Valentines Day Stories

At first everything’s blurry; all you can remember is the face your ex made dumping you yesterday morning. Just a flat out “bye” and they had completely ghosted you. You still remember all the ruthless things they said about you: did you even recognise them at this point? Where had the cute, loyal stranger you’d fallen in love with gone? Had they even existed in the first place?

After all of that, you didn’t know what to do with yourself anymore. All your friends had favoured your ex over you, leaving you behind to deal with your own sorrow. Since when had you chosen such disappointing friends? This was your life now: shambles.

You start to remember what you did: you drove out of town, parked on the side of a road in the woods and walked into a nearby bar. You sat yourself down in the corner of the room and ordered anything you wanted, just anything to fill the void inside yourself.

All of these other strangers around you were enjoying themselves, indulging in light-hearted conversations while you were wishing your life was over, wishing that every drink caused you more pain and suffering than your ex had ever done. I guess all of that drinking had lead up to this very moment.

You try to make some sense of your surroundings: luckily no-one has abducted you or taken advantage of you in the past how many ever hours you’ve stayed here. It takes you a second to realise that there’s nobody else here. A splitting pain in your head starts up, and you tentatively sit up very much alive.

The ambience is still as cozy as you can remember, but all you can smell is the remnants of alcohol on your table. All of the tables have been cleaned and emptied of people, while the bar front has been wiped down, it’s golden accents shimmering in the light of the mini chandelier above. Since when did you have the money to afford a place like this?

“Good, you’re awake.” A voice floats throughout the room, you weren’t aware that there was someone else here.

You see someone in a black uniform entering from the a side door in the bar front, placing a bottle back in its shelf: the bartender.

“Are you alright?” They seem to be talking to you directly.

Your throat is too dry, hindering your ability to respond, you can barely croak a reply. Instead, you groan.

“I’ll take that as a no I presume.” They sigh, pulling out a cup from one of the cupboards and filling it with what you assume is water.

They exit out of the bar front and head towards your table, placing the cup on your desk.

“Come on, you should at least sober up a bit, after that I’ll take you to one of the bar stools over there.”

You don’t reply, mainly due to the fact that you can’t reply, so you just nod in response hoping they understand.

“Oh and use this will you? I don’t feel like having any more spills after today.” They place a paper straw into your drink and head back to the front to continue cleaning.

Had you spilt your drinks previously? Or was it some other unlucky customer? You didn’t even know a place like this would have straws, but at least it makes drinking whatever was in this cup a little easier.

You finish up your drink sip by sip and the headache eases a little, the mysterious bartender still hasn’t changed from their uniform, but is instead watching you from the bar front with a concerned look on their face. They notice you’ve finished the cup and they head over again to help you up.

“We’re just going to walk over to the bar, okay? 3…2…and up!” They hoist one of your arms around their neck and hold you by the waist, half-carrying-half-dragging you towards the bar.

They sit you down in one of the barstools and you slump a little uncomfortably into the table in front of you, your sleeves cushioning your head. That drink must’ve done something, because you can finally slur a few words out of your mouth.

“How much did I drink…?” You grumble in fatigue.

“Around 9 bottles and a few shots,” the bartender replied, “it’s incredible how you haven’t done anything illegal yet.”

Your head shoots straight up in disbelief.

9! Even worse, shots? How was my wallet going to fare after all that? The bartender seems to notice your shocked expression on your face.

“Don’t fret about your bill, I’ve paid for it already.” It’s like they’re reading your mind, “my money not yours. I knew that in a state like that you’d probably explode the second you heard how much it was.”

“How much did I spend?” You croak.

“I won’t tell you the exact number, but it was just shy of three hundred quid.” They reply a little nervously. Your eyes widen, there was no way you were going to pay that off. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to get you to repay it back, this job pays quite well so I won’t have a problem with it.”

You can’t even sigh to show how grateful you are, instead your head slumps against your sleeves again.

“I’m so sorry…” You sigh, your voice a little muffled by one of your sleeves.

