by Kat T. Masen
Millie moves the phone away to a quieter room, the door closing behind her.
“Are you guys better now? After the fight this morning?”
It slipped my mind that I had texted Millie after my fight with Olivier. I was angry, and hurt, and Millie is always the person I vent to when it comes to my personal life.
“I think we’re both under a lot of pressure. We had three photoshoots back to back this week with very demanding photographers.”
Millie smirks. “Honey, it’s Vogue.”
“God, you sound just like Eric.”
She throws her hand to her forehead dramatically. “Oh no… what will become of me? But seriously, maybe tonight will be the night for the two of you to reconnect.”
“Hmm…” My mind drifts off to mine and Olivier’s relationship. I begin to fidget with the hem of my dress, unsure if I should bring up my concerns. “I have a question for you. You’ve been married to Will for almost two years now, right? What’s the longest time you’ve gone without sex?”
“Longest? Maybe, like a day.”
I sigh heavily. “You’re no help.”
“Ava, what’s going on?”
“We haven’t had sex in like three months,” I blurt out, relieved to get it off my chest. “I’m probably making a big deal out of it because we’ve both been busy.”
“I mean, sure. But you do sleep in the same bed, right?”
“Yeah, when we’re both home at the same time.”
“And do you try?”
“Not anymore,” I mumble, closing my eyes momentarily. “I gave up after several rejections in a row. I figured, if he wants it, he’ll take it.”
“Ava,” Millie says faintly. “Come home, please? It sounds like you need family right now.”
The thought of coming home did sound appealing, but I have a life here and a boyfriend who deserves my attention. I straighten my shoulders, willing to find any confidence left within me.
“I will, soon.”
We chat for a few more minutes before wishing each other a happy new year then ending the call.
The streets are chaotic, nothing unusual for New Year’s Eve. When the driver finally pulls up at the building, I thank him before exiting.
Harry, our doorman, greets me hello while holding the door open for me. I nod to thank him, then quickly make my way to the elevator.
The doors close, each level lighting up until I reach the penthouse. I purchased this place only a few months ago from a couple embroiled in a nasty divorce. Thanks to Nikki, who represented the wife, she notified me of it coming onto the market. After a great financial year, I made the purchase and moved out of my apartment in Brooklyn.
My fingers punch in the pin code, then I push the door open to a dark apartment. Olivier mentioned nothing about other plans, and just as I’m about to call him, my eyes gravitate down the hall and toward a faint glow coming from beneath the bedroom door.
I remove my heels, allowing my bare feet to walk against the porcelain tiles. With each step I take, my mouth begins to dry, and my breathing falters. I force myself to take a deep breath until the sound of moaning catches my attention.
My stomach hardens, footsteps dragging as my mind conjures up all these scenarios. This is it—he’s fucking some other woman who is probably younger than me too.
Without another thought, I open the door to see Olivier in bed, on all fours, with an unknown man behind him.
Letting out a loud gasp, I ignore my weakened muscles and heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Quickly, I turn around in a panicked rush, scurrying out of the room and pretending I didn’t just see my boyfriend being fucked by another man.
The quick steps become too much, my feet stumbling as I trip over and fall onto my arm. As I lay on the ground, the pain soars through me, making it unbearable to move my wrist.
“Ava, it’s not what you think!” Olivier rushes out of the room, now dressed in a pair of boxers.
I crawl along the ground until he tries to help me up. With my wrist and ego bruised, I still manage to swat his hand out of the way.
“Not what I think?” I almost cry while glaring at him. “I don’t know how else to interpret it besides the fact that another guy’s dick was inside your ass!”
The other guy, a model from the fashion industry, quickly places his clothes on and joins us. I wasn’t wrong about the age. The guy is much younger.
Olivier runs his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, you weren’t meant to come home tonight.”
I gather the strength to stand up without applying pressure to my wrist. Desperate to alleviate the pain, I head toward the kitchen and retrieve a cold pack from the freezer. Slowly, I apply it onto my wrist, willing the swelling to subside, then search for a bandage.
