"Here's to my shitty luck!" Nikola Suwenir shouted, raising her glass high before downing it in one gulp. The harsh warmth of the alcohol briefly chased away the chill she'd felt since the breakup. She grimaced, tossed her long hair back until it tickled her bare shoulders."Blegh!"
Though the evening was just beginning, the place was already buzzing. People gathered around tables and crowded the bar, as if everyone collectively decided this was the best spot to unwind from the day.
Nikola was starting to agree. The dimmed lights and soft, rhythmic music created an atmosphere of intimacy and freedom—exactly what she needed. After weeks spent holed up in her apartment—aside from dragging herself to work—wrapped in grief and depression, wearing stretched-out sweatpants, cocooned in a blanket, clutching a bottle of red wine in one hand and a tissue in the other, she deserved a moment of forgetfulness. A break from the mess that had flooded her personal life.
And though, if not for the intervention of her family rescue squad, she would never have stepped foot in this place, now—she had to admit—she was having a blast.
"Now, to shitty friends!" her cousin Aleks kept the momentum going. With a practiced flick, he replaced her empty glass with a full one.
Nikola drank it without hesitation.
"To the shitty ex!" Another swap. "And to the real friends who are here with you tonight, instead of sitting at dinner with your ex and his new chick!"
Aleks gave her no respite, and Nikola obediently downed the entire lineup.
This was exactly what she needed. No more crying, no more imagining her ex with someone else. The alcohol pleasantly spun her head; she smiled mischievously and looked affectionately at Aleks and Judyta—the only people she needed right now.
"Fuck those two-faced bastards!" she shouted, standing up abruptly and rising above the crowd. No other words came to mind that better expressed the disappointment and sense of betrayal she felt upon learning that her friends—completely behind her back—had welcomed her ex and his new girlfriend into their circle. The same woman he had left her for. The fact that they were also his longtime friends didn't soften the blow.
"That's right, sister!" Aleks raised his hands and clinked glasses with Judyta.
Nikola tilted her head back and screamed at the top of her lungs.
People at neighboring tables froze, then whistles and laughter erupted. They took her behavior as youthful antics, unaware they were witnessing shock therapy in action.
Nikola was rebuilding her confidence, trying to patch the cracks in her heart, to wash away the pain and tension accumulated after the unexpected breakup with her longtime partner.
She rubbed her forehead hard, trying to dispel the growing discomfort.
She glanced at the empty glass and immediately felt a pang of sadness. She couldn't shake the grief that ebbed and flowed like a tide. Like unwanted memories of all the promises she and Adam had made to each other.
"I've always thought Bożena was a bitch," Judyta interjected. "From your stories, she always came across as someone who delights in others' misfortunes."
Nikola knew what Judyta was getting at. She clenched her jaw slightly at the memory of today's unpleasant phone call with Bożena, which was largely the reason they went out tonight.
"I'm sure that bitch deliberately told you they're throwing a welcome dinner for Adam's new chick," Aleks said, rolling his eyes slightly. He hadn't had the best opinion of Bożena for some time, though he knew her mainly from Nikola's stories. "Brazen! She called you at work just to 'accidentally' share that information."
Nikola immediately recalled her feigned surprise:
"Oh dear, sorry... I wanted to warn you. Forget I said anything!" she pretended to be remorseful, but her voice carried a note of excitement and malice. She wanted to hear Nikola's reaction firsthand—as if afraid that if Nikola found out from someone else, she'd miss out on all the fun.
The memory hit with such force that her stomach twisted unpleasantly. She frowned, battling intrusive thoughts. Everything indicated that, to Bożena, she was merely entertainment—not a friend.
The bartender dropped a glass, which rolled across the counter, and Nikola jumped.
"Sis, everything okay?" Judyta immediately sensed the change in atmosphere; despite the noise and jostling crowd, she was entirely focused on Nikola.
"Maybe we should talk about something else?" Nikola suggested, setting her glass on the counter. That was it; the mention of Bożena had completely killed her party mood.
Unfortunately, Aleks, with his teaspoon-sized sensitivity, had no intention of changing course. Deaf to Nikola's words, he nudged her in the side with a mischievous smile.
"This is supposed to be a cleansing outing," he reminded her. "We're getting all this crap out and replacing it with a light buzz, frivolity... maybe even a little flirtation." He grinned and winked at Nikola, then called out their drunken mantra for courage:
"Fuck Adam Szpak!"
Only indistinct murmurs responded; seeing that the party mood had dimmed, he added to liven things up:
"Fuck his new chick. The one with the horse face!"
"Ha! I'd love for her to have a horse face and, ideally, protruding rabbit teeth," Nikola sighed. "But unfortunately, we don't know what she looks like. I've never met her," she added more calmly.
"Oh, but we do," Aleks replied proudly. With a theatrical gesture, he pulled out his phone and showed them a photo of Adam and his new partner. Both dressed to the nines, smiling and gazing at each other.
"You sneaky...!" Judyta was impressed. But Nikola no longer heard her.
The world narrowed to a single frame. One image. Her heart pounded once, hard—and froze.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" she snatched the phone from his hand.
The new girl?...
