Wooin

The smell of whiskey and despair permeated every inch of my rotten soul. Glass shards of the past stabbed into my memory like razor blades every time I tried to breathe. "No commitment" echoed in my head, a sentence I had passed on myself, and on her as well. Idiot.

The bottles emptied one after another, as did my bank account, as did hope. I drowned its image in golden booze, burned it on the altar of unbridled hedonism. Expensive cars, like mad horses, carried me along the night streets, away from the emptiness that followed on my heels. The narcotic haze painted illusory pictures of happiness, but as soon as it dissipated, everything returned to normal - a burning, all-consuming melancholy.

I thought freedom was the absence of bonds. It turned out freedom was the loneliness ringing in your ears when there was no one to share the dawn with.

And here I am, in this damned club, where the music pounds my temples and lustful glances slide over bodies. The same faces, the same fake smiles, the same senseless bustle. I was looking for oblivion, but I found only the reflection of my rotting soul in the toilet mirrors.

I was drowning in this sea of ​​falsehood until her image floated to the surface like a drowned woman. She was there, surrounded by her friends, drunk as hell, but so alive, so… real. Her laughter was rough, her movements were loose, but even in this intoxication there was a purity that I had irretrievably lost. And it was my fault.

Our gazes met. Devils danced in her eyes, mixed with the glitter of tears. Hatred? Contempt? Or something I was no longer worthy of seeing? It pierced me.

She staggered, pushed her friend away, and moved toward me. Every step she took echoed in my heart, every painful beat reminding me of the betrayal. She walked like a ghost from the past, returning to take revenge.

She stopped right in front of me, wafting a cloud of alcoholic fumes and floral perfume.