If Jan had known she was going to endure so much pain through her now ex-fiancé, there was a very good possibility she wouldn’t have even bothered with him in the first place. When she loves someone, she loves with every fiber of her being. Knowing that the other person didn’t feel the same way, and would rather have been with some other sleazy girl on the side? Well, that just broke her.
She’d spent a lot of time giving people on Facebook little answers here and there without any details as to why the engagement had been broken off, and what time hadn’t been spent on there, she’d spent with her sister trying to cheer her up on the phone.
A week after things had been broken off, Jan realized there was only one way to make herself get over the douchecanoe of an ex-- it was time for a trip to Vegas. One road trip later, she’d let herself into one of the many casinos and made a beeline straight for the nearest bar, flashing her ID to keep the bartender from questioning if she was old enough, considering she took a whole two minutes trying to actually get up on the chair at the counter to begin with.
The drinks went by in a ‘fuck you too, ex-douche!’ sort of blur, and she didn’t actually quite remember how many she’d had in the end- probably a few too many, if she couldn’t remember, and at some point, she knew she must have blacked out, for she woke up sprawled out in bed under a blanket with a ring on her finger. She’d had to blink at her own hand for a good five minutes before acknowledging the male form next to her before working up the nerve to speak-- well, more like squeak.
“-------What the frickity frick frack?”