It was Sandra something-or-other—a new hire at Adam's company. Miss Perfect, whom Adam constantly praised to the skies. She recognized her instantly—and it chilled her to the bone. For a moment, she felt her consciousness leave her body, as if floating outside her own body, until she snapped back and locked eyes with that damned photo. And suddenly, everything made sense. The puzzle pieces fell into place: his increasingly long hours at the office, the workload, the sudden distance she had blamed on herself. His nitpicking. The little things that never used to bother him but now were unbearable, which he had to remind her of every day.
Bravo, Nikola. Of course he was faithful—but only until the first opportunity.
Nikola slammed the phone down and, ignoring Aleks's concerned comment about his property, looked around for a glass. Empty.
"More vodka!!!" she screamed, startling even Aleks and Judyta, who had no idea what was going on.
The bartender, who had seen many broken hearts, silently appeared at the bar and placed a bottle in front of her. He wasn't stupid—he knew better than to provoke an emotional woman tonight.
"What's going on? What happened?" Aleks immediately perked up. "Why such a reaction?"
Nikola stayed silent. With trembling hands, she poured herself a shot. Splash. Then another. Splash.
The vodka was nicely chilled, but it still contorted her face. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
She wasn't ignoring her worried sister or nosy cousin on purpose—it was just that their words didn't reach her. Nor did the bar's buzz, or the presence of others. Everything felt muffled. Blurred.
She buried her face in her hands and froze… It was all just too much. An emotional chaos engulfed her, and she couldn't make sense of what she was feeling. Did she want to march over to Bożena and kill Adam? Or maybe grab him by the collar and cry as she begged for an explanation?
She couldn't take it. Not like this. Not sober.
But one thing had become painfully clear: That pea-brained bastard. That pathetic excuse for a man. Her ex. Had cheated on her.
That "new relationship" had started long before—they'd just been calling it something else. She was sure of it. It was already happening while they still lived together. They still shared a bed. Back then, she cried—howled, even—but this felt different. Foolishly clinging to the hope he'd come back. That it was just cold feet—at least that's what he said while packing up his stuff from the apartment they shared.
She hadn't even noticed when the bar, the people, the music—all of it disappeared, like someone had changed the channel. All that remained was her and that one scene.
"I know what you and your mother expect…" he'd said. He was so calm, so collected, that something inside her had screamed: this isn't normal. She should've listened to that voice. Dug deeper. But no—her heart had clenched, her brain had lost circulation, and… the stupidity switched on.
She didn't have the guts to call out his hypocrisy. To remind him that his family had been pushing just as hard for an engagement as hers had.
At every family gathering, his mother would inspect her hand and not-so-subtly ask when she was finally getting a ring—like Nikola was supposed to go out and buy one herself.
Or worse, convince her precious boy to do it.
And yet, when he shamelessly dumped all the blame on her loved ones… as much as it embarrassed her to admit—she said nothing. Didn't argue.
She stood there. Watched him pack. And, God help her, tried to win him over.
"I just need time. I need to clear my head…" he'd said, reaching out to her. And she—so starved for his touch, desperate for any sign that this wasn't over—gratefully took his hand. Like a complete idiot. "You know I love you," he added. His final scrap. A leash she was meant to stay tethered to—loyally, patiently—until he was rested, composed, and ready to come back.
In that moment, she believed him. Believed he loved her. And she waited.
Two days. Not a single message. She had no idea where he was staying, whether he was even alive. She didn't sleep. Kept replaying every dumb fight, analyzing every word she might've said wrong. Blaming herself for letting social expectations manipulate her. For thinking engagement and marriage had to happen by a certain age. She missed him. Worried about him.
And when she finally broke and called him—he was annoyed.
"I said I needed space… See? This is exactly what I meant! You all want to control me." His voice was irritated, harsh.
And her? Penitent. Apologetic. Pathetic. She could see it so clearly now.
After that, she just stared at her screen. Picked up the phone. Put it down. Silent.
Friends urged her to send a cheeky text. But something held her back.
What if it pissed him off again? What if that pushed him away for good?
Even tonight, just before going out, she'd been thinking about him. About their "great relationship," which—back then—she still thought she'd ruined. Because she'd pushed too hard for a ring. Tried to force something he wasn't ready for, just so she could show him off as her fiancé.
She snorted softly and shook her head.
Their "break" had lasted three weeks, during which Nikola promised herself she would never pressure him again. She'd be understanding, gentle. She'd fix everything he'd been complaining about…
She signed up for the gym—already had the membership. Started taking care of her looks even at home—no more baggy sweats and bare face. She'd do her hair. Every day.
And then—he called.
God, she lit up when she answered. Absolutely glowing. She must've lit up the whole apartment and blinded the birds flying past the third-floor window. From the first second, she was chirping, babbling, fluttering like a bird set free from its cage to finally spread its wings in the sun. She felt that everything was going to be okay.
Before he could say anything, she rushed to tell him that she understood. That she knew where she'd gone wrong. That she'd changed. Fixed herself. For him.
And only then did she realize… he wasn't saying anything.
He wasn't happy.
Her light dimmed—but didn't die out. Still held on.
"I've fallen in love," he said softly, but firmly. Without hesitation. With that one sentence, he ripped her still-beating heart out of her chest. "I didn't mean to. It just… happened."
She squeezed her eyes shut, snapping back to the present. To now.
If that sentence had ripped out her heart, then that photo—of him with Sandra—was the moment he hurled it against a wall and, laughing with deranged satisfaction, watched it shatter into pulp.