Chapter 8: The echo of the past
Dylan sat hunched over at the bar, the glass in his hand trembling slightly as he downed yet another drink. The sting of Ava's slap still lingered deep inside him, gnawing at his thoughts. Her cold, detached eyes, filled with anger and something akin to disdain, kept flashing in his mind.
He couldn't make sense of it. This was the woman who had once clung to him, who had confessed her love for him time and again.
How had things changed so drastically? Why had she acted as though she didn't care about him at all? She hadn't even appreciated the flowers he had bought for her.
He slammed his empty glass on the counter and gestured for another.
"Hey man, that's enough," his friend, James, intervened, placing a hand on Dylan's shoulder. "You're already drunk."
Dylan shot him a sharp look, pushing his hand away. "I'm not done yet," he snapped, raising his finger at the bartender. "One more."
James frowned, clearly concerned. He had never seen Dylan like this—so lost, so agitated. "What's going on with you? I've never seen you like this before."
Dylan didn't answer. He didn't know how to explain the storm brewing inside him. He had never cared about Ava before, but her cold indifference, her rejection, and the slap twisted his heart, making him restless. He could feel she was getting away from him, and it was unsettling in ways he hadn't anticipated.
"Who the hell pissed off Dylan Brooks?" James quipped sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood.
The bartender slid another glass across the counter, but before Dylan could grab it, James swiftly snatched it from his grasp.
Dylan's face twisted in anger. "What the fuck, James? Give me my drink back!"