“Your trial is coming up next week,” I relay to Jordan. He sits across from me in a room similar to the one in which we first met.

“There’s always a chance when there’s a jury trial. I’d say the odds are even right now. An appeal would be difficult, but I’ll file immediately if we lose. It wouldn’t be the ideal situation, so one step at a time. Just know there are contingencies.”

It has been several weeks since Jordan called me in a panic. Spring is now upon us. My mom stayed over for the holidays. Garret did not make it, ‘unfortunately.’ They broke up a few weeks before. I still stayed on an air mattress for an entire week. It definitely didn’t help my back, but it was better than hanging out with a guy I’d never met who I was confident I’d never see again.

It appears my mom’s relationship abilities have rubbed off on me. At least she’s out there, though. That’s better than I’m doing.

“Fuck, man.” Jordan buries his fingers inside his hair. “I’m starting to panic.”

“We will appeal this if the outcome is negative.”

“But you said that might not help.” Jordan picks apart my answer. “How much longer will I be in prison, man?”

I pause. “Could be...a few years at most.”

“A few years?”

“Even if we appeal, you’ll stay in jail for the time being serving your sentence. The judge decided not to allow bail. They’re given that right in a murder trial. He must have perceived you as a flight risk. Or he felt inclined to keep you in jail given that you’ve admitted guilt to the assault in a court of law. It’s his discretion either way.”

Jordan slaps his forehead onto the table. He releases an aggravated shout. Curses slip past his lips. “Fuck, man! Why did it have to end up like this?!”

“The legal system is painfully unfair more times than not.”

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“Right. Sorry.” I shake my head. “The trial starts later this week. We’ve prepped well, and you’ve agreed to take the stand to represent your story. Admittedly, you might come off as aloof to the jury, but aloof is better than a murderer.”

Jordan groans.

“How are you doing in here?” I ask Jordan. “Any issues?”

“In jail? Of course there are issues. It’s fucking jail,” Jordan replies, annoyed. “It’s not like I’ve been beaten or anything like that. Nothing weird happened in the showers,” he jokes. “It’s more like a school full of bullies.” He pauses. “That’ll be different if we lose the case, won’t it?”

I nod. “You’ll go to a maximum security prison if we fail since the sentence will be long-term. The stakes are higher. You’ll, um, you’ll be pooled...with people who committed egregious crimes.”

Jordan remains quiet for the longest time. He suddenly chuckles. “The system really is fucked, isn’t it?”

“It seems like that at times,” I agree. “But there was a lot of time between when you pushed the deceased and when he died. That’ll be an important factor in our case. Let’s work through this carefully. Okay? It’s too early to panic.”

“Shit. Okay.” Jordan's face is noticeably paler. “Please, help me.”

“Of course.”

We part on good terms prepared for the days ahead.

The stress of the future looms upon my psyche. Unusually, I have the rest of the day free. I mean, not really. I have a ton of work waiting on my desk. None of it is time-sensitive, though, so I make my way towards a Mexican bar in Queens that I like.

I’m like a walking stereotype. Tequila is my drink of choice. People always assume that because of my heritage. Wrong. It’s about taste alone. Nothing’s better than a good shot of Patron. I’d say the same for whiskey. Honestly, I’m just a regular dude.

It helps that I get preferential treatment in the restaurant because of how I look, so I take advantage of that.

“Felix!” the bartender calls my name. “Been a while, friend!”

I beam. “Likewise.”

So yeah, I’ve been here at least once or twice.

I used to do work here at the bar between the lunch and dinner hours every Friday when I first started out. Miya would join me. We’d then segway from here to the office, drop off our crap, then head back out on the town until nightfall.

Those were better times.

“First one’s on me,” the bartender, Tom, says as I sit down in front of him.

“You don’t have to.” I pull up a steady hand, telling him to stop.

Tom finishes pouring a glass of tequila on the rocks with a splash of lime juice and slides it in my direction. “I know I don’t. Here you go.”

