If You Let Me
Chapter One: Perfect Storm
Seems like something from a movie. Three years in a long distance relationship coupled with a global pandemic, while still managing to stay true to the promise of marriage. Only to be ruined by seven words less than three months away from the big day. " I don't want to marry you anymore."
Can you imagine?
All that planning, all that money, all the time invested in the relationship...and it just ends.
You can't fix it.
Nothing that you do will change the outcome.
So how do you get over it?
My solution is sitting at a bar at 9pm on a Friday night getting drunk and not thinking about it.
So I'm an avoider. I avoid things.
Anyway, it's a Friday night and the bar is starting to fill with patrons scantily dressed looking for their next mistake of the night.
Okay and I'm cynical, my fiancé just left me so allow me this courtesy.
I glanced around the bar lazily as I swirled my glass in front of my face. This is what my life has come to. I'm 31 years old, in great shape, great career, mentally stable, and pretty handsome from what I've been told.
So how did I end up here alone?
I sighed and downed the contents of my drink. Setting the glass on the table I tapped the lid, a symbol to the bartender to refill my cup again.
Under normal circumstances I might have flirted with him. After all this is a well known gay bar, and he was definitely my type, but all I could feel was nothing. So I was resolved to continue to drink until I felt something.
"Is this seat taken?"
I didn't even bother looking at the face of the person who spoke to me before I mumbled a reply. "I'm not the seat Nazi."
Oh, maybe a Nazi reference wasn't a complete political correct thing to say, but whatever.
The man chuckled a bit, before pulling out a chair and taking a seat.
I could feel his eyes on me, not in a creepy kind of way, more in a taking in ,my appearance kind of way. Giving me the "look over." You know the "look over," the look people give someone they maybe interested in to determine their level of attractiveness.
"You know it's rude to stare." I mumbled as I took another sip of my drink. These days I'm drinking whiskey straight like some crime mob boss on the day of this daughters wedding. I snorted a bit at my own humor.
Mystery guy must've thought it was for him.
"I wouldn't have to stare if you'd engage a bit more freely." Something about this guy's tone wasn't condescending, it was more of intrigue than anything else.
For the first time that night, I was forced to pay attention to something other than the glass in my hand. I sighed slightly, straightened my posture, and turned my head to face the guy.
Fuck.
He was hot.
I let my eyes slowly take in his appearance. I couldn't really tell his height from sitting down but my guess would be about 6'2 ish. He wore simple black jeans and a maroon button up, that had the top two or three buttons undone showing the dark patch of black chest hair underneath. His skin was a olive tan color. The sleeves on his shirt were slightly rolled up revealing more of that black hair that extended down his arms. I quickly glanced back at his face, dark features, a big nose and full thick lips framed by a well manicured beard and mustache. His lips were twisted in a playful smirk. His hair was full and curly atop his head. Long enough to reach the base of his neck, but short enough perfectly frame his face in a halo of curls. Then his eyes, a greenish brown started back at me in mischief and wonder.
Damn it, I was staring.
His smirk intensified knowing that he had caught me giving him the "look over." He extended his hand in a greeting, "Bahri."
Bahri?
I unconsciously clasped his hand with my own, "Bahri? That's Arabic right?"
He laughed softly showing me a glimpse of his perfectly straight white teeth behind his lips. "Indeed it is."
I was mechanically shaking his hand while trying to absorb this information. "Mmm."
With his free hand he gestured towards me, "This is the part where you tell me you're name," he chuckled again.
I shook my head slightly, "Uh yeah, I'm Artis."
"Not Arabic," he chuckled at his own joke.
"...uh no.." Finally realizing that I was still slowly shaking his hand, I quickly dropped hand, reaching again for my glass.
"Can I buy you another round?" Bahri asked me.
He was sweet, really he was. I just didn't know what I was doing. I had planned to just drink myself with the company of my own misery, call a Uber, and pass out in my own bed. But Bahri was persistent, and despite all my reservations, I could feel my resolve slipping. I didn't want to start anything new, I was beyond not ready for that, but maybe company isn't so bad in whatever kind of capacity that may involve.
"I'm about 2 glasses ahead of you." I glanced at him, narrowing my eyes playfully, "You'd better catch up."
Short introductory chapter. Please let me know what you guys think initially. Next chapter will be longer and give more of a description on Artis. This chapter I wanted to be kind of a look at the inner makings of Art, his way of thinking, his mental processing, everything. Hopefully you guys like it. Either way let me know at travisderon@outlook.com