Now, he was drowning in a sea of regret and confusion. Why had she left? Why hadn't she said goodbye? Why hadn't she given him a chance to explain, to understand, to fight for their love?
He bit his lip, trying to suppress the rising tide of emotion, the urge to scream, to cry, to break something. He felt a sharp pain, a metallic taste in his mouth. He lifted his hand, his fingers stained with crimson. He had bitten through his lip, drawing blood, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil tearing him apart.
"Another vodka, please," he mumbled, his voice hoarse, his eyes blurring with unshed tears.
The bartender, a stoic man with weary eyes, nodded silently, pouring another shot. Galen downed it in one gulp, the fiery liquid burning a momentary path through his grief, offering a
