Ever so slowly, I lowered my mouth to the lime. As I did so, I felt the brush of her lips on mine.
Just a touch. Just a breath, and it ignited fire in my veins.
And at that moment, I forgot a lot. My heart stopped, my breathing quit, my thoughts cea...
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TWO MONTHS LATER
I scooted my empty shot glass forward, a request for another, and the bartender raised his brows. I gave him a glare, and he quickly refilled it. I downed it immediately.
"Rough day?" a man said from next to me, in German. I mustered the strength to look at him, then slowly nodded.
"Rough past months," I grumbled back in my native language, running a hand through my disheveled hair. God, when was the last time I slept?
"You in medical school as well?" The man waved a finger at the bartender to get a vodka shot as well.
As the bartender poured him a shot, I nodded.
"When did you start?"
"Middle of the semester," I replied. In Germany, the school semesters went from October to the end of March, and April to September. I had traveled to Germany in the middle of May, and they had let me join in the middle of the semester. It was now the end of July, and...
I rubbed my face with my hands again, trying not to think about it. About her.
And yet, I always failed.
"Do you find it difficult?"
"It's not the difficulty that is troubling me," I answered quietly.
In truth, my grades were slipping – more than they ever had. And it wasn't because the topics were hard. No, instead, it was the insomnia. The thoughts that plagued my mind, the nightmares of her that haunted me at night.
The pain.
I had always made fun of heartbreak, and of love. I didn't believe in it for so many years. My parents had a loveless marriage, and though I swore I would never be like them, it wasn't because I thought I could be in a love marriage. Instead, my vow had rested upon never marrying in the first place. I didn't believe in a marriage for love, because love had never existed. Not in my mind, at least.
I never thought I would be able to find someone that I could call the love of my life.
Thinking about her made me sick with need. And not a need for her body or her lips, but a need for her smile. Her voice. Her embrace. Her laugh.
The bartender put another shot in front of me, and I downed it again. It burned, but the pain was nowhere near the pain in my chest.
"Is it just a girl, then?"
I looked over at the man next to me, having forgotten I was in a conversation with him.
I lowered my head in resignation, my vision blurred. Was it tears or the alcohol? "She isn't just a girl," I said.
