Playing With Fire

Prologue

Prologue

I walk up to the bar, teetering on the too tall heels that I had known I was going to regret.

"I'll take the strongest stuff you have," I manage to get out semi-coherently to the man behind the bar.

He gives me a look, that expresses his disapproval, but begrudging turns around to make the concoction.

You see this wasn't my first drink. I'd had so many that I've lost count. It seemed this was the only way I could forget. And the fact that I could remember, meant that my goal had not been accomplished.

The bartender sets the drink down in front of me and turns around to serve the next person. He already knows I'll tell him to put it on my tab.

Everywhere I look reminds me of him. The snow outside makes me remember his love for the cold. A tear drips down my cheek. It was all my fault. His death was my fault.

I remember the look on his face as I told him I never wanted to see him again. I hadn't been thinking clearly as I shoved the door closed in his face. I had thought I never wanted to see him again. I never thought that he would lose his life that night as he was driving to my house to apologize for his affair. Blake didn't deserve that.

A voice interrupts my thoughts, causing me to turn away from the window and return to reality. I look up to see a man in a hood staring back at me.

He peers at me from under his hood and through his sunglasses, which I thought were odd, considering we're indoors, as he repeats what he had said, "Ma'am are you alright?"

I quickly wipe away the tears that coated my cheeks and whisper a quick, "I'm fine."

I lift the shot in front of me and down it in one go, it's burn the only thing taking my mind off the unforgiving pain and guilt raging inside me.

It takes me a moment to realize that I'm now standing and the man whom's name I still don't know, is guiding me towards the door. I try and pull away, only to be picked up, dropping my purse which contained my phone and wallet, in the process.

The man carrying me mumbles something about how much of a scene I'm causing and how I'll pay for it later, only to state louder, "Oh, she's fine. She just had a bit too much to drink."

I suppose he only said that to placate the other people in the bar. It would look rather suspicious if he was carrying me out with no explanation.

I'm set down in the backseat of a large truck, and the last thing I hear before I black out is the slam of the truck door and the start of the engine as we pull out of the parking lot.

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