---it’s a quarter after one, i’m a little drunk and i need you now || @prosperaffa
Ouch. The bar had crappy choice in music, and Lianne wanted nothing more than to shut it off. Or change to something better on the radio. It wasn’t even close to one AM, because then Lianne wouldn’t be here. She didn’t like staying out late, it wasn’t her scene, the late nights. Even if this had been a very special night, Lianne would have much rather gone home to celebrate. Her phone was a silent brick, that she fiddled with to check the time on every now and again. It was funny how things changed, sometimes not so quick, and other times...almost like pulling a rug from under your feet.
She was on her first glass of Stella, almost done with it, before politely ordering for herself a pint of beer. Lianne had been sat at this dingy student bar, one she used to frequent when she was still in college, and when the nostalgia for bad beer and terrible music struck, she’d come back here again, always dressed in black somehow. Most importantly, she was sat in the very same place she had first made the acquaintance of one Prosper Raffa. And there was the tornado that was...everything after him. The brown haired woman tried to stop thinking about him, tried to stop thinking of Lady Antebellum bleeding into something more rock and roll in the background, tried to stop thinking altogether. This wasn’t fair; in the year that she had left him, he hadn’t called or texted, didn’t want to know if she was still around, or alive even. Prosper hadn’t cared, so why did she care? Why did she want to avoid everything her mind was telling her and just text him?
Why did she still care?
Lianne was going to leave. But she couldn’t leave, because leaving would mean that this was yet another thing Prosper ruined for her and she wouldn’t let him win. Even if it was her memories, Lianne Sinclair wouldn’t let him win. In fact, while she sipped on her beer, she was going to tell Prosper how much she didn’t care about his existence. Of course she had still saved his number, of course she didn’t delete the texts. But it didn’t matter, because Lianne didn’t care.
[sent at 11.43pm] I’m doing so much better without you. I don’t miss you anymore. Goodbye, dick.
Only after she had hit send, did Lianne realise what she had done. It was groggy, but the dots connected in her head and it made her skin flush red in embarrassment and she hoped to whatever higher power was in the sky that he didn’t read that text.