The Worst Accident

3

Morning light filters through the grimy blinds, pulling me out of a dreamless sleep. My head feels heavy, like it’s filled with cotton. I sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and the first thing that comes to mind is Sage. Saego. Whatever she wants to be called.

I can’t stop thinking about her, about the way she looked at me, the way she said so little but somehow said everything. It’s been a long time since someone got under my skin like this, and it’s unsettling. I’m not used to feeling anything but anger and regret. But she… she’s different.

I throw on some clothes, not bothering with breakfast. I’m not hungry anyway. All I can think about is going back to the bar, seeing if she’s there again. I tell myself it’s just to satisfy my curiosity, but I know it’s more than that.

The walk to the bar feels longer than usual, each step filled with anticipation. My mind races, wondering if she’ll be there, what I’ll say if she is. I’m not good at this kind of thing—small talk, making connections. But with her, I want to try.

When I push open the door to the bar, the usual sounds greet me—the low murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses. It’s not too crowded, but there are more people than there were last night. I scan the room quickly, looking for her, but she’s not there.

My heart sinks a little, disappointment gnawing at my insides. I make my way to the bar, trying to hide my frustration. Sam gives me a nod as I sit down, already reaching for the whiskey bottle.

“Back so soon?” he asks, pouring me a glass.

“Yeah,” I mutter, trying to keep my tone casual. “Just needed a drink.”

He sets the glass in front of me, studying my face for a moment. I take a sip, the familiar burn doing little to ease the tension in my chest.

“You were looking for her, weren’t you?” Sam says, not bothering to beat around the bush.

I glance at him, trying to gauge how much he knows. “Maybe. She’s not here.”

Sam shrugs, wiping down the bar with that same rag. “She comes and goes. Some days she’s here, some days she’s not.”

“Yeah, well, today’s not one of those days, I guess,” I reply, trying to mask my disappointment with sarcasm.

Sam gives me a knowing look, but he doesn’t press. He’s been around long enough to know when to push and when to back off. “She’s an odd one, that Sage,” he says after a moment. “Keeps to herself, like I said. But there’s something about her, isn’t there?”

I nod, not trusting myself to say more. Sam doesn’t need to know how deep she’s already gotten under my skin. Hell, I barely understand it myself.

I sit there for a while, nursing my drink, trying to make sense of the storm of emotions swirling inside me. Part of me wants to forget about her, write it off as a fluke, just another fleeting encounter. But another part, a bigger part, is already hooked. I need to see her again, talk to her, figure out why she keeps showing up in my dreams.

As the minutes drag on and the bar fills up, I start to doubt myself. Maybe I came on too strong last night, scared her off. I’m not exactly the most charming guy, and I know I’ve got a reputation around here. What if she heard something about me, decided I wasn’t worth the trouble?

The more I think about it, the more convinced I become that it’s my fault. I’ve been out of the game for too long, living in this shell of a life, and now that someone’s finally caught my interest, I’ve blown it.

I finish my drink, signaling Sam for another. He pours it silently, giving me a sympathetic look that only makes me feel worse. I’m not looking for pity; I’m looking for answers.