| | There are a thousand ways to destroy a man, and this, you muse, is but one of them. The glass in front of you is half full, amber liquid slowly being diluted by melting ice cubes. It burns your throat as you swallow it back fast and gesture for another, your second drink in six months.
She looked so happy, happier than you'd seen her in months. Finally enticed out of bed by the smell of coffee, you found her vacuuming the living room, singing along to Elton John on the stereo. Even in her ratty old sweats, hair in a messy ponytail, she looked amazing. She chattered as you stood side by side making breakfast that was late enough to be lunch. You tried to keep things light, to distract from that knot that was slowly forming in the pit of your stomach. In less than eight hours, he would be here, maybe sitting in this very same chair watching her move around the kitchen, like you were just then. It was all you could do not to grab her and kiss her until she changed her mind, but you knew she wouldn't.
You went shopping with her, to the gourmet store Francie frequents. She wanted everything to be perfect and you tried to share her enthusiasm, suggesting wines and collecting the ingredients for whatever recipe Fran had left for her to make. But on the inside your heart was breaking. You remembered the day Danny proposed to her and knew that this was worse. Vaughn knew everything about her, things even you didn't know. Things about her family, her past and now, maybe, her future.
When you got back to the house, there was a message from him. You watched her eyes light up at the sound of his voice, finger lingering over the erase button, like she wanted to save it and listen to it over and over again. You must have been staring because all of a sudden there she was, waving her hand in front of your face, her spicy perfume invading your senses. You fall immediately into to jokester mode, making some self-deprecating comment that makes her laugh out loud. It might have been the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard.
She disappears into the bathroom and you hear the water in the shower running as you pack your overnight bag. She's singing softly again, something slow, and you imagine the water running down over her long, lean body. It wasn't the first time that thought had crossed your mind, but you shoved it away, knowing it would come back to you, taunting you in your dreams.
You stalled until the last possible second, trying to make your departure and his arrival overlap, to make sure he knows how serious you were about the warning you gave him. But she was knocking on your door, gently prodding you out the door with a hasty kiss on the cheek. You had nowhere to go, Amy was in London and Francie had gone out of town to see her sister in San Francisco, so you drove around until you came here. To drown your sorrows in private, relatively speaking.
You hear last call and you down the drink in one swallow, the sting making your eyes water. You know you should be glad that after so much misery, she has something that's good in her life. She deserves it; you won't deny that. You throw the money down on the bar and hate yourself because you wish it were you.
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