watermelon mojito

part 6: regret

Troy had spent the entire morning lying in bed, his thoughts consumed with regret and guilt. The weight of what he had done the night before crushed him, making it hard to breathe, to think clearly. He knew he had to reach out to Rich, to explain, to apologize, to do something—anything—to try and fix the mess he had made.

With trembling hands, Troy grabbed his phone and typed out a message:

Troy: Rich, I’m so sorry. Please, let’s talk. I need to explain. Please answer me.

He hit send and waited, his heart pounding in his chest. Minutes passed, then hours, with no response. Every time his phone buzzed, he grabbed it, only to find notifications from other apps, but nothing from Rich. The silence was deafening, and with each passing minute, the gnawing fear that he had lost Rich for good grew stronger.

By early afternoon, Troy couldn’t take it anymore. He decided to drive over to Rich’s house, hoping that if he could just see him, they could talk and work through this. The drive felt endless, his mind racing with what he would say, how he would apologize, how he would beg for forgiveness if that’s what it took.

But when he finally arrived at Rich’s house and knocked on the door, there was no answer. He knocked again, harder this time, his heart sinking when he was met with only silence. He tried calling, but the call went straight to voicemail. Desperation clawed at him as he checked around the house, peering through windows, hoping to see some sign that Rich was there. But the house was dark, empty, as if Rich had vanished entirely.

Frustrated and panicked, Troy spent the rest of the day driving around town, checking all the places he thought Rich might go—parks, coffee shops, even the smoothie shop where they worked. But each place turned up empty. Rich was nowhere to be found, and with each failed attempt, Troy’s hope dwindled further.

By the time the sun had set, exhaustion and despair had set in. Troy sat in his car, staring at his phone, unsure of what to do next. His thoughts kept drifting back to the night before, to David, to the brief comfort he had found in his arms—a comfort that now felt tainted, wrong. But in his desperation, Troy found himself dialing David’s number anyway, the need to escape his own guilt overwhelming his better judgment.

Troy: Hey, David… are you free tonight? I could use a drink.

David’s response came quickly, too quickly.

David: Yeah, I’m free. Let’s meet up.

Troy sighed, relieved at the prospect of some distraction from the turmoil inside his head. He agreed to pick David up, needing the company, even if it wasn’t the company he truly wanted.

When Troy arrived at David’s place, David slid into the passenger seat with a casual smile, as if nothing had happened the night before, as if they were just two old friends meeting up for a drink. But Troy couldn’t shake the heaviness in his chest, the guilt gnawing at him with every mile they drove.

They headed to a small bar on the edge of town, a place Troy had never been before, hoping the unfamiliar surroundings would help him forget, at least for a little while. But as they walked through the door, Troy’s heart nearly stopped.

There, sitting at the bar with his back to them, was Rich. The soft glow of the dim lights reflected off the glass in his hand, and Troy could see the bright pink liquid inside—another watermelon mojito. The irony twisted the knife in Troy’s chest, a cruel reminder of what they had shared, of what he had thrown away.

Panic surged through Troy, and he grabbed David’s arm, pulling him back toward the door. “We need to leave,” he said urgently, his voice shaking. “Let’s go to another bar, anywhere but here.”

David looked confused, his brow furrowing as he resisted Troy’s pull. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Please, David, just—” But before Troy could finish, Rich turned around, his eyes meeting Troy’s. The world seemed to freeze in that moment, the air between them crackling with tension and unspoken words.

Rich’s expression shifted from surprise to something darker—hurt, betrayal, anger—all flooding his features in quick succession. He looked between Troy and David, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place in his mind. Troy could see the moment Rich understood, the moment his face hardened with the realization that his boyfriend had spent the night with someone else.

“Troy,” Rich said, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet filled with so much pain that it cut through Troy like a blade.

Troy’s breath caught in his throat, and he felt rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak. The weight of his mistakes crashed down on him, heavier than ever before.

David, oblivious to the full gravity of the situation, tried to speak up, but Troy silenced him with a look. “Rich, I—” Troy started, but the words died in his throat.

Rich didn’t wait for an explanation. He downed the rest of his drink in one bitter gulp, the glass clinking harshly as he set it down on the bar. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the bar, pushing past Troy and David as if they were nothing more than strangers.

Troy felt his heart shatter as he watched Rich leave, the finality of the moment crashing over him like a tidal wave. He wanted to run after him, to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but his legs refused to move. He could only stand there, paralyzed by the realization that he had lost the one person who had truly mattered.

Beside him, David finally seemed to grasp the severity of what had just happened. He put a hand on Troy’s shoulder, but Troy shrugged it off, the touch only deepening the hollow ache in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” David said quietly, but his words felt empty, meaningless.

Troy couldn’t bring himself to respond. All he could do was stare at the door Rich had just walked out of, knowing that he had made the worst mistake of his life—and that there might be no way to fix it.