Lost hope

"Whaddaya Havin?" the question sneers out of the bartender somehow failing to disturb the rakish grin which seems plastered to his person.

"I'll have a shot of lost hope," I reply straddling the stylish chrome and leather contraption, "and a pint of forgotten dreams while your there."

I watch him fill the glass, the bottle suckling greedily at the air. I sip my shot, chasing it with cool and soothing foam, hot then cool, hot then cool. I feel her before I see her. She invades my space without touching me gazing down my throat as I swallow down the folly of a younger man.

"I couldn't help but notice your choking sadness," she says, reaching out to touch my chest.

"Ever the enigma," I mutter to myself.

"Your wounds are obvious and legion and your grief reeks like rotting meat," she comes closer rubbing her back against me her voice fading to a whisper, "it's intoxicating."

I sip my drink the shot now departed and force out a refusal to acknowledge the siren ensnaring my body.

I become aroused and immediately she gasps as if startled and looks down mockingly, scolding my lack of taste. She turns her eyes up to find mine which I avert.

"You dont want me." I say recoiling.

"No, but you want me."

"N-no," I studder, "I don't want you. It's just that without you I feel exhausted and nauseous."

She reaches her arm to the back of my head and makes a fist, snaring my hair and pulls down hard, raising my chin.

"You are mine, and no desperate hopeless arrogance will remove me from your heart." Her eyes drop and she smiles turning away. "But run all you like. I will be here or there when you give up," and turning to the bartender, "I'll have a glass of his ruined soul," and after a pause, "on the rocks."

And while I don't recall the leaving, of how my hand found the door or how my shoes found the pavement, I remember her laughter as I chased my regrets along the darkened sidewalks.