The Blue One

By the time her eyes lock with mine at the bar, my mind's already lost the sharp edges. There's a haze building in my body, a pleasant cloud getting ever softer with every sip of lurid blue cocktail. My second one - can't remember the name and the taste makes my throat feel thick with sweetness. This place is a weird one. Too hipster. Too clever for its own good. The East End cocktail science palace or something... whatever it says on their front door, I can't remember. 

And tonight I don't care. It wasn't my flat - anywhere that wasn't was alright by me right now. 

She smiles as she slips down from her bar stool and makes her way to me. I want to say her eyes are twinkling mischievously but I can't quite make them out until we're face to face. They're gorgeous though, those eyes of hers. Green, to match the drink in the glass in her hand. She's gorgeous too. Irish, from what I can hear, a faint accent drifting melodically on her every word. 

Another sip, another softening of the edges of my heart and mind. This was a good idea. With every chuckle, every joke, every warm hit of alcohol I feel myself loosen up again. And it's only now that I realize just how much tension I've been keeping in my bones, storing up the grief that came from an unexpectedly and fiercely broken heart until the physical ache became too much. 

She's gorgeous. She's quick-witted. Her green drink's pleasant heat is taking hold of her, too. We talk, as much as we can in the bass-laden soundscape of the Cocktail Science place before she takes my hand and leads me outside. I'm aware of her kissing me - very much so. I'm just stunned into a momentary shock. 

I want to kiss her back so much. I want a lot of things, and they're rushing through the thickening haze in my brain like a whirlwind. I want to tell her why I'm out tonight, what happened to my heart and soul that made me turn hermit for the past few... however longs. I want to feel like I'm actually making a start on wrenching myself loose from the grip of heartbreak, from the ache that's been so pleasantly yet so temporarily dulled by brightly colored cocktail science. 

I want to feel. 

God, I just want to feel again. 

She smiles that smile at me. Asks me if I'm okay, if I wanted to be left alone. But I don't want to. I tell her I don't want to and I tell her to just take me somewhere I can breathe again. My voice is thick with the unspoken, with burning alcohol and burning need for a release of this pain. Take me somewhere I can breathe again.

That night, she takes me to places I'd forgotten the existence of. She lets me tell her about an engagement broken off, a bed with an empty space, a flat seemingly cursed with darkness. We lose ourselves in each other's clumsy touches, in the pleasant shock of the new and unknown that comes with this kind of fucking. Ripping the foil of the condom she hands me fills me with a curious glee. I get a contact high from the feeling of her on top of me, of being inside her. 

She takes me to places I'd forgotten the existence of. The sun's long since gone down over the city. Today ticks over into tomorrow. And when I wake up next to her, head tender from drinks, I feel... 

I feel. 

Hours later, and I'm still smiling. Hungover, mildly. But smiling nonetheless. We parted ways with one more kiss, a mutual thank you. Maybe we'll lock eyes across an East End bar again some day. Maybe some day we'll bump into each other. Go for coffee and a chat. Maybe some day. 

But for now I'm smiling anyways because I can breathe again. 

Although if I ever end up at that cocktail place again, I'll probably stay well clear of the blue one...