Ice To Meet You

thank u, next

If my life was a book, it would be one without much dialogue. I don't say how I feel, I keep it in—I think a part of me knows that people don't want to be told when they've fucked up. I thought with Liam it would be different but patterns in life don't really change, do they?

We are who we are for a reason. My memoir would be an assortment of different kinds of silence people don't talk about.

It will be an echo of things I never said.

A part of me always thought that Liam would be different. Maybe even the one—but what do I know?

I've never been in love and after the rollercoaster that has been my life, I don't think I ever want to be. He's convinced me that I'll be happier being the crazy dog lady.

It's been two days since the night that changed my life and I am coping better than I would have expected. The bartending gig isn't so bad. I mostly just pour middle-aged men whiskey and for all the complicated things I ask Joe for help. Or rather, he comes over and makes it for me. The first day was a-okay. I just felt my way through.

My phone rings and it's a 646 number.

"Hello."

"Hi Mia, it's Amanda." I know, I've heard this voice for 2 weeks. Why is she calling me?

"What's up Amanda?" I can be as casual as I want with this sell-out.

"I was just calling to check if you are coming back to work for Substance." Will the bartending job be better than substance? Nope. Is the money better? Again nope. Will I still budge? Hell no. This bitch can suck my dick.

"I am not. Thank you for calling to check in but I sent in my letter of resignation two days ago." I hate you.

"Before we terminate you as an employee I just wanted to personally call you and apologize for the situation I put you in." You mean you put yourself in.

"Liam is probably making her say all this," inner bitch comments and I shut her down. I and the voices don't talk about Liam in this house. Whenever one of them starts the conversation, I just divert my mind back to the book I am currently reading. After 3 books you would think they would get the point.

"We're all cool Amanda. Is there anything else you would like to talk about?" I love how I can be a bitch to her and feel good about it.

"It's clap back season honey," inner bitch says in her Jeffery Star voice. I do watch a lot of YouTube for a woman who forgets to put lip balm.

"Can I ask you why? Do you have another job lined up or are you interviewing elsewhere?" Nosey bitch hop off my dick.

As much as I don't want to think about him, I have to. Rationally if this is indeed Liam making her call me, she will report back everything to him. Amanda never cared about my wellbeing or my life before today.

"Act cool Mia," Inner voice gives me a pep talk.

"I have a job already Amanda and I don't want to work under a woman who has been under my ex." I hang up and the weight of my words catches me off guard. It's like my subconscious is convinced that Liam is my ex, why else would I say it? Why else would he not call?

I hold on to the kitchen slab to steady myself. I hate being ignored, nothing in the world feels worse... It's like we're back to high school and I just don't exist anymore.

Tears gather around my eyes and I blink hard to hold it in anymore but I just can't. So, I sit down on the kitchen floor and let my misery take over.

My eyes are swollen shut and I don't think I can physically cry anymore. I have no more tears left inside of me and my eyes are so dry that I can feel them getting dehydrated. My head hurts.

"Stop thinking about it!" I yell loudly in the empty house. My voice echoes. I go back to the book I am trying to read. I have read about 40 pages and my mind has picked up nothing. I have no clue what the book is about but you know what?

Whatever keeps me from thinking of him.

I force myself to focus and functioning on autopilot isn't as hard as people make it out to be. I change into my black tee and leggings—take the subway to the bar and make it a point not to plug in my headphones. Every time I listen to any kind of music, something reminds me of him and my heart just can't take anymore. All the clinched breakup quotes I used to scroll through while procrastinating on Instagram make sense to me now. It's like the entire world looks the same but my world is upside down and nobody around me seems to care.

My shift is a blur and I plaster a fake smile to keep the charade going. Joe is chill and so is the other dude in a manbun whose name I can't remember.

"Do you want to get a smoke?" Joe asks me. The constant blasting music has made my ears drums numb and neon lights make me feel woozy, I could use a break. It's almost 3, I can take a smoke break.

"Sure." We exit through the kitchen kind of thing that leads us outside. He offers me Marlboro lights and I take it. He lights it for me. I suck at the cigarette and fight a cough forming in my throat. I swallow hard to curb it.

"Do you like it here?" Joe asks me as he keeps the lighter in his jeans.

"Yeah, it's cool. I am still feeling my way into all this."

"I saw you take multiple shots earlier today, you'll fit right in," he says in an amused voice. You're kind of not allowed to drink on the job but what are you going to do? You can't police all the liquor in the house and to be completely honest, I need a few shots in me to be this chirpy, happy go lucky person all these fools around me think I am. It's my own personal hell to exist in a world where people only see my bubbly personality but don't pause to feel my sad soul.

Maybe I am one of those people that will remain misunderstood and alone forever.

I exhale the smoke in and even though it scratches my throat, I act cool.

"I am glad."

"So, what's your story?" he has a southern accent and he doesn't look at me as he's talking to me.

"What do you mean?"

"Everybody has a story, what brings you to Pony bar?"

"I am just trying to pay the bills."

"Isn't everybody?"

"What's your story?"

"I like listening to stories and what better way to do that than be a bartender?"

We share a knowing smile, in the two days I've worked here, a lot of people have spilled some pretty personal stuff while ordering drinks. I just never looked at it like this.

He crushes the cigarette butt under his feet and I do the same. Something tells me Joe and I will be friends. He's in his thirties, mature with dark black hair and love for everything Italian. He's no—why is my mind even going there?

I take my phone out and scroll through Pinterest, I am looking at home décor even though I can never afford any of this in a lifetime.

"Can I get a Blue Label on the rocks?" 

I immediately look up and my heart falls to the ground.