Eternity's Ending (our version of events) - Book One

Vincent

I run through the house screaming out for her. I did not feel her leave my arms. The lack of response kick starts my heart into full panic mode. The note drifts from the table onto the floor as I speed through the kitchen toward the garage door. I pick up the coffee stained piece of paper from the floor and digest what is written on it.

I helped you get rid of your demons but all you've done is resurrect mine. I'm sorry. It hurts too much. You know where I'll be but please don't try to find me.

I've spent the nights following our break up at the bar down the street rereading that note because it is the only trace of her existence I have. Her clothes, shoes, each and every belonging that once took up space in my house was packed and removed by myself and Cassie the day after our fallout.

"She doesn't want to see you," was all Cassie said as she stood at my doorway, holding empty suitcases in both hands.

"How is she?" I asked after we filled one of Xander's suitcases.

Cassie; sweet, bubbly, helped me pick out the engagement ring, maid of honor in our wedding, Cassie fired me a look that suppressed any other inquiries I might have. We finished packing in complete silence.

"Oh, here's this," she said, sitting the suitcase aside as she stood at the front door ready to leave. She dipped a finger into her pocket then dropped my house key in my hand before walking out the door without another word.

"What are you reading there, buddy?" said the bartender pulling me back to the present.

I lay the paper on the bar and slide it in his direction. He takes a moment to glance at the note.

"Ouch. Guess you really screwed the pooch on that one," he slides the note back to me. Seconds later a shot of Jack follows. "Maybe this will help take the sting out, help you forget her. It's on the house."

Until now, I've been drinking soda and by now I mean this entire existence. I've spent my whole life trying not to be the person I was in the past because I needed so desperately to be someone Xander would love. That meant never touching alcohol. But I decide it would be rude to refuse his gift so I lift the glass, do a quick gesture of gratitude and pour the ounce of liquor down my throat. As the fire starts in my mouth and follows the liquid into my chest, I become amazed at my ability to drink with such regularity in the past.

Minutes later, when the bartender catches me reading the note again, he slides another drink in my direction. He doesn't know how this is going to end but I do. I'll never forget but as long as he is offering, I'll continue to accept his generosity. It's hard to tell which drink was one too many but as I ramble on and on about the love I lost, it's clear to both of us I've passed the point of good decisions.

"How you getting' home, buddy?"

"You don't even know my name. And it feels like oooohhh....you don't know my name," Am I really singing Alicia Keys to a grown man in a bar? I'm trying to separate my actions into what's real and what isn't when I hear myself continue on, "it feels like oooohhhh..."

Yes. Yes, that would be me singing Alicia Keys to a grown man in a bar, loudly enough to make him uncomfortable and also garner the attention of everyone within earshot.

"Broken Hearts Club," says the bartender, explaining away my behavior to the patrons eyeballing me.

"What's your name, buddy?" asks the bartender, probably to stop me from serenading him.

"Vincent," I say, "yours?"

"Jason," he says, "it's good to meet you, Vincent. How are you getting home? Did you drive here?"

"I took the heel-toe express," I say and walk my index and middle finger along the edge of the bar to the shot waiting for me.

Jason swipes it from me before I can get a hold of it.

"I think we've reached our max, don't you agree?"

"But I didn't forget?" I pout.

"That's unfortunate. Still, I can't let you have another."

"Alright then," I say.

I stand from my stool and take several unbalanced steps backward.

"Is there someone I can call for you, buddy?"

"Nope, I've got this one," I pull the phone from my pocket.

All of the numbers blend together on the keypad and I can't see to make out the digits need to dial. I hand Jason the phone.

"Could you push number two please, good sir."

He shakes his head, pushes the button and holds the phone up to his ear. I wave my hands at him to signal I want the phone back and he hands it over.

"Xander? Xander," the sloppy words spill from me before I realize the phone is still ringing in my ear.

"Xander..." her name rushes from my mouth when I hear her voice.

I realize after a moment I'm speaking to her voicemail.

"No answer," dejection coats my voice as I slide my cell phone back into my pocket.

"How far is the walk?" he asks sympathetically.

"Two blocks," I'm sad, it shows.

"Do you think you can make it? I can call you a cab if you can't. Just seems like a waste, you know."

"I can walk. Thank you for your hospitality, kind sir," I lay 40 dollars on the bar and stagger out the door.

The cool night air sobers me up slightly. I know the direction I need to go to get to my house. But I am acutely aware that by heading in the opposite direction, I will get to hers. She won't take my calls but if we were face to face; if she could see for herself I am hurting, I'm dying without her, then she'll take me back for sure.

I let drunken steps lead me to the train station leading to her door. I watch Xander make her way past a window as I stand on the street below. I race to press the call button on Cassie's apartment building door. My finger takes up a brief residence on the buzzer before I back away to look to the window. I know they will look outside to figure out who is at their door at this hour and I'm right. Xander and I lock eyes momentarily before she slams the curtains shut.

"Xander!" I yell into the call box I return to after she shuts me out, "please Xander, I just want to talk to you."

I hate that I'm drunk right now, that she might not take me seriously because of this fact but I can't hold the slurring words in any longer.

"Xander, I'm sorry," my face presses into the cold stone of the archway, "please; I love you. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please forgive me. Please give me another chance. I'm still in love with you, Xander. I know you still love me. Please, I'm begging."

I wait anxiously for her response but all I hear is nothing.