Olivier follows me to the kitchen, pacing the area between us while he runs his hands through his messy blond hair.
“So, if I didn’t come home, how long were you going to keep up this charade?” I beg of him to answer. “It explains why you haven’t wanted to touch me.”
“Ava, I still love you.”
“You love my money, my family’s name. But don’t you dare say you love me,” I fume, releasing my anger toward him. “Love is a powerful feeling, Olivier. I suggest you look deep inside and admit to yourself who you really are and stop pretending. As for me, I’m going to leave. I want you out by tomorrow.”
Unable to think straight, I wrap my wrist up with the bandage. I take my purse, only for Olivier to call out, “Ava, please wait!”
My hand rests on the doorknob, but I don’t turn around. Olivier doesn’t deserve another second of my time. He gave up that privilege the moment he chose to betray me and with another man, of all people.
I open the door, taking a step out, then close it behind me. It’s best I don’t hover, quickly making my way to the elevator. Inside the confined space, I bow my head with a hitched chest until a loud sob escapes me. My hands clutch onto my stomach as the uncontrolled tears onset a wave of nausea. When the door pings open, my hand instantly covers my mouth as I begin to dry heave.
My breaths come hard and fast, but somewhere amid this breakdown, I realize I am all alone with nowhere to go. Miles away, across the other side of the country, my family celebrates ringing in the new year. All my friends are busy with events I declined because Miami was more important. My appearance was a bust, bumped for a hotter and younger influencer.
And my live-in boyfriend—is gay.
The loneliness is palpable.
The tabloids will have a field day with how miserable my life turned out to be. I can see the headline already—Daughter of Mogul Lex Edwards Falls from Fame.
There is no way to spin anything into a positive tonight.
So, I do the only thing to make it all go away and forget I even exist—I hit up the closest bar with the intent to make my life one giant blur.
Two
Ava
Out of every decent bar within walking distance of my building, I end up at some Irish pub called Alistair’s.
I’ve never heard nor seen the place in the entire time I’ve lived in the city, though I was never one to frequent such establishments. I prefer high-end bars with a designer dress code and men who wear suits.
Alistair’s is anything but high-class. The crowd is less than desirable, and my Gucci gold dress stands out amongst the denim worn by the lively patrons.
Everything inside the quaint space is made from heavy wood with splashes of green to tie in the Irish theme. There’s a wall-mounted flat-screen television over the bar, next to black-and-white photographs of random people.
An odd smell permeates the place, causing me to scrunch my nose upon stepping further inside. Almost everyone is already drunk, dancing to questionable music from some era I’m unfamiliar with. Jugs of beer are served all around me with tall glasses, and the word ‘pint’ is yelled way too often by the bar staff serving.
People are jolly, cheering on newcomers as if every
one inside the bar is their best friend. It will only be a matter of time before I fall prey to their overbearing social behavior. I already dread it, desperate to wallow in self-pity alone at the bar. There’s plenty of laughter and a few playful fights followed by more obnoxious roars.
I need alcohol—stat. And beggars can’t be choosers.
“What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?” I yell over the noise to the bartender.
The man is older, perhaps in his fifties, with salt and pepper-colored hair. With a sly grin, his dimples appear which catch my attention. I find myself staring, oddly, until he winks while pulling a bottle of whisky from the shelf behind him.
“This is what you need.” The brown liquor is poured from the bottle into the glass. “Macallan neat. Best way to ring in the new year.”
I’m not one to enjoy whisky, preferring cocktails and other bright and colorful drinks with umbrellas hanging off the side. But I no longer care about anything or anyone, desperate to forget I even exist right now.
My fingers wrap around the glass as I stare at the amber liquid. Without another thought, I throw it back, allowing the burning sensation to slide down my throat. I let out a rasp as the amused bartender watches on.
“Sweetheart, we nurse, not chug.”
