The Rest of Forever (Completed)

Part 3

"Still not found yourself a boyfriend?" Curtis sneers at me over his pint. Paul nudges him not-so-subtly with his elbow.

"Who says I want one?" I sip demurely at my JD and coke, ice tinkling in the glass as I tip it, sliding across my lips, a little frisson of cold. My eyes are glacial as I meet his across the table. "Besides." I slide the empty glass back onto its coaster. "The night is still young."

"Same old Jackie." Paulie smiles affectionately in my direction, earning him a glare from his lover that he doesn't notice.

Why am I here again? Another Friday night back in this dive of a bar I thought I'd escaped seven years ago. I was used to better than this: Manchester had spoilt me. I glance at the other patrons, an eclectic mix of old and young, all shoehorned into this place because of one thing we've got in common. Absently, I wonder how many of them I let fuck me when I was younger. I don't see any familiar faces, but that means nothing. That tall guy, late thirties maybe, dark skinned, just teetering on paunchy, is he looking because he wants me, or because he's already had me? Or the blond guy with the mean eyes at the table opposite. Or the skinhead just walking out of the gents. Or—

"I need another drink." I stand abruptly. "Same again?"

Paul and Curtis exchange looks, glancing at their own carefully nursed pints. Fuck them both, I'm not normally like this. Not anymore. This place holds too many memories, not enough of them good.

I push my way through to the bar, cringing inside as guys try to make eye contact left and right. This place is small enough that I'm still considered new, even after six months. Christ, has it really been that long? I glance at the table where my best friend is laughing with the love of his life and something twists in my gut. I scowl as Curt catches my eye and pulls Paulie into a hot, wet kiss. I fantasise about smashing a bottle over his head while I wait to be served. Like he doesn't know exactly what he's doing.

Why did I ever come back here? What was I hoping to achieve? I'd had friends in Manchester, a good job, a life. Did I really give it all up to spend my days playing the spectre at my best friend's feast?

Maybe I should find a boyfriend. A nice, steady guy who adores me. Maybe, if he looks enough like Paul, I'll grow to adore him too.

"What do you want?" The barman juts his chin at me, punctuating the question. What do I want? I can think of a dozen flip answers to that, but he's probably heard them all before. I order my drink and gratefully snatch the glass when he offers it. Sobriety's overrated.

Paul eyes me inquisitively as I slide back into my seat, little lines marring his perfect complexion. "You okay?" he asks softly.

"Never better." I grimace as I swallow the too-sweet liquor.

"You drink too much." Long lashes kiss his cheekbones. "I worry about you."

"Where's Curt?" I ask to change the subject. I know he's taking a leak.

"Toilets."

"Maybe you should have gone with him." I wink and leer, fighting down the bile that rises at the thought of Paul and Curt together. Why do I do this to myself?

"That was always more your scene," Paul responds, thin lipped.

I love that talking about sex still makes him uptight. If I try really hard, I can almost pretend he's still a virgin; that he's still waiting for me. The thought of having turned down the opportunity to be this man's first—and only—lover hits me like a freight train and I wince.

"I'm not judging," Paul says quickly, misinterpreting the cause of my misery.

"Why not?" I answer thickly. "You've every right."