To Be Broken

Maybe if the weather wasn't so terrible, maybe if traffic wasn't a bitch, maybe if he wasn't such an idiot things would have gone differently.

It was excuse after excuse after excuse.

But only one thing was completely true: it was too late.

As the thought set in, the boy hit the steering wheel with his hands. He could hardly see or hear a thing as rain flooded the windows and smacked the roof of his car. It had been like this for miles. He wasn't even sure if he knew where the fuck he was. But it didn't matter. Nothing did anymore.

With a quick turn, he swerved into a parking lot with a lit sign reading "Marty's: Open Late". If he drove anymore he'd kill himself. Not that the thought didn't seem a little appealing at the moment.

His fabric already soaked, he made a quick dash for the bar pulling his hoodie further over his head as if it made a difference. It hadn't stormed like this for months. Of course today of all days the weather decided to lash out. He began to think it was a mirror.

Walking into the dimly lit bar, the boy let out a sigh as he sat down on the stool and ran his hands through his dripping wet hair. As he brushed the water off his face it became apparent that mixed in with the rain were tears. Muttering a soft "fuck" under his breath, the boy let his head sink deep into his hands so no one could see him.

"Can I help you, sir?"

But he wasn't as invisible as he felt. "No." He said quickly, not lifting up his head. "I just want to sit here. Alone."

He heard silence, but could still feel the bartender's presence. In a moment a BANG rang through his ears, shooting his head up from the table. Sitting beside him was a tall glass of beer.

"I really shouldn't be-"

"It's on me." The man said. He was older, with kind eyes and a soft smile. All the boy could do was nod as he gripped the glass in his hands and downed a large gulp. The bitter taste and burn felt good mixed with the cold of the rain.

He nodded. "Thank you, sir."

It was then he noticed the emptiness of the bar. There was an older woman sitting a few stools down, and a man with a thick mustache reading a newspaper at a booth at the edge of the establishment.

"No problem," the bartender smiled, "so what's on your mind?"

The boy let out a breath. "It's nothing. I should get going."

"In a storm like this? Sit down, son." The boy did as he was told. "What's your name?"

He had the pang in his stomach where he didn't want to talk, but at the same time, he did.

"Alex."

The bartender nodded. "I'm Fred."

"Nice to meet you."

"Like wise," He put his hands on the bar opposite Alex. "And what's her name?" Alex paused, his hands gripping his drink tightly as his eyes flashed up to meet Fred's. Fred smiled. "So, it is a girl?"

All Alex could do was nod. Just the thought made him feel like someone had stabbed him in the chest and was slowly turning the knife.

"Well, go on then."

He paused again, looking up at the older man. "Go on with what?"

Fred laughed. "How did it start?"

Alex let out a long breath and stared at his hands for a moment. In a moment it was all coming back: the stories, the laughs, the tears, the happiness, and the pain all leading up to now. It felt like a tidal wave, it felt like the worst kind of sickness. But all he saw were those soft blue eyes and that bright smile. And suddenly, it was like he was living it again. Living her. A smile crossed his lips.

"It all started with a kiss."