Page 3 of My Damaged Protector

“Sure.” He quickly releases it and opens it for me.

“You can keep the change,” I want to say, but I don't dare. I am on my last three hundred bucks. If I so much as give out a cent, it'll affect me, because I have no hope of a job, yet.

I shouldn't even be spending any money on alcohol. But it's either this or I'm in that room, thinking about Justin. I choose this.

The thought of him hurts. It always does.

As I down my third bottle of beer for the night, I don't allow myself to think of the many demons I've had to fight to this point in my life. Instead, I take gulps of beer anytime an unwanted thought tries to surface.

Before I know it, I'm done with my third bottle.

A groan escapes me in irritation. Why's the damn thing finished so fast?

I contemplate not getting another bottle, and my need to be high wins against my currently reducing wallet.

Sighing, I signal at the bartender, who brings the bottle without any hesitation this time around.

He leaves me to it.

I do my best to make the bottle last longer than the others, and it does, but eventually, it’s finished.

One more last bottle, and I'll go. I can already feel the alcohol in my blood anyway.

As I raise my hand to signal the bartender again, someone takes the seat beside me. I don't have to turn to know she's a lady. Her smell and the way my body reacts to it tells me that much.

I am definitely leaving after this last bottle.

“Is it me, or are you trying to break a record by drinking so much so fast?” says the woman beside me. I pay no heed as the bartender brings me my fifth bottle for the night.

I’m already digging inside my pocket for my wallet again when I hear her speak.

“This one is on me,” she says.

Somehow, her voice sounds familiar.

“No,” I refuse.

“Don't be silly. I can pay for an old friend’s drink now, can't I?”

Old friend?

That gets me.

Chancing her a glance, I come in contact with a face that once used to haunt me.

“Sarah,” I breathe her name out.

She rolls her eyes at me, pays the bartender, and then turns back to look at me.

“Hello, Ian. Is there any particular reason why you’re drinking your liver to death tonight, or is this just a normal Tuesday night for you?”

A quirky smile graces her lips as she speaks, and I can't help but reciprocate it.

She hasn't changed. Okay, maybe I should rephrase that because the Sarah I'm looking at right now is not the eighteen-year-old girl I knew fifteen years ago.

Her face is as angelic looking as ever. Her red hair has grown more in volume in the past years. Fire engine, I used to call it because of how striking her hair color was, and still is.

Her round-shaped face has become paler, same as her skin, her lips plumper and red. Sarah was a petite girl when I used to know her. Now, she's a full-grown curvy woman, and I don't need her to stand up for me to ascertain this. The full cherries in her bosom are all the indication I need.

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