I grin. “Thanks, friend.”

I sit in silence while Tom handles a few other customers. My gaze focuses on a football match blaring from a TV above my head as I slowly sip my drink.

The night races on. I order fajitas to satisfy my growing hunger. Around me, people grow drunker and drunker, and the music gets louder.

Tom soon lingers in front of me. Sweat drips down his forehead. “You waiting for a pretty girl? You’ve been here a while. I don’t think she’s coming,” he jokes.

“Not even a little bit,” I drone. My words are slightly slurred as I’ve been drinking steadily for a few hours now.

“Work then? Got a hard case?” Tom presses.

“It’s confidential, but yes. It’s stressing me out more than I’ve been in a while,” I express vaguely.

As a rule, once I’m buzzed, I mentally make myself lockdown all my legal knowledge until I’m sober again. Best to say nothing at all in times like these. Attorney-client privilege is sacred to me. I wouldn’t violate it just for a fun story.

“I understand. Can’t talk about work. Not waiting on a girl. You just killing time?”

“Better than being alone in my empty apartment,” I express truthfully. Liquor always has a way of loosening the lock on my soul.

Tom feigns a smile. “As good a reason to drink as any.”

“Another, please.” I tap my empty glass.

“You got it!”

The night continues to rage on.

I remain alone on my bar stool. People have come and gone since I’ve sat down. I act as a near-permanent fixture in the establishment.

Tom passes a drink over my shoulder to a stranger. “Here you go, hermana.”

“Thank y—OH!”

A cool liquid lands on my lap. The glass hits my shoulder then bounces to the floor. I recoil in shock at the sudden development.

“I’m so sorry!” The girl lays both her hands firmly on my right arm.

I turn to her. “It’s...alright....” I mutter, pausing when I look at her.

The girl is stunning. Probably in her early twenties. Twenty-five at most. She’s Hispanic, as are most of the people in the bar. She’s curvy from the waist down and moderately endowed in the chest, wearing tight dark blue jeans with a cropped black top. It shows her shoulders, arms, and belly. Her expression is flushed with drink.

“Here’s a rag.” Tom throws it my way. “My bad.”

“It’s all good,” I grunt.

“I’ll get it.” The girl rips the rag from my grasp. She begins patting my pant leg with the dried cloth.

Tom raises an eyebrow.

“Hey. Pause.” I grab the girl by the wrist of the hand that’s wiping me down. “Look at what you’re doing.”

“I’m cleaning the spill cause I’m a dumb ass,” the girl answers immediately. Her kind face contorts with worry and shame.

“Yeah, but look where you spilled on me, alright? Kind of in an awkward place.”

The girl stares at the liquor stain. She blinks. Her head looks up at me. She stares at my face for a minute. “It’s okay. You’re attractive.”

I blink rapidly. “How is that an answer?!”

“It’d be more awkward if you weren’t, is all.” The girl drags the rag across my leg. Her drunken conclusion makes very little sense. “Oh! Fancy suit! The water is beading off! Done! Easy!”

Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

“Alright, alright.” I snatch the rag from her. “Thanks for your help.”

“And here’s another drink.” Tom slides a glass of the liquid that spilled on me across the table. “My bad, again.”

“Get him one too.” The girl points at my nearly empty glass. “On me.”

“There’s no need for that.” I raise my hands awkwardly in my defense.

“But I feel bad!”

“And you wiped me down. I’m good. Don’t worry.”

The girl stares at me for a moment. Her gaze drifts beside me then around the room. “Are you waiting on someone?”

“Ah, he’s here to drown his sorrows,” Tom comments for me.

“Huh?” the girl says.

“Huh?” I parody.

“His girl broke up with him, so he’s getting drunk to forget about her. She left him for his friend,” Tom blatantly misleads on my account.

I shoot Tom a perplexed glance.

“Oh! You’re sad! And I spilled a drink on you!” The girl seems distraught now.

