I don't know how long it was before i saw her. One minute i was arguing with the bartender, a tall, gangly guy named Nathan, about classic rock and guitarists, and the next i turned my head and caught a glimpse of her in the mirror behind the bar. Her hair was flat, her face a little sweaty. She looked drunk, but i would know that face anywhere. It was everybody else who always liked to think she was gone for good.
I wiped off my face, ran my fingers through my hair, trying to give it some life. She stared back at me as i did this, knowing as well as i did that these were just smoke and mirrors, little tricks. Behind her and me the crowd was thickening, and i could feel people pressing up against me, leaning for their drinks. And the sick thing? In a way, i was almost happy to see her. The worst part of me, out in the flesh. Blinking back at me in the dim light, daring me to call her any name other than my own.
