Sitting at the bar, I had no idea why I decided to meet him. Yet here I was, waiting for him. I shouldn’t be here, I thought, rubbing the strap of my leather bag as anxiety crept in. Just as I contemplated leaving, he swaggered in—tall, bearded, and tattooed, all the hallmarks of a fuckboy from the early 2010s… and even now. With that mega Wyatt smile, we made eye contact, and I felt a familiar tug of confusion. Why the hell am I here?
“Heeey, stranger,” he said, opening his arms for a hug.
I smiled, though it felt strained, and returned the embrace, my heart racing.
We exchanged small talk while ordering drinks. I chose a lavender gin and tonic, and he opted for a tequila old-fashioned. As our drinks arrived, I took a sip, only to find him staring at me, an unsettling intensity in his gaze.
“What?” I asked, a flutter of nerves sparking in my stomach.
“After all these years,” he said, swirling his drink, “you still stuck around.”
Stuck around? The memories rushed back, and I fought the urge to remind him it was his persistent texts that brought me here. I took another sip, the taste turning bitter.
An awkward silence lingered, and I felt the weight of our history pressing down. “Well, you obviously haven’t found anyone else. You’re here, aren’t you?” he said, trying to flip the script.
I laughed, a reflex to mask my discomfort. This was classic Damien—always turning things around. “Actually, I am in a relationship. Are you?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t be.
“I’m focused on work,” he replied, avoiding my gaze as if the truth was too heavy to bear.
“Oh, how’s that going? What do you do?” I probed, but my interest felt hollow.
“I’m in sales,” he said flatly.
“Nice! Glad it’s going well for you.”
Another silence settled between us.
He leaned in closer, a smirk creeping onto his face. “So, you’ve got your little relationship going. I know he’s not doing it like me,” he said, flashing that mega Wyatt smile, as if it were an invitation to reminisce about what we once had.
In that moment, I could see through his manipulation—this was about him needing to know if I still craved him. But I didn’t. I’d fought too hard to escape the cycle of arguments, manipulation, and feeling unloved.
I took a deep breath, a wave of clarity washing over me. I wanted to tell him off, to lay out how I felt, but instead, I just laughed lightly, the sound masking my growing resolve. I waved down the bartender to pay for my drink, the tension coiling tighter in my chest.
“Thanks for inviting me out,” I said, my voice steady. “But I’m not interested in reconnecting.”
He protested, reminding me once again that I’d never find anyone who could love me like he did.
“That’s the point,” I said, signing my receipt.
As I opened the door and stepped into the sounds of the city, my heart started to find its rhythm again. The cool air wrapped around me, invigorating and alive, whispering promises of new beginnings.
Walking away from Damien wasn’t just about leaving him behind; it was a declaration of independence. Each step felt lighter, shedding the weight of past insecurities and fears. I wasn’t running away; I was embracing a future filled with possibilities.
As I crossed the street, I inhaled the scents of coffee, fresh pastries, and the sweet promise of change. The world around me felt vibrant, alive with opportunities I hadn’t allowed myself to see before. This was my moment. I was no longer just a reflection of someone else’s desires or needs. I was a woman on her own path, ready to write my own story.
And as I walked away from the bar, I knew this was just the beginning of something beautiful.
self-discovery
personal growth
overcoming heartbreak
emotional healing
relationship struggles
moving on from an ex
Secondary Keywords
bar setting stories
confrontation with an ex
reclaiming independence
narrative of empowerment
toxic relationships
With love & moonlight,
Vintessa
Sacred musings | Mystic practices | Soft heart, wild spirit