“It’s alright I suppose, but how about this: you tell me your story instead. What brought you to one of the most luxurious bars into town, especially but yourself?” They ask.

Seriously? In exchange for an insane bill? You think, perplexed. Nevertheless, not paying for that thing would be great for such an insignificant price.

“So, tell me, why did you decide to drink like there was no tomorrow?” You have their full attention now, they’re staring deep into you, yet it doesn’t feel awkward at all. You explain your unfortunate tale to the bartender, but they don’t seem to judge you at all.

While you speak, you begin to admire them a little. The bartender appears to be somewhat alluring to you, their seemingly fluffy hair is well brushed and their hands look soft yet experienced. From the way that they speak, you can tell that maybe they come from a more well-off part off the country, but what really draws you in is their eyes.

Their eyes are so normal yet so captivating at the same time. You couldn’t lie to yourself, this bartender was practically your type.

Once you finish explaining, the bartender slides you another cup of water, but at this point you’ve practically sobered up. It’s only then you start to get suspicious.

First they don’t kick you out of the bar, second they help you sober up, next they ask why you drank so much.

“Why are you helping me?” You finally pop the question, but the bartender doesn’t seem concerned.

“I’ve seen many people walk through this bar, mainly regulars, but when you showed up you had ‘End eyes’.” They explain.

“‘End eyes’? What are those?”

“It’s not an actual term, but a personal one. They’re the eyes one has before committing something life-threatening or irrational that could potentially end them. Thus the name. My theory was only confirmed the second the staff started becoming concerned about the amount of alcohol you were consuming.” Your ability to think straight seems to slither back as you start to question why you were crying in the first place.

Why were you crying over someone who wouldn’t cry over you? Why had you thought it was the end of the world when you had escaped them? Why had the world seemingly ended when the people you had lost never cared for you in the first place? You hadn’t even realised the tears streaming down your face.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Don’t cry, look, you’re alive. That’s a good thing now, isn’t it?” The bartender comforts you.

“If your friends didn’t stay with you it means they weren’t good friends. Same goes for that ex of yours: would you really want to stay with them after all of those things they said about you?”

“No…”

“Listen, a pretty stranger like yourself has no right to get dumped like that, that’s all I’m trying to say.”

“Wait…what did you just call me?” Were you hearing this correctly? Or did they just call you ‘pretty’.

“So…I may or may not have had a bias not to kick you out of this bar.” The bartender sighs in defeat.

“Explain yourself then.” You smile softly, your mood wasn’t as bad anymore and your headache seems to have dissipated.

“Despite all of the drinking you’ve been doing, I think you do look pretty, dare I say attractive.”

The bartender seems to be tugging on their own uniform in a flustered mess.

“Plus you seem to be in the right mind as of now, so yes, I do like you. I’ve never heard a story like yours before, so you piqued my interest. Well, did you want to applaud my honesty?”

“Maybe I will, in fact you’re quite charming yourself.” You smile, complimenting them. No way this was happening. The cute bartender actually took an interest in you?

“Alright then, all close and personal. I guess I can drop formalities then.” The bartender seems to relax a bit and a mutual feeling between the two of you seems to grow.

“Back to our original conversation, where are you going to go?”

You had completely forgotten about that part: where were you going to go? It was way too late to for you try get a train of some sort, much less have the money for it. Plus, your car was somewhere in the woods with no way of getting back to it, but above all that there was a greater problem.

“I used to live with my ex, but that’s sort of out the window now.” You laugh nervously, the faint reminder of your ex coming back to haunt you.

“How about this: you can crash at my place for a while until you can figure something out, sound good?”

“How about a little more than a while?” You reply, audaciously. Your cheek resting in your hand staring at them.

“Getting bold, huh?" The bartender persists further.

"How about a lifetime?"

Your eyes widen once again, but they don’t seem to be joking.

“Well then…don’t mind if I do.” You reply, “You’re lucky I like you too.”