Yavannah Constantine
The colorful lights in the bar cast hues of blues, greens and reds everywhere including the glass of wine in my palms. I held the glass up to the light, watching how the liquid shimmered, my mind far away from the excited crowd behind me.
I hadn't wanted to come here. Hiding away at some