The Bartender: A Fictional Narrative

"Another round, please." I requested the bartender. I knew this was a bad idea. Everyone was caught onto Kesha's catchy beat and then there was me, brokenhearted little girl Chanel. At least I didn't have to scream as the pervy bartenders eyes were set on me, well, probably my boobs but I don't give a shit about that right now.

"Damn you, Jake," I muttered incoherently. I looked like a mess. My makeup was smeared, my face looked red and blotchy and my already short red dress was torn, making me look like an a-grade slut.

"Well, baby, my shift is almost over. How about we take this to my place?" The bartender asked suggestively. He smelt vaguely of cigarettes and alcohol but maybe that was just me.

"Look, I'm really not interested right now. Besides, you look like a creep anyway," I said dismissively. I had no intention of going anywhere with this guy at all. He just glared at me an left. I smirked but that was wiped off my face as the nights events came crashing down on me and I broke down on tears again. …show more content…
How f.ucking could you!?" I screamed in despair, letting my emotions take over me. I didn't care anymore. Why should I? I had already lost everything. Jake was my boyfriend of 10 months. For some, it wasn't that long, but it was the most committed I'd ever been to anyone. Those 10 months were perfect. I loved him and being the naïve doll everyone made me out to be, I thought he loved me back. I was exactly where he wanted me to be, falling into his trap. I have to sleep with the act that I have myself to him and this was the result. This was the prime example of fairytales don't come true. He had invited me for a date today. Long story short, the little shit left me alone at a rave party and I found him making out with a blonde hoe, Emiline. I punched him. At least something good came out of this. I hope my punch hurt

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