Lost.

Prepare a cup of coffee for another night of sleepless times, so I can blame the caffeine for giving me time to think...  Ariela Jacobs - Lost 

My finger traces the rim of the glass and the facets on the side barely catch the low, warm lights that dangle over the bar, glinting back at me. The ice rattles a little against the sides as I bring it up close to my lips, and I breathe in deep. The orange tang of the cointreau hits my nostrils and brings back memories... "I really shouldn't be drinking this," I think to myself. "You know it's only going to end in you rehashing, overthinking, under sleeping and crying don't you?" 

I tip the glass up and dip just the tip of my tongue into the liquid. The burn is pleasant and welcome. I take a sip, swirling it around my mouth, relishing the burn and the sweet orange aftertaste. Memories of summer, sweet words and chaste kisses swirl in my mind just as the drink is in my mouth. Sighing, I put my glass down on the bar, squeezing it in my right hand, my left finger playing with the condensation. I rest my head on my left arm as I swirl the remaining few sips in the bottom of my glass, smiling at the bartender as he meets my eye. 

"Are you ok Katie?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips turning up into a comforting smile. I sit up and adjust my glasses, pushing them further up my nose. "Yeah, just thinking about things I shouldn't and running scenarios in my head that never happened. You know, the usual." I smile back at him, knowing it's not reaching my eyes. 

"You do know I'm here to talk if you need it don't you? And I do mean beyond typical bartender counselling." John, the bartender, owns the basement bar and the apartments above - which also happens to be my new home. Which makes him my landlord. I don't know whether I'm cursed, or lucky. He's taken on a sort of older brother/best friend role since I showed up here with my life in a suitcase. Apparently broken people can recognise each other.

"I know, I'm not sure I'm ready to put that out in the open yet. Maybe I will? Maybe I won't. I'm just taking it one day at a time - and one shot at a time." I wink back at him and finish the last of my drink, placing it down on the table. John reaches for it, about to pour me another when I hear the door chime, and a cool rush of air intrudes on the cosiness. Not bothering to acknowledge who's just walked in, I watch as he starts filling my glass, adds the ice cubes, and then three strawberries with a toothpick in each. When I moved to New York, all I craved was fresh fruit. After coming from a small city on the coast of Australia where produce was easy to find, New York was a huge shock to the system. John saw my eyes light up one night when I saw the strawberries, and ever since it's been an unspoken thing of him putting them in any drink I order. 

"Is this seat taken?" A low, cocky voice sounds to my right. The hair on the back of my neck bristles, and I'm trying to place where the familiarity is. Without turning my head, I internally roll my eyes and I bite back "Well, obviously not - you've got this one and about, oh, 10 others to choose from though, so have at it." My Aussie twang reverberating off the walls. 

John gives the stranger a bit of a side eye as he hands me my drink. I pluck the strawberries out of the glass and wrap my lips around them, pulling them in, crushing them between my back teeth and enjoying the tangy sweetness spreading. I chase it up with sip of my drink and place my glass back down, thinking to myself, "Is this guy ever going to sit down or was he that easily perturbed by my salty attitude? Rookie error." Just as I finish that thought, I hear the rumble of laughter. 

"Good to see that some things don't change, do they, freckles?" 

My neck snaps in his direction, and my eyes lock on to familiar brown pools, staring deep into mine with an arrogant smirk pulling at one side of his full lips. A face I thought I'd never see again. A voice I never thought I'd hear again. My eyes instantly fill with tears, of pain, frustration and anger. I look him up and down, grab my glass and down it in one hit. I see John's eyebrows disappear under his black hair, and he takes a protective step forwards. 

Those next moments move in slow motion, my mind makes up exactly what it's going to do. After all the times I'd played this scenario over and over in my head, I just know. I blink away the tears, and a stray one betrays me by running down my cheek. Without breaking eye contact, I grab my coat, my phone and I stand up. 

Looking him dead in the eye, I raise my right hand and I slap him as hard as I can manage. Without looking back, my right hand stinging, I push through the doors and I run.