Love Isn't...

3. A Bed of Roses

"Yeah right!" I grunted as I threw myself on the bed, once again realizing the irony of the entire situation. "This is so f*cked up," I mumbled to myself, rubbing my forehead in frustration.

I could vaguely hear her yell something or the other from the other side, and I tried to shut her voice, not letting her affect me in anyway. And what the loud music and my messed up mind brought together was the memory of the night when I met her four months back...

***********

With a tightly clenched jaw, I cancelled Dylan's fifth call. Wasn't cancelling someone's call enough indication about the fact that the person you are trying to phone is simply not interested in talking to you at the given moment? Of course, it was. But my elder brother was plain dumb and too persistent for his own good. And I was way too rude and short tempered for anyone's good.

As well as Dylan knew me, he shouldn't have been calling me continuously after everything that happened at Ryan Parker's f*cked up party. But like I said, Dylan was plain dumb and damn too persistent. And I knew Dylan well enough to know he would continue calling me till I answer the phone which would only result in me throwing off my anger at him, which I didn't want to do. So, before he could call again, I switched off my phone and slipped it in my pant's pocket.

A humorless chuckle escaped my lips as for the nth time my mind recalled everything that had happened at the Parker residence merely half an hour back. Seriously, what else was I expecting - a grand welcome, or a warm hug from a 'father' to his 'son', or that warm twinkle in his eyes that used to appear whenever he saw Dylan for seeing me after years? "Yeah, sure." I shook my head at my thoughts and my eyes landed on an old bar on the street.

Making a quick decision of getting drunk, thereby, forgetting about the sh*t that just happened, and finding an easy lay for tonight, I parked my car at a parking space that, luckily, just got empty.

One step inside the bar and one look at the ambience was all it took for me to be happy about my decision. This was the perfect place after such a crappy day. This wasn't even going to be the last place where Harry or Dylan would search for me.

The interior was worn out with paint scraping out at places that even the old, loosely hung paintings couldn't hide. Judging by the loud creaking noises that the chairs made upon any kind of movement, the furniture needed a rather quick replacement. A look at the crowd and I concluded that they were feeling exactly opposite of me. They looked happy.

With a sneer, I sat at the only empty table near the bar area. The chair made a creaking noise which made me flinch slightly. Almost immediately, a waiter came over and asked for my order. In another two minutes, he came back with a cheaper version of the scotch that I had ordered. As if that glass of scotch was the only thing that could give some peace to my overburdened and stressed out mind, I took a huge gulp of it in an instant. The moment it burnt my throat, my eyes closed on their own accord.

This was peace! And I was suddenly in my own heaven. Maybe I'll be seeing angels soon. 'Yeah right,' I mentally snorted.

Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes and they landed on a girl sitting on one of the stools at the bar area. The huge, goofy smile on her face spelled out that she was drunk out of her wits. Her clothes – an over-sized sweater and track pants were as mismatched with each other as she was with this bar. Clearly, she didn't belong here. And much more clearly, there was nothing attractive about her.

But still, I couldn't stop myself from staring at her eyes that were puffy due to continuous crying, her runny nose, her red cheeks, and her lips that were stretched in a goofy smile which was contradicting every other feature of her face. Being an artist meant being observant. I knew an emotion in a glance. And by the looks of her, I knew that from outside she looked just like every other person here – happy. But from the inside, she was just like me – f*cked up.