Ellen's Point of View
"Another shot?" the bartender in front asks.
His voice is way too smooth. He gives a devilish smile with that sharp jawline of his. The rolled
sleeves. The tattoos that curls over his arm makes me blush.
I nod shyly and he takes the cue to pour me a shot.
I'm currently seated at a bar, far from anywhere people might recognize me. I needed an out as
home was choking me to the point of suffocation.
I should not be here. I have never been one to sit in a bar alone. But tonight feels different.
Since Clara's death, the world should have stopped meaning anything.
My elbows are pressed to the counter as I down the newly poured shot into my mouth. The
bartender observes me with hooded eyes.
"You don't look like you belong here,
" he says.
I let out a small laugh.
"Good. That makes two of us.
"
He smiles.
"Rough night?"
"Rough year,
" I say, before I can stop myself.
He nods, understanding without pressing further. That little gesture makes something sting
behind my eyes. I blink it away and take another sip.
The drink hits harder this time. The room softens at the edges and it now feels I can breathe a
bit better.
"Name?" he asks.
"Ellen.
"
"How cute.
"
I shrug.
"I didn't pick it.
"
He laughs.
"Fair enough.
"
For a moment, the noise fades and it's just us. His eyes linger a second too long, and I realize
it's been months since anyone looked at me that way.
At that moment, I miss my ex so badly. Antonio understood me. He always looked at me with a
relentless hunger and made sure I knew how beautiful I was.
I sigh and tap my fingers on the counter.
"You flirt with every girl who sits here?"
"Only the ones at the verge of tears,
" he says.
That earns a laugh from me. A real one at that.
He grins.
"See? Your laugh is beautiful.
"
I sip again and let the alcohol settle deep. My chest feels much warmer. The tightness that has
been sitting there since the funeral begins to fade somehow.
At that moment, I think of the way Professor Martinelli looked at me with such sharp and dark
eyes. The way his body swayed to his voice, and the way I felt under his heavy gaze.
I subconsciously clutch my legs together and let out a soft sigh.
Why am I feeling horny?
Oh no! This is crazy. Why am I thinking of him?
It has to be the alcohol. Yes it is.
The song changes to a deeper bass tune while someone shouts near the dance floor. I turn
slightly, letting the movement blur past me.
Then I see her.
A woman. Sitting alone at another table. Her hair is dark, tied back loosely. Her coat looks
expensive but worn. There's something in her face I can't place.
She's watching me.
When our eyes meet, she quickly looks away and pretends to check her phone. My heart gives
a sharp twist.
Am I imagining things?
I turn back to my drink, uneasy.
"Everything alright?" the bartender asks.
"Yeah.
"
But I'm lying.
I glance back again. The woman is gone. Her glass is still on the table, half full.
I can't be that drunk surely.
The bartender follows my gaze.
"You know her?"
I shake my head.
"I don't think so.
"
"She left this.
"
He gestures toward the small napkin tucked under the edge of my glass. I frown. I could have
sworn it wasn't there a moment ago.
I pull it closer. Something is written on it in faint ink.
What they teach in light, they bury in shadow.
My heart drops to my stomach.
The same words from Clara's letter.
My throat goes dry instantly.
I stare at him, trying to process.
I can't be possibly going crazy.
The music thumps harder, mixing with the chaos in my head. My mind races through a hundred
questions that refuse to line up.
I reach for my phone, thinking of calling someone. Marlon, maybe. Or Sophia. Or better still,
Antonio. But what would I even say?
Hey, a stranger in a bar handed me my dead mentor's message?
My pulse beats loudly in my ears and I stand to leave but my legs sway, the ground slightly off
balance.
The bartender leans forward with a worried look.
"Hey, you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine,
" I lie through my teeth again.
He studies me but says nothing. I pay and leave. But the movement itself is a struggle as the
world seems blurry. The alcohol hit harder than I imagined.
I walk fast in a clumsy way, clutching my bag tight.
Clara's words echo again in my head.
Do not trust a smile that reaches you too quickly.
I think of the bartender's smile. Of the woman's eyes. Of the fact that someone, somewhere,
knows I'm looking for something I don't even understand yet.
My pace begins to quicken.
The city looks different tonight. The corners darker.
At the edge of the street, a car engine hums quietly, too quiet to be random. I look up, but the
headlights flicker off almost instantly.
Someone is watching. I can feel eyes on me.
But from where?
I reach the intersection and slow down, trying to steady my breathing and that's when it
happens.
A rough hand clamps over my face. The scent of sweat and metal floods my nose. Panic
explodes through me.
I bite down hard on the fingers covering my mouth.
The man hisses in pain, loosening his grip, and I wrench myself free before I even think. I don't
look back.
"Come here, bitch!" The unfamiliar voice whispers harshly.
He's chasing me.
The alcohol feels like it's burned out of my veins, but my legs move like they belong to someone
else. My chest stings with a new wave of pain.
"Pl… please!" My voice cracks.
"Let me go..
"
My foot catches on something. A stone.
I fell, hard, face-first onto the tarred road. My palms scrape against the ground, burning.
The world spins.
Before I can push myself up, a blinding light fills my vision. A horn blares. Tires screech.
I freeze.
The impact hits before I can scream.
And then, nothing.
Only black.