"That's a sad story you have there, friend."
The man's voice broke the silence. Daniel looked up from his glass, vision slightly blurred, focusing on the bartender's weathered face. Jimmy, the bartender, had been listening to his rambling for the past hour, nodding at all the right moments, refilling his glass without being asked.
"Don't trust women, man," Daniel slurred, his words thick and heavy. "They'll fucking destroy you when you least expect it." He took another sip, the bourbon burning his throat in a way that felt familiar now, comforting even.
His eyes wandered around the dimly lit bar. Couples everywhere. Young ones holding hands across sticky tables, older ones sharing whispered conversations, some woman with her hand on her date's thigh while he whispered something in her ear that made her giggle. All of them living in that perfect bubble before reality came crashing down.
"Fucking idiots," he muttered under his breath.
Then he heard it. A commotion near the corner booth. Some guy was getting down on one knee, and Daniel's stomach turned. The whole bar seemed to shift their attention toward the spectacle. Phones came out like weapons, ready to capture another moment of false hope for social media.
The guy was young, maybe twenty-five, with that stupid optimistic glow that Daniel remembered having once upon a lifetime ago. Clean-cut, nervous smile, probably still believed in happily ever after.
"Mora, you're my everything," the kid's voice carried across the bar. "You make me want to be a better man every single day."
Daniel's vision swayed as he stood up, the alcohol making his legs unsteady. Something primal kicked in, some desperate need to save this poor bastard from making the biggest mistake of his life.
"I can't imagine my life without you," the guy continued, his voice shaking with emotion.
"No, no, fucking no," Daniel mumbled, stumbling toward them. The crowd was forming a circle, phones recording, everyone eating up the romance like it was gospel truth.
He pushed through the small crowd, his expensive suit wrinkled and reeking of whiskey and regret. The young couple looked up at him, the girl with wide eyes, the guy still on one knee, ring box in his trembling hand.
"Don't do it, man," Daniel said, his words slurred but urgent. "Don't fucking do it."
"Excuse me?" The guy looked confused, still holding the ring box.
Daniel swayed on his feet, pointing an unsteady finger at the girl. She was pretty – blonde, sweet face, the kind that probably made promises she'd never keep. "She'll fucking leave you, brother. Soon as someone better walks through that door, she'll be gone. Take everything you got and laugh about it."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" The guy started to stand, anger replacing confusion.
"Fuck," Jimmy's voice carried from behind the bar.
"I'm trying to save you, man!" Daniel's voice got louder, more desperate. "Look at her face – she's already planning her exit strategy. They all are. Five years from now, she'll be fucking your boss while you're working late trying to afford her lifestyle."
The girl's face went pale. "How dare you—"
"I dare because I've been there!" Daniel shouted, stumbling slightly. "I've been exactly where you are, thinking love means something, thinking she gives a shit about you."
The young man shoved Daniel hard, sending him stumbling backward. "What's your problem, man? Get the fuck away from us!"
Two other guys from nearby tables stood up, ready to defend the couple from the drunk asshole ruining their moment. Daniel raised his hands, backing away slowly.
"I'm just trying to help you, bro," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "Just trying to save you from what's coming."
He stumbled back toward the bar, leaving behind a crowd of angry faces and one very confused couple. The romantic moment was thoroughly destroyed, phones now recording the aftermath of a drunk man's breakdown instead of a proposal.
"That was a fucking disaster, man," Jimmy said as Daniel collapsed back onto his barstool.
Daniel drained his glass in one gulp, slamming it down harder than necessary. "Who the fuck proposes to a woman in a bar anyway? That's just stupid, man. No class, no respect for the moment."
"Daniel—"
"Jimmy, why am I still drinking?" Daniel interrupted, his words getting more slurred. "Why can't I get my ex-wife out of my fucking head? This shit was supposed to help."
Jimmy shrugged, refilling the glass automatically. "I don't know, man."
"They say alcohol drowns your sorrows, right?" Daniel laughed bitterly. "Whoever came up with that bullshit probably never had his heart ripped out through his fucking wallet. It's not working, Jimmy. Not fucking working at all."
Jimmy studied him for a moment, then leaned closer. "Maybe you should consider finding some company, you know? Some baddie who can suck those memories right out of your head."
Daniel looked at Jimmy for a long moment, his drunken mind processing the suggestion. Slowly, a smile spread across his face – the first genuine smile he'd had in weeks.
"You're my man, Jimmy. You really are."
But then reality crashed back in. "But who's gonna want to fuck this sinking ship? I don't even have money to offer them anyway. Look at me, man – I'm a fucking mess."
Jimmy's expression changed, and he gave Daniel a look that was part concern, part business.
"You mean you don't have money for your tab either?"