“No, I—”

“Come with me.” The girl seizes my right arm with both hands. “We’ll cheer you up!”

I raise an eyebrow. “We?”

“I’m out here with my friends.” The girl points to a booth near the back of the room. It’s full entirely of women, except for one man. They all look like they’re fresh out of college. “If we can’t cheer you up, no one can!”

“I don’t—”

“And your drinks are on me. Don’t worry about that.” Tom cuts me off to tell the girl.

“But—”

“Thanks!” The girl smiles. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Tom looks over at me. “Go.”

I stare at the man. A frown immediately laces my face.

Tom raises an eyebrow. “You gonna spend the rest of the night sitting alone on that barstool whining?”

The girl starts to pull me. “Come on!”

“I guess not.” Relenting, I follow her whim.

My body is pulled away from my safe space at the bar. My drink comes along with me as I snatch it with my hand at the last second. I slide a bit past my lips as this unblemished beauty brings me into a fold of strangers.

Just my kind of thing.

Yay.

“Sofia, who is this?” One of the girls at the table gawks as the girl dragging me, I guess her name’s Sofia, comes within view of her friends.

“A treat for me?” The lone guy at the table laughs. The rest soon follow. They’re all pretty drunk, clearly.

Ah, so that’s how it is. I was wondering why there was a guy in this group. He’s not one of their dates. Not with that voice and attitude.

I’ve always been uncomfortable around…men like him. I don’t know if homophobic is the right word. In theory, I’m not against the lifestyle. It has nothing to do with me. As I am, I wish for everyone to find their ultimate happiness in life. I wouldn’t still be in my line of work if I didn’t feel that way.

It doesn’t come from a place of hate or anger. I have no extreme religious views. I don’t know how to describe it. A part of me always feels really uncomfortable around…men like him.

“I spilled a drink on his lap,” Sofia reveals. Her words interrupt my thoughts. “He was sitting at the bar all sad about his ex leaving him, so I decided we should cheer him up. But look at him!” She gestures towards my face and body. “Doesn’t he look kind of like Jason Mamoa?”

The group fills the air with a cacophony of “oooohs.”

Do I really? I always thought I looked like a darker version of Jared Letto. I'm not bulky or tall enough to be Jason Mamoa.

Sofia waves her friends aside. “Now scoot, scoot!”

The large, circular booth is compressed to allow Sofia and me into the fold. I’d be a lot more awkward if I weren’t steadily drinking for the past few hours. Any other time, I’d try to get out of this.

“What do you do? What’s your name?” one of the girls asks me. There are four of them in total. Including Sofia and their male friend, there are six people at the table. Including myself, seven.

“Felix. I’m a lawyer,” I respond quickly, not really wanting to reveal any more information.

“Ohhh, a lawyer!” the male friend coos.

I smile uncomfortably. “It’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“But it pays?” he replies.

I wish.

“It does, yes,” I fib.

“I call dibs!” One girl raises her hand. She squeals.

“Oh, you’re trying to steal Sofia’s find?!” another coos.

Sofia glares. She retakes my arm.

What in the hell is happening right now?

•

An hour flies by. I grow more comfortable with these strangers. Admittedly, it’s kind of a dream. A table full of pretty, drunk Spanish girls lounging around, flirting with me. I’d have to be a fool to hate that.

A damned fool….

The night looms on. I’m out longer than expected.

And in a different venue. A club now.

Loud music thumps around me. Sweat sticks to my brow. The scent of alcohol lingers on my skin. Sofia grinds against me while the marijuana we smoked on the way over relaxes my entire body.

Looking at my watch, I squint at the screen. “Two in the fucking morning?!”

“What?!” Sofia shouts, hearing me.

“It’s two in the morning!” I direct at her loudly. “I’ve got work soon!”

