The Bar

Thomas

I wonder if she notices. I wonder if she notices how my heart swells a little when she looks at me with those piercing eyes, peering up at me through her long, thick lashes.

Does she look at him like that?

No. I won't believe that.

This how she looks at me, like she is gazing into my soul, casting a light on the deepest, darkest recesses of all I try to hide, stealing a piece of me that I didn't know was there to steal.

I want to take her in my arms, protect her from all that could harm her and never let her go.

The pain in my heart is unbearable, I can't be around her, but I know it would be worse if I wasn't.

I don't know how to explain this... this, ache.

Who knew that this shitty bar would birth something as beautiful? I find myself checking the rota again and again, to see when I am with her next.

Does she even know how truly beautiful she is?

Her boyfriend doesn't tell her nearly enough. I wish he was an ass hole, it would make this bitter pill easier to swallow.

She is giving her life to someone who doesn't seem to give a fuck, who doesn't seem to appreciate anything.

I would give everything I have, everything I know, everything I am to be in his shoes. Just to have her, for her to be mine; and I, her's.

She can almost touch the deeper, real me, that I conceal with meaningless sex I have with girls, whose names I don't even remember if I knew in the first place.

The face I portray to the world is not the one she sees, she sees me. A side Leah professes to know; but she doesn't.

My head screams at me to stop; to stop putting on songs she'll like on the staff Spotify playlist; to stop sharing things on Facebook that I hope she responds to; to stop coming in on my days off because I know she's working; to stop continuing down this path to inevitable heartbreak. But I just... I can't.

The ache is only matched with the guilt I carry. If Leah knew I felt this way about another, it would break her. I care for Leah so much and I have strong feelings for her, but I know she is giving herself to me under the assumption I feel the same way she does. It's not fair and I resent myself for getting to this stage with Leah, sliding faster and faster down a slippery slope where her feelings will only get stronger.

My life is simply more bearable with Leah in it.

Is it just because there is no unrequited emotions involved? I don't know anymore. All the while feeling something more primal, more basic, purer for someone else.

A workmate, it's so cliche it nauseates me.

I can sometimes hear myself become short and quiet with her in work. I realise my situation and I get frustrated and I take it out on her.

I hate myself.

A haunting realisation creeps into my subconscious; I am my father's son. I dismiss it quicker than it comes.

I will never be like him.

Treating women like meaningless playthings, taking out my own shortcomings on them.

No, I will never be like him.

Or, at the very least, I'll try not to be.

I invite her to my house only half as much as I want her there. When other people are around, without Leah. A free spirit, her boyfriend hardly ever comes. I invite him, sometimes, just enough that he trusts me. A pretence that needs to be upheld. One word from him and I know it would all come crashing down, one word from him and I would never see her again and that is something I just can't risk. I need her.

I persuade her to drink with me, what am I doing?

Drunk, she laughs a genuine, sweet laugh. She parts her lips and smiles at me, my stomach flutters.

It's not long before her wide, painted eyes become heavy; she drifts to sleep beside me.

Almost a foot taller and twice as broad, I draw her tiny, curled-up body into my embrace. I know what I'm doing is wrong, forbidden, but I just can't help myself.

She seems so fragile, so vulnerable.

She twitches as she dreams.

Does she dream about me?

I gently stroke her sun-kissed, golden curls as she grows accustomed to the rhythm of my moving chest.

I softly kiss her head, when every other reveller has long cast themselves into a booze-fuelled stupor and sleeps where they fell.

My heart pounds. Every beat whispers her name.

If there is a God, and if there is a heaven, this is it. If I could live in this moment, for the rest of time, I would.

I see the newborn sun slowly ease over the rooftops of the dank, cobbled city and we are bathed in a harsh, unforgiving light that spills into my living room. Uncovering the vast array of sins that are, ultimately, my own.

She stirs.

I pull her closer.

She settles.

I don't let go.

"I wish you knew, Ruby."