Page 100 of You Might Be Bad for Me

And worst of all, three nights of not sleeping.

Every night I keep dreaming of the bar and every time the scene ends differently. It starts out how I’d have liked for it to have gone. With him giving me the time of day. With him offering to get me a drink. But then it turns dark and wicked. Daniel grabs me. Or worse. I hear Tyler tell me to stay away.

And I wake up shaken.

I feel just like I did that winter I ran away.

And I hate it. I hate Daniel even more for making it all come back. And if I can find that asshole I’m going to tell him exactly how he makes me feel. Not just the way he made me feel the other night, but also the way I felt all those years ago.

Part of me wants to run. But I already did that. I can’t keep running forever.

I open the heavy glass door to the bar with the buzz of the late traffic behind me. This is an old town, but on weekends everyone is out and about.

I’m immediately hit with the aroma of pale ale lingering in the air and the chatter of everyone in here. The air outside was crisp, but only two steps in and the warmth lets me slip off my cardigan.

“Addison,” Jake says my name from his place behind the bar. It carries over the hubbub and a man seated on a stool by him turns to look back at me.

Jake’s smile is broad and welcoming as he gestures to an open seat at the bar.

For a small moment I forget the churning in my gut. I think that’s what really happened these past couple of years. I slowly forgot. And if that isn’t a tragedy, I don’t know what is.

“You alright?” Jake asks with his forehead creased and a frown on his lips.

“Sorry,” I tell him and shake my head as I fold the cardigan over the barstool and then slip on top of it, resting my elbows on the bar. “Been a long few days.”

“What’s bothering you?” he asks while passing a beer down the bar to an old man with salt and pepper hair and bushy eyebrows that are colored just the same.

The man waves him a thanks without breaking his conversation. Something about a football game coming up.

Letting out an easy sigh, I pull the hair away from my face and into a small ponytail although I don’t have a band, so it falls down my back as I talk. “Oh, you know. Just moving and getting settled.” I smile easily as I lie to him. “So, how’s it been going for you?”

Even as I ask him I’m almost painfully aware of how I couldn’t care less. I’m eager for information and that’s all I want. I rest my chin in my hand and lean forward, pretending to give him my full attention even though my mind’s on all the questions on the tip of my tongue.

How often does Daniel come here?

Do you think he’ll be here tonight?

Do you know where I can find him if he doesn’t come?

Instead I smile and laugh politely when I’m supposed to; all the while Jake chitchats about the bar and points to the pictures on the wall. Occasionally he answers his phone and texts or gets someone a beer.

Although it’s crowded and I’m having a real conversation for the first time since three nights ago, I’ve never felt more alone.

“So we go around from place to place, collecting all of them we can find,” Jake wraps up something he said that I was only half listening to and then takes a seat on his side of the bar.

“What’s really bothering you?” he asks and it catches me off guard. My simper slips, and my heart skips a beat.

“What do you mean?” I ask him as if I haven’t got a clue and then quickly follow up with, “I’m just tired.” It sounds phony to my own ears, so I’m sure I sound like a bad liar to him too.

“You seemed a little shaken the other night,” Jake says softly, leaning forward. Someone calls out his name and he barely acknowledges them, holding up his hand to tell them to wait. “Maybe you came in looking for something?” he asks me with his eyes narrowed.

The playfulness is gone, as is the sound of all conversation in the busy bar. In its place is the rapid thumping of my heart.

“Or someone?” he says as somebody else calls out his name again, breaking me from the moment. I turn to the man with the bushy eyebrows as Jake tells him, “One minute!” in not the most patient of tones.

“So what is it?” he says and waits for me.

“I didn’t come in here looking for anything or anyone.” I tell him the truth. My voice is small, pleading even.

---