Daniel saw Jimmy's face and started laughing, the sound hollow and broken. "Man, you should see your face right now. I got your money, Jimmy. Don't worry about that."
Then the front door of the bar opened with a soft creak, letting in a brief gust of cold night air. A few people near the entrance glanced over, but most were still absorbed in their own conversations or the aftermath of the ruined proposal.
Jimmy glanced up from wiping glasses, then did a double-take. "Damn," he muttered under his breath.
A woman walked in, shaking droplets of rain from her long black hair. She paused for a moment, scanning the room like she was looking for someone specific. Her dress was black and fitted, but Daniel noticed a small snag near the hem and the way she absently rubbed her shoulder like it was sore from a long day.
She made her way to the bar, choosing the stool next to Daniel more out of convenience than design – it was one of the few empty spots left.
"Martell, neat," she told Jimmy, pulling off her jacket to reveal bare arms with goosebumps from the cold.
Daniel found himself stealing glances at her. Up close, she was beautiful but in a real way – sharp cheekbones, full lips, and dark eyes that held something he couldn't quite read. There was an intensity about her, but also a tiredness around the edges.
A guy from across the bar approached them, drink in hand and confidence oozing from every pore.
"Hey beautiful, can I buy you a drink?"
She turned to him with a polite but distant smile. "That's sweet of you, but I'm good. Thank you though."
The guy lingered for a few seconds, trying to think of another angle, before finally getting the hint and walking away with wounded pride.
She turned to Daniel, those dark eyes studying his disheveled state. "Rough night?"
"Uhh... Yeah," Daniel replied, his voice hoarse from shouting.
"You want to talk about it?"
Something about her tone made him feel like she actually wanted to listen, not just making conversation. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was how she didn't seem to judge the wreck sitting next to her.
"My wife divorced me for my boss," he said simply.
She winced slightly. "That's brutal."
"And I can't get it out of my head, and this fucking alcohol isn't working like it's supposed to."
"That's even sadder," she said.
For a moment, she was quiet, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. "I might be able to help you with that."
Daniel looked at her, confusion mixing with the whiskey fog in his brain. "Look, lady, I appreciate the thought, but I don't have money to offer you. You seem way too..." He gestured vaguely at her. "And I'm obviously not..."
She laughed, a sound that was genuinely amused. "I don't want your money."
"Then what's the catch? There's always a catch."
Her expression grew serious, and she seemed to be weighing her words carefully. "If I help you – really help you forget all of this pain – you'd have to promise to stay with me. Always."
Daniel blinked, trying to process what she'd just said through his drunken haze. "Stay with you? Like, what, move in together? I don't even know your name."
"More than that. But yes, we'd be... together. Permanently."
The rational part of Daniel's mind that wasn't pickled in bourbon started screaming warnings, but the promise of finally being free from his ex-wife Sarah's memory, from Richard's smug face, the stupid board member at his work who took his wife away from him, was too tempting.
"If it'll really help me get this shit out of my head..." He stood up unsteadily. "And you swear I won't owe you anything?"
"Nothing," she confirmed.
She finished her drink in one smooth motion, then looked at him with what might have been regret flickering across her features. "I need to make sure you understand what you're agreeing to. That you'll keep your word."
She hesitated for a moment, then picked up her empty glass. Without warning, she brought it down hard against the edge of the bar. It shattered with a sharp crack that made Jimmy jump backward.
"Jesus," Jimmy whispered.
She picked up a jagged piece, staring at it like it held answers to questions Daniel couldn't even imagine. "This is... this is how we bind the promise. How I know you mean it."
Before Daniel could react, she drew the glass across her palm. Blood welled up immediately, bright red against her pale skin. She didn't even flinch.
She held the bloody shard out to him, and for the first time since she'd walked in, he saw uncertainty in her eyes. "Your turn. But – once we do this, there's no going back. Ever. Are you absolutely sure?"
Daniel stared at the glass, at her bleeding hand, at her face which showed a mixture of hope and something that looked almost like fear. His drunk mind couldn't quite process what was happening, but something deep inside him screamed that this was insane, that normal people didn't do blood rituals in dive bars.
But the alcohol made the screaming voice seem distant and unimportant, and the promise of forgetting Sarah, of never having to see Richard's face in his nightmares again, was worth any price.
"You're fucking crazy," he muttered, but his hand was already reaching for the glass shard.
The pain was sharp and immediate as he dragged it across his palm, his blood mixing with hers as it dripped onto the scarred wooden bar. Jimmy had gone completely pale, gripping his bar towel like a lifeline.
She exhaled slowly, like she'd been holding her breath. When she looked up at him, something deep had changed in her expression – relief mixed with what might have been joy.
"Now we're bound," she said softly, pressing her bleeding palm against his. "Forever and always."
The bar seemed to grow quieter around them, as if the world itself was holding its breath.