Ever Since New York (H.S.) 💌

‎‧₊˚✧ 01 ✧˚₊‧

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18 years later...

New York, New York

(Dylan's perspective)

It is the first anniversary of my mother's death today, and to celebrate, I wallowed in self-pity all morning and afternoon. Now that it's night, I find myself in a random bar, using my father's name and a fake ID to get in. I know that if sleep befalls me, I'll only dream of her, and being awake at least allows some distractions.

I watch the people in the bar. People-watching has always been something I found comfort in. I liked watching people move throughout their day, making up scenarios for them in my head. As I sit in a dimly lit booth, I look out over at the tables where couples drink and eat together. They seem happy. I haven't been happy for a while, not since Mom died. We did everything together, and even though we lived in less-than-fortunate conditions, Mom made it fun. Sometimes I'd imagine myself as someone else, but not once did I ever wish I had more than what she gave me.

I took a sip of my Martini and poked the olive out of boredom. The bar was emptier than I'd like it to be. I had looked over almost everyone here. That's when he walks in.

My attention was immediately caught when I saw the tall frame of a man slump onto a barstool. His chestnut hair was tousled, yet fell just in the right place on his head. I couldn't yet make out the color of his eyes, but noticed the sultry almond shape. Tattoos littered his tan, muscular arms. He wore a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His forehead was slightly sweaty; he must have come from another bar or club.

"Two shots of the best vodka you got," he said in a British accent to the bartender who quickly followed his demand.

Two shot glasses were then sat before him and the man wasted no time in throwing one of them back. Before I realized what he was doing, he left the bar counter and walked straight in my direction. I averted my gaze, hoping he'd change destinations if I looked uninterested, but alas, he didn't.

"You didn't think I'd notice you staring at me, huh, love?" He asked in a deep, charming voice. A smirk spread across his pink lips and he slid the shot glass over to me.

I stared at the shot and then at him, "No thanks, I have a drink," I said dismissively.

He shrugged and snatched it up again, throwing it back just like he did with the first one. Not a single wince or shudder left him. "Suit yourself," he mumbled and continued to sit beside me in the semi-circle booth.

I took another sip of my martini, almost draining it. He watched me as I emptied my martini glass. He chuckled softly.

"Rough night?" he looked at her and she noticed his emerald green eyes.

"Yeah," I sighed.

He nodded and leaned back on the seat with a smile, crossing his arms behind his head. The dim lighting of the bar cast shadows across his face, giving his smirk a mischievous edge. From what I could tell, this man was trouble.

I don't know why I did, but I blurted, "It's the first anniversary of my mom's death."

His arms dropped from behind his head, but his expression changed only slightly. "Hmm," he hummed and tapped the empty glass on the wooden table, "I know what that's like."

He didn't elaborate before waving over a bartender and buying more drinks than he needed. I could tell he was already drunk. The stench of alcohol reverberated off of him. I stayed silent while he waited for his drinks. They came fast, due to the small crowd, and he starting chugging a beer. I sipped from a shot glass, not planning to stay for much longer.

The silence was broken when the man suddenly leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You ever have one of those nights where you wish you could just disappear? No one knowing where you went?"

I raised an eyebrow, confused by the sudden shift. "What do you mean?"

He tilted his head toward the door. "Because if you do, you can come back to my place. Just say the word."

I stare at his bright green eyes, confused, "I don't even know you. You're a stranger."

He shrugged, "good point." He turned to me and smiled, holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Harry,"

I giggle at his words, "I'm Dylan."

"Now we're no longer strangers."

"I appreciate your efforts, but I still don't know you-- plus it's not like I can just disappear for the night. And I don't want to sleep with you."

He scoffed, "Everyone wants to sleep with me, love."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not everyone. I've had fun tonight but I think it's time for me to get home; it's late," I say as I reach for my clutch and begin to stand up from the leather booth.

He stops me and grabs my wrist gently, "I promise you won't regret our time together."

"Except I will. Goodnight, Harry." I said sternly and exited the booth. As I walked towards the door of the bar, I felt hands on my waist that turned me around. What a surprise, it's him.

"Harry-"

"Dylan, I understand what you're going through and I know how to lift your spirits. Just come home with me, I don't bite."

His words weren't all that bad, but it was the devilish smirk that was starting to send me over the edge. How could he stand there and smirk at me after I've told him "no" a thousand times?

I was about to tell him off but I was interrupted when he leaned in and kissed me. My eyes widened and i pulled away. Before i could even process what had just happened, I slapped him across the cheek.

He let go of me and put his hand to his now bright red cheek. His eyes were widened in shock; as were mine when he looked down at me.

"What the fuck!" he yelled drunkenly. People around us turned to watch and I cupped my hand over my mouth, surprised at what I had done. My eyes started tearing up as I sprinted to the door and ran outside into the street. Despite my mother's voice in the back of my head, I didn't check both ways before running across the busy New York street to my car.

I turned around to see if he was following me, and as suspected, he was.

"Dylan!" He yelled from across the street. I regretted slapping him, but how many time does a girl have to say no? He didn't seem like a terrible guy, but it was the anniversary of my mother's death! What'd he expect?!

I turned back around and ran even faster to my car. I fumbled through my clutch to find my keys and unlocked the car. As soon as I sat down, I locked the car again. I immediately started the car and drove off down the highway without looking back.

Did I just get sexually harassed?

I genuinely don't know.

But I do know, that this will forever be a day I will dread remembering.

Both my mother's death anniversary and the first time I slapped a man in a bar.