Unbreak my heart

A sad drunk

Drunk didn't even come close to what Liam was, about an hour and a half after arriving at the pub. He kept telling himself and his friends that it had to do with the awful singing his colleagues were doing on stage -karaoke, really?- but in all honesty, he just couldn't handle being around so many people while sober. 

It registered only vaguely that Kyra was sending him worried glances from across the table as he ordered yet another beer, his speech starting to slur more and more with every glass. But hey, she got him out of the house and that was what she wanted, right? He drained his glass in three large gulps before slamming it down on the table, even letting himself be persuaded to join the new blonde girl from the mailroom on the dance floor. Meatloaf came on, sung by two people from another group who couldn't sing any better, and all Liam's boundaries had disappeared. He let it all out, was shouting the lyrics loudly when he felt a hand on his hip. He frowned, confused, because, who's hand was that? It looked like a masculine hand, which was a plus, probably, he didn't fancy a "sorry darling, I'm as gay as a boybander"-talk to some bimbo. He'd been gaping at the hand for probably a few seconds too long when he remembered that there was probably an entire person attached to it, so he looked up and found a guy, blonde hair, blue eyes, smiling widely at him. He smiled back, or tried to, at least before gesturing he'd like to sit down. He suddenly felt a bit dizzy from all the beer. 

The guy, Miguel, he introduced himself, had, unlike his name would suggest, an Irish accent, and it reminded Liam of one of his high school friends, Niall. The next five minutes were spent wondering how that guy would be, blanking out completely on the conversation Miguel was trying to have with him. Then he spent five more minutes thinking how Miguel was quite the twink, his hair an almost exact copy of Nick Carters in his early BSB-days, and honestly, Liam should stop making boyband-references in every other sentence. Or thought, whatever. 

It was only when Kyra put her hand on his elbow to take him outside, while Miguel was looking at him like he was insane (which he probably was, to be fair), that he realised alcohol probably wasn't the solution. The next day, he knew why he usually didn't drink too much. He contemplated drowning himself in the toilet when he remembered how Miguel had been trying to break the ice by talking about that new singer, Harry Styles, and Liam had exclaimed loudly how he had fucked Harry Styles, thoroughly. And then threw up on Miguel's very twinky red shoes. In front of his colleagues. He should probably start looking for another job.

At least they left him alone after that night out. He was back to spending every night in his room, staring at the ceiling, avoiding news paper and TV-shows that mentioned the up-and-coming popsensation Harry Styles. He avoided everything that reminded him of the green eyed, curly haired heart breaker, as he was described in the media, and his dad was helping massively by tearing out articles from the newspaper and switching channels when it concerned Harry. The commercial info coming from wedding ring designers, wedding venues and even that one phone call from the suit-shop they had booked an appointment at for trying on wedding-costumes was bad enough.

Months went by, and suddenly it was September 7th. A Saturday. Liam woke up early, and went about his routine on automatic pilot, shower, breakfast, preparing lunch, walking out to the car. He was inside before he realised it was a Saturday, and already on the road before he noticed where he was driving. The church. It appeared that someone else had taken their date, happy faces everywhere, a big limousine waiting in the driveway. He parked at the other side of the road, and watched how it all went on. How people were ushered inside by the MC before the blushing bride got out of the car and into the church. More smiling faces when she came back out on the hand of her newly wedded husband. He smiled so widely it seemed as if his face would split. It was their wedding, not Liam's. He looked down at the cell phone he held in his hand, a pathetic message about a lost chance composed to a guy he didn't even know anymore. He erased it and drove off.

Maybe it was about time he made something of his life.