Have you ever felt incomplete? Like you are living your life without a soul. You feel empty.
And no matter what you do, nothing could fill it up. Nothing... but him!
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Ping walked aimlessly. He can't appreciate the beauty of the place he once admired. He can't hear the buzz of the folks walking down the street. He can't smell the food from open-space cafes and restaurants. All he sees is his boyfriend and best friend laying naked in his bed. All he can hear is the sound they make when rhythmically moving together. All he can smell is the scent of their betrayal permeating his room.
Ping was unable to avoid the crowd approaching him. It was too late; his bottom had touched the ground. The gush on his elbow, the scrape on his hand, and the ache on his bottom all added to his misery.
He attempted to escape the pain by flying to Paris, France, leaving his boyfriend and best friend in Thailand. Well, ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend. He tried to stand up from where he was sitting, but he just did not have the energy to do so. He looked around and realized he ended up in a red-light district. Ping was unaware of how long he had been walking to reach this part of the city. Ping finally became more aware of his surroundings. He was so consumed by his pain that he didn't care where his feet would lead him.
He tried to stand up again, and this time he made it. He leaned against the building's wall, oblivious to his white Ralph Lauren set. He heard music not too far from where he's standing. It sounded familiar. Someone is singing. A live band. He hasn't heard anyone singing live in a while. He was too busy building his career. Did not pay attention to anything but his work. Ping rose to prominence at a young age, becoming the youngest and most famous chef in Thailand. He made a name in Paris, France, as a student; however, he wanted to make a name for himself in his country. Despite coming from a wealthy family, he was determined to succeed independently. And he did. The success he is enjoying is all thanks to his hard work.
"I never thought I would come back heartbroken," he uttered under his breath.
Ping can hear the music getting louder each steps he take. Few more. And he's finally in front of the bar entrance. He looked up.
"Le Caveau des Oubliettes," Ping read.
Ping walked in. He looked around. The place looked private and cosy. The band sounds okay. He does not drink but he could use one tonight, he thought. Ping went to the bar and sat in front of the bartender. The bar is not that crowded. It's still early for bar hoppers.
"Bonjour, monsieur." The bartender greets Ping with a warm expression and tone. The man is dressed in a black shirt and slacks, his moustache is perfectly shaped, and he resembles the guy on the Mexican hot sauce bottle, except he is lacking a Mexican hat. His smile is warm and friendly. Nonetheless, his aching heart prevents him from smiling back. Instead, he nodded and ordered his drinks.
"Whisky. Neat please." Ping said.
Although he does not drink, his job as a chef needs him to be familiar with alcohol.
Ping did not have to endure a long wait. The amber liquid is served.
"Here you go, monsieur." The kind elderly bartender smiled again. He couldn't help but admire the stunning creature in front of him. However, he could detect anguish in those lovely eyes.
Ping took a sip. Despite drinking only a small amount, Ping's face grimaces as the potent alcohol burns his throat. His white, silky skin turned red in an instant. Ping placed his glass of whisky on the counter. He picked up the water that the bartender had served earlier. When his sight shifts to his finger, his left hand comes to a halt in mid-air.
