Barstool Condolences Pt.2

She just drove. Not knowing where she was heading. Who she would run into. How long she'd be there.

The snow below her crunched as the tires rolled over it, wanting to give into the vehicle's weight - there was too much of it. At times the tires spun, struggling to grip and propel the car forward, engine straining. She wasn't the only one fighting back a whimper. The windshield wipers were doing the best they could to clear her vision. The falling, swirling snow pelted the glass, exploding against it as the car trudged forward, blanketing the world before her. She was lost amongst the storm - tumbling in a massive snow globe.

Her mind was clouded, confused, dazed. She couldn't see straight. Her eyes were leaking - running down her cheeks, falling onto her jacket, splashing down to mix with the slush, salt, and grit that pooled on the floor only to become lost within another mess.

She wasn't sure what had happened. It was their anniversary, things were supposed to have gone well. There were plans for dinner, followed  by a night out dancing. He showed up late - tie loose, hair ruffled, eyes bloodshot. His breath smelled of hops. In what seemed like a flash, everything had fallen apart. He had stormed out of the restaurant, leaving her in amazement. She followed - leaving her dignity at the table with the tip.

It was only when she walked into the apartment that she heard him and smelled it. The liquor had already begun flowing. Straight. Out of the bottle. She could hear it sloshing in his hand. He was murmuring under his breath - names she had never heard before, names she didn't think he'd ever call her. He was pacing back and forth. She wasn't scared until her turned, eyes locking with her's. That's when he took his first step and she began to back up.

She was walking now, briskly against the pummeling wind, leaning into it, trying to stand upright - she didn't want to fall again this evening. The air felt strangely nice against her skin. It kissed her cheek, taking away the pain from the night's earlier events. She stumbled a bit. It was hard to guide herself through the storm with one eye. The other had already swollen, the skin pushing up against her eye, like a back against the wall - a position she had already been in earlier.

Looking up, the bright "Bar" light caught her attention. She needed to get out of the cold - her fingers were already tingling, pleading for warmth.

Ducking inside, the odor was what first hit her. Pungent, yet inviting - the aftershave reminded of her father as she had nuzzled against his neck as a child and the cigarette smoke brought her back to the packs of Pall Mall cartons sitting on her mother's dresser - the "classy way to commit suicide".

It was right after she took off her coat that she noticed him, sitting there, staring at her from the corner of the bar. He looked familiar.

She walked forward, hoping, praying, it was dark enough to hide her face.