At fucking nine in the morning at the latest. Shit, I’m going to be hungover. I’ve got a massive container full of electrolyte powder. I’ll drain two big glasses before I go to bed, take a shower, and try to get at least six hours of sleep. I can always get dressed before passing out for the night. I’ll look like crap, but it’ll save time.

“Are you sure?” the girl asks me. Her eyes stare into mine.

“Yes, I’m sure I’ve got work tomorrow. I wish I didn’t. It fucking sucks. Not at all what I dreamed of doing.”

“Then what did you want to do? What was your dream?”

“My dream?” I pause. “Dunno. I guess I’ve always had a hero complex. Those kinds of characters in movies and TV always appealed to me. But what kind of job makes you a hero in real life? None. You’re getting paid, but you need compensation to survive. It’s a contradiction,” I frown. “I just did whatever I thought might give my family a better opportunity in life. My mom thought that I’d be a good lawyer. I don’t know if I am. In the end, there was not much else I wanted to do that filled my criteria, so I settled.”

Sofia stares at me sympathetically. “That’s so sad.”

“I’m a little pathetic,” I joke with a coarse bit of laughter.

Sofia slides both her hands around my neck. “I bet I can make you feel a wee bit better.”

Sudden, immediate sadness assaults the back of my brain.

I flinch. “Oh. No.”

Sofia’s brow crinkles. “What?”

“That kind of stuff is just not my thing. I don’t really know you.”

“Do you have to?” Sofia nuzzles closer.

No.

“Yes,” I lie. “It’s not my thing.”

It could easily be my thing. Without a second thought. She’s a beautiful woman. Just my type. Fun to be around. She listens. I’m sure it’d be fun. So why?

Oh.

I don’t care enough.

Huh.

That’s…that’s not good….

“That’s oddly nice of you.” Sofia hesitates. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh?”

“Give me your phone.” Sofia releases me. She holds out her hand.

“Okay?” I unlock my device and hand it to her.

Sofia punches in some information. She hands the device back to me. “There. You have my contact info. Maybe when you get off of work sometime, you can get to know me better. For example, what do I do for a living? What’s my favorite color? Fun things like that,” she giggles.

A slight smile wrests its way onto my lips. “You’re kind of funny.”

“Well, now you know that about me.” Sofia grins. She taps my nose before walking away. “Call me, Mr. Hero.”

When she disappears to rejoin her friends, my expression turns neutral.

•

Around three in the morning, I arrive back at my apartment.

“I’m hooooome!” I call into the darkness. My eyes are blurry with sleep.

My body drags itself weakly over to my kitchen. In the cabinets, I pull out the big container of electrolyte powder, fill up a glass, drain it, then repeat the process until liquid sloshes inside my stomach. The coming shower cools down my body. Afterward, I dry my hair with a towel. My eyes meet themselves in the mirror as the cloth tussles my hair. Fog covers most of the surface, but my face and eyes peek through.

No smile.

No happiness.

Nothing really there.

An epiphany of sadness suddenly resonated in my heart. I was having fun in a great situation. And yet…nothing. My heart felt nothing. I didn’t care I was there. Nothing roused a deeper feeling in my mind or soul. It was empty. Pointless. Deep, aching nothingness.

How…depressing….

I move into the bedroom, though my body and hair are still somewhat damp. I collapse to the floor, laying on my back. The rough strands rub against me. I stare up at the ceiling. The numbness of drink begins to recede as a pulsing sensation boosts within my brain.

“I think I hate my life,” I say outwardly, expressing the deepest part of my soul.

I pull up my phone. My fingers move through my contacts until I land on Sofia.

My eyes stare at the info for a minute.

“She was a nice woman. I bet I could be happy with her if I tried.” I stare at the screen with blank, emotionless eyes.

“...”

After some time, my finger swipes it to the left. I click the red ‘delete’ button as it appears. The person, her name, everything about her, disappears permanently from my life.

“What’s the point?” I whisper sadly.

My face numbs up as my eyes begin to close.

“What will it take to be happy again?”