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Then I'd heard it, that raspy deep voice making a shiver run down my spine. "Hi there sugar, you want another one of those?"I'd looked up as I felt someone sit down next to me. All I'd seen was piercing blue eyes looking out beneath a mop of dirty blond hair. My mouth had gone dry as I was foolishly just stared at him. "Huh?" had been my less then intelligent response. It was the man from across the bar. "Another drink?" he'd clarified nodding his head at my glass. "Oh, yes please. Thank you," I'd stammered back. His presence was even more intense up close, engulfing me completely, making me feel both drawn to him, as I'd never been to anyone before, and incredibly intimidated. He had kept buying me drinks and I drank more than I usually do, just because he made me nervous.But the alcohol had loosened my tongue and I'd found myself daringly flirting with him. I'd thought we really hit it off, when he suddenly just risen from the bar. "Stay here!" he'd ordered me. "I just need to take. I hear, so often, that men are assholes, and I wonder if I really am such a prick, or if I’m just playing the role that’s been handed to me. I’m probably just a jerk with an overdeveloped sense of what I should be, but I might be a romantic dipshit just looking for the right something or other to tide me through until next whenever. So tired. I go to bed with the light shining in around my curtains and a light fog coming from my mouth because I haven’t turned the heat on. Staring at the ceiling is not quite as effective as counting sheep, but I could never force myself past an irrational fear of getting shit on by the goddam sheep. I wake up and stare at the ceiling some more. The only bright thing I can think of is that I can’t be in the grip of depression, because I can’t sleep. Depressed people sleep all the time, right? That means I’m right as fucking rain. Doesn’t it? I stare at the ceiling until the sun goes down. They say night falls, but I think it rises. Much like that.
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