when i turned 18

Cassidy {Chapter 21}

TW: This chapter contains discussions of alcohol abuse. Reader discretion is advised.
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All time does is seem to pass, at an ever-growing rate. A pace I can't seem to keep up with anymore. It feels like the days blend together, and nothing feels exciting to me anymore.

I miss when Leia and I were freshly friends, going out, partying, drinking, living life to the fullest. I messed that up for us. She hasn't texted me in days, which is understandable, but it doesn't make it any easier. The only two girls I have feelings for aren't talking to me. Wonderful.

I miss when I was with Cassidy. I miss her touch, her kiss, and her comforting voice. God, I'd do anything to have her give me another chance. But if that means losing Leia... I don't know.

I feel like I'm stuck; between two girls, one who I was in love with and one I feel deeply for but can't bring myself to love.

That's the thing—I couldn't understand why I couldn't bring myself to love Leia. She was sweet, funny, caring, and we had that "enemies to lovers" trope going, which was thrilling. But now, that's all gone. I wanted to love her so badly, but I don't think the plague of Cassidy lurking inside my mind will ever fade.

I've found myself lurking at nearby bars and parties, places I wasn't even invited to but managed to get into. Anything to drink and escape the noise in my head.

"All of this over two girls," I thought, laughing at myself with pity.

The dim light of the bar cast long shadows, emphasizing my solitude. I took another sip of my drink, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction. The chatter around me was a dull hum, and the laughter felt like a distant echo.

I stared at my phone, hoping for a message from Leia or Cassidy, something to pull me out of this pit. The screen remained dark. I sighed and took another sip.

"Mind if I join you?" a voice asked.

I looked up to see a man with a friendly smile and eyes that, for the slightest moment, reminded me of my father. He had a weathered face, kind yet worn by time and experience, much like my dad's.

"Sure," I replied, motioning to the empty seat next to me.

He sat down and ordered a drink. "Rough night?"

"You could say that," I admitted. "Just dealing with some... complicated shit."

"Ah, love troubles," he said knowingly. "I've been there."

"It's more like a mess I created," I confessed. "Between two girls."

"Sounds tough," he said sympathetically. "But you know, sometimes the heart needs time to figure things out."

"Time," I echoed. "Feels like it's the enemy right now."

"Maybe," he said, his eyes thoughtful. "Or maybe it's just giving you a chance to heal."

We talked for a while, his presence a balm to my aching soul. He gave me lots of advice—advice I probably wouldn't take—but it was nice to hear.

On his way out, he put down a $20 bill, paying for my drinks before whispering in my ear, "You're young; don't let drinking tear at you." He smiled and patted my shoulder as he walked out.

I continued drinking vigorously for another hour. As I was about to leave, I noticed a cop walk in. I'd been getting drinks by flirting with the bartender, convincing her with my "I forgot my ID" routine. Pretty pathetic of me, but it had been working for months; they never ID'd me when I came in.