Andy couldn't believe his eyes, his sweet and kind girlfriend is being ridden like a horse by Max, his best friend.
His eyes darted between the two tangled bodies, Abby's face red in shame.
"So this is why you guys spend so much time together huh." He let out a small chuckle, not because it's funny but because he can't believe it.
"I was the fool all along, it was just a bridge for you two."
Max finally speaks, his hands in the air like that would change things. "Listen man, I didn't plan this."
"She came to me and said you weren't giving her the attention she needed."
He told Andy, trying to give the most bullshit excuse ever heard.
"He's lying, he forced me to do this, I would never cheat on you, you know that right Andy?" She asked him, looking sad and pathetic.
Andy just closed the door and walked away, tears sliding down his face as he desperately tried to wipe them away.
Abby chased after me, trying to explain herself.
"Andy, wait! Let me explain first!! Please just stop!" She grabs his wrist as Andy reached for the front door.
He turned around slowly, grabbing her wrist roughly, he twisted it and looked her in the eyes, he managed to calm himself down.
"Abby, never show your face to me ever again, and that goes for your little new plaything too. Because if I ever see him again, I'll break all his front teeth."
He told her, throwing her away as she landed on the floor.
He looked back seeing her teary and scared face looking back at him, he just shook his head and walked out.
Andy got into his car and drove off, tires screeching against the pavement as he left everything behind.
The hours passed in a blur. He drowned his sorrows in alcohol, one drink bleeding into the next until time stopped making sense.
He lost count of how many he'd had, but it had to be more than sixteen by now.
He leaned against the bar, pouring every ounce of hatred and heartbreak onto the poor bartender.
He didn't interrupt—just nodded every now and then like he'd heard this story a thousand times before.
"Listen, kid," he finally said, setting a hand on the counter, "I think you've had enough for the night. Go home. Try to relax."
Andy sighed loudly. He knew better than to argue with a bartender, he watched the movies and saw what happens to those who argue.
"F-fine man, here keep the change my m-man." He said.
He finished his drink and stood up too fast. The room spun violently, his balance vanishing as I stumbled forward.
"Oh s-shi… (hic)… not good," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut as he braced for the floor.
But I never hit it.
Instead, Andy found himself caught in someone's arms.
A drunk older woman steadied her, her dark brown hair brushing against my face as we locked eyes.
Her hand slid slowly over his chest, her touch deliberate, lingering. She leaned into Andy, eyes half-lidded, lips curved in a soft smile.
"There, there," she murmured. "I got you."
Her voice was sweet, caring—but the way she held him told a completely different story.
Only one thought crossed Andy's mind through the haze of alcohol and heartbreak.
"Who was this woman?"
He tried to study her face, to read her intentions, but it was hard when he'd had more than sixteen beers that night.
Still, he kept looking, searching for something—anything—that felt real in the wreckage of his life.