The Other Side of Love

Fight or Flight

June's POV

"You are my sunshine...my only sunshine..."

Oh God.

Please don't look at me. Please don't look at me.

Oh, there it is. And he winks. Great.

This is so wrong in so many levels. I have been trying to shrink into nothingness at the corner of the resto bar when Rick starts singing and pointing, not so discreetly at my direction. He's super drunk and is currently trying to tilt his head in a melodramatic, kind of way that is so disturbing I may vomit anytime now. He's trying to stand erect, but fails completely. I'm actually counting the seconds it'll take for his drunken state to fall off the mini stage.

Finally the song ends. Rick staggers back to our table, throwing salutes in the air as if the other people in the bar are happy to listen to his impromptu concert. Not really something you would expect from a man decorated with tattoos. To be completely honest and unbiased, the guy's tune deaf. All he's capable of making is a choking sound.

"God, I'm freaking awesome!" He slaps me on the back.

"No, you're freaking mental."

He shoots me a look. The kind of look wherein he's trying to decipher if I'm really someone he should be having drinks with on a Friday night. I guess it is understandable. I mean, we just met this morning, in a very awkward situation no less. I had been standing in front of the auto shop where he left after punching the living lights out of someone. Turns out, he lost his job (his eighteenth job apparently) so that kind of reaction is expected.

Besides, I only know three things about this guy. First, is that he goes by the name Richard, but he insists I call him "Rick," 'coz he tells me it's so much cooler. I don't know his story. He never shared it to me. Then again, I never asked him. Second, he's a terrible singer. No need to elaborate on that. The performance tonight and my bleeding ears are proof enough. Last, but definitely not the least and I know this is going to sound extremely sick and weird at the same time, but he's important...to me. I think.

Ugh. I don't know!

And trust me, not knowing sends me to crazy town. I just assumed that he must be someone important to me in the past since I've practically scrawled the name Richard on my ledger about a hundred times. The lack of surname had even added to the already difficult task of finding him. Like a blind person looking for a needle in a haystack. He'd die trying.

Luckily, surrender is not in my vocabulary. Well, it was a plus factor that I'd found a picture of him stuck in between the pages of my old book. Sprawled on the back in messy handwriting was a single letter: 'R.'

Rick grabs his leftover beer and takes a swig. It's his tenth round. I don't even know the names of the alcoholic beverages he mixed up. I swear I heard the bartender say something like, 'Ball of Fire' or something. Rick points to the untouched beer in front of me.

"Dude, you need to get a life."

I raise a brow at him. Really? He's the one who's lecturing me about getting a life? This man who reeks of sweat and alcohol and couldn't even eat nachos without slobbering himself with mustard is telling me to get a life. Pathetic.

"I'm cool," I say without looking up.

Rick starts to laugh. His laugh is so much like Goofy, only deeper and huskier. More like if Goofy lost all his humor and started chain-smoking. He laughs in a way that makes you wonder if he's having a heart attack or something, 'coz he basically takes large gulps of air in between his guffaws, it's insane.