Unable to hold back my distaste for the intense flavor, I wrinkle my nose and open my mouth with my tongue pushing slightly forward.
“That was…” My words are caught in my throat as I wonder how my father drinks this stuff. It’s his go-to drink for everything. “Strong. Hit me up with another.”
I have no idea why I order another, but the smoky flavor continues to linger, and I feel my limbs falling lighter. Upon recommendation, I nurse the second one until the music becomes somewhat tolerable. It’s all old-school mixes, well before I was even born. As I turn to see the folk around me, a guy is wearing a t-shirt that says Rub me, I’m Lucky. The tall college-aged man wearing some ‘80s punk rock orange wig would be lucky as fuck to have anyone rub him. He’s what one would call the life of the party, but not someone you’d take back home and into bed.
It could be worse—you could be single in a bar on New Year’s Eve after finding your boyfriend in bed with another man.
As the memory rears its ugly head, I call for more drinks. By my fourth, the bar is much more pleasant. I make friends with Alistair, the bartender. It turns out he is married with three kids to some Australian chick. He owns the bar, and his wife is an artist. It’s a shame. The more we speak, the more I realize older men can be quite attractive. Maybe, I shouldn’t be so picky and extend my age range to accommodate older men. Imagine that—my father would kill me.
I remove the black coat I wear as the temperature inside becomes warmer. A few people notice, eyeing me with a sleazy lick of the lips. I ignore them, aware my cocktail dress is somewhat scandalous in a casual joint like this.
There’s a brush against my arm as a man squeezes in, a little too close for comfort.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he greets, standing at my side while leaning his arm on the bar. “Looks like you could use someone tonight?”
Turning to look at him, I see a typical metrosexual guy with everything so perfect—probably another gay guy. The eyebrows are way too shaped for my liking. Andy and Jessa’s voices ring in my head from the last conversation we had about my choice of men. I’m not that picky. Sure, I like a handsome man, and on occasion, I have nit-picked, but that’s out of boredom and usually a sign I need to move on.
Perhaps, I’ll try something new. Give this guy the benefit of the doubt.
“Ava Edwards,” I introduce myself with a smile. “And you are?”
“Richard.” He lowers his head, then lifts his gaze with a simper. “Everhard.”
I almost spit out my drink. “Your name is Dick Everhard?”
“If you want it to be.”
An exaggerated sigh leaves my mouth. Great, this is what I have to look forward to being single again. And here I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, only for him to assume I’m after his dick.
“I think we’re done,” I drag.
“C’mon, you’re hot. A little fun won’t hurt you.”
I’m about to unleash my inner goddess, though she’s long drunk and barely able to stand straight until a familiar scent lingers in the air.
“How about you leave her alone?” The recognizable voice warns Dick.
I turn my body, my gaze lifting to meet the hazel-colored eyes from my past. Unable to hide my joy at seeing a familiar face, I instantly throw my arms around Austin’s neck.
“Austin, what are you doing here?” I ask, still in his embrace.
He pulls away, only managing a smile. “Day from hell, to put it bluntly.”
I stare at his face, admiring how much he’s matured since the last time I saw him, which would’ve been two years ago at the Hamptons for Rocky’s birthday. The night it all fell apart for him. We touched base after that out of concern since he was part of our family, but we just drifted apart without the common person holding us together anymore.
“It sounds like you need Alistair’s strongest stuff.” I motion for Alistair to serve us, requesting two Macallan’s neat. “Alistair can solve all the world’s problems tonight, I’m sure of it.”
Alistair grins while serving us. “You’re going to break some hearts, Miss Ava.”
“First-name basis.” Austin chuckles beside me. “How drunk are you?”
“Drunk enough that I’ve forgotten all about what happened before I walked in here. But sober enough to remember how much fun we used to have together.” I clutch onto my stomach as laughter escapes me. “Do you remember when we went camping, and you woke up with a frog on your head?”
Austin shakes his head, unable to hide his amusement. “That was the first and last time I attempted camping. Some memory, huh?”
Our laughs subside, and the giant elephant takes a seat between us. I wasn’t sure if I should mention it, opting to order more drinks. Austin drinks two in a row, and while he was never one to shy away from a drink, he doesn’t appear to be himself, and something is troubling him.
“Are you okay?” I ask, watching him stealthily.
“Not really.” His gaze falls onto the glass in front of him as his finger traces the rim. The moment passes as I wait patiently for him to elaborate, but he continues to remain quiet. Suddenly, his eyes are drawn to the bandage wrapped around my wrist. “What happened to you?”
I bow my head. “Long story.”
“Did you bandage this yourself?” He questions while touching my wrist softly.
“Can you tell?”
Austin draws his eyebrows together, turning himself inward to better examine my wrist. I purse my lips, annoyed he pointed it out—a reminder of tonight’s misfortunes.
“Please let me look at it?” He pauses, narrowing his eyes while glancing at my frustrated stare. “Don’t give me that look, Ava. I’m a first-year resident, and I work in the ER. I’ve seen way worse than this.”
“Fine,” I mumble, holding my arm out.
Austin presses softly, asking me if I can move my fingers and where it hurts. I answer him accordingly, ignoring the pain where he presses.
“It looks like it may just be a sprain. That’s the good news. But of course, you should get it looked at as soon as possible. An x-ray for starters.”
“Okay, Dr. Carter,” I joke, my gaze focusing on the beard against his sharp jaw. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been a while.”
Austin wraps my wrist back up, much better than I did. “Aside from this, how have you been?”
“Good, bad, I don’t know. Ask me when I’m sober of expensive whisky.”
He chuckles softly. “And Millie, how is she?”
“Um, good,” is all I say.
“It’s okay,” Austin assures me. “I have moved on. The joy of studying medicine means no time to sit around and dwell on the past.”
“I’m glad to hear. I
know it wasn’t ideal to end that way.”
“That’s life, Ava. The good, the bad, and the ugly. There is way worse out there. I’ll count myself fortunate to have known your family.”
Tilting my head, I wonder who the hell this guy is. This is unlike the Austin I remember. Granted, the last time I saw him, he punched Will in the mouth. Aside from his looks maturing, maybe he has too.
“You’ve changed,” I tell him, honestly.
“It’s been two years, Ava. A lot has happened.”
“Oh,” I mouth. “Like what? Aside from school and work?”
He lowers his head with a knowing smirk. “You’re still as nosy as ever.”
I dig my elbow into his side while grinning. “Alone on New Year’s Eve, there can’t be anyone that special in your life.”
“The same could be said for you.”
“This is depressing.”
Austin motions for Alistair to serve us again. “It doesn’t have to be. We need to be grateful we are here, in this beautiful city.”
“Okay, now you’re really scaring me with all your positive vibes, but you know what? I will drink to that. I’ve got nothing else to lose.”
We drink to being alive, to living in Manhattan. We drink when Alistair stops serving and does a rendition of Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer”. It’s followed by Richard, aka Dick, serenading Sharon, a fellow patron who just broke up with her husband of twenty years, with an ‘80s number called “Lady In Red.”
We all become the best of friends, and as the night wears on, the pints come our way, and I don’t hesitate in drinking myself into a stupor. I sing along to the songs, surprising myself as I know the lyrics to some thanks to Eric and his love for The Spice Girls.
Alistair yells for everyone to pipe down, announcing the countdown to midnight. I grab Austin’s hand, taking him to the dance floor as we gather in a large group. At the top of our drunken lungs, we shout the countdown and yell ‘Happy New Year’ to each other.
Austin wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me into him. “Happy New Year, Ava.”
Resting my hands on his shoulders, I stare into his eyes as we both laugh uncontrollably for no reason at all. “And to you. Who would’ve thought we’d end up here, sad and pathetic, drunk on pints while Dick tries to score with Sharon?”