied at this hour. Everyone is a regular as everyone always is in a small town. Even the young woman, the night's newest arrival.

She walks across the floor, reclaimed and refurbished, Converse shuffling against the hardwood as she approaches the bar. Deemed her seat for quite sometime, she claims the one three seats from the middle. The bartender catches her gaze as she approaches, and a smirk instantly spreads across his lips at the sight of her.

"Belle!" he calls, immediately walking around the bar and lifting his arms to beckon a hug.

"Jaymes!" she says, his enthusiasm contagious as always.

"How are you? I haven't seen you in forever." Jaymes pulls her close, the close of a long-lost friend finally returned home.

"You saw me yesterday in class," she laughs, her smile beaming when they finally pull apart from one another. "But, I'm good! How are you?"

"I'm better now that you're here," he says. He pulls out the stool from underneath the bar. "Pop a squat, babe. The usual?"

"You know me so well," she says, her smile still wide as she takes the seat.

"So, what do I owe for this surpise visit?" Jaymes asks as he prepares the drink, mixing the concoction with ease from experience.

"Can't a girl come see an old friend for shits and giggles?" she says.

"Absolutely not. I need the tea. You know how I crave that shit," he says. The ice rattles in the metal shaker as he mixes the ingredients until he deems proper. He places the martini glass filled to the brim before her, two strawberries resting dutifully as the bottom. "Here ya go."

"Thanks, Jay," she says. Immediately, she places her lips on the rim of the glass, tilting it slightly for the liquor to pass through them. The taste of smooth intoxication overwhelms her tongue and leaves a trail of acerbic lust down her throat. "You still make the best Belletini around."

He laughs. Just as he says, "And don't you forget it," a group of girls enter the establishment, walking around her with no acknowledgement. She recognizes a few from around campus, though she hardly finds offense in their lack of engagement, relieved if anything at not being forced to make casual conversation. Still, Jaymes nods at her, a temporary parting to go greet them and mix whatever drink it is they desire.

Belle shifts in her seat, taking in the surroundings that have grown all too familiar during her time in Athens. She finishes her drink as she observes, watching life take place around her. It is only when she looks out the clouded windows does she see him, the young man walking passed, the highlight of a passing car reflecting in a spotlight on him.

His rustled hair stops just above his brows, his shoulders rolled forward so his eyes are trained on the sidewalk. His hands are buried deep in his pockets despite his walking stance being firm and demanding. In the split five seconds of her observing him pass by the bar window, she grows curious of him, more curious than she has ever found herself in her twenty-something years. Maybe it is the way he carries himself, appearing as though trying to hide from the world, or rather, trying to hide the world from him. Or, perhaps it is the way when he finally looks up to reach for the door handle, she notices a gleam in his eyes, bearing a paradox beauty and destruction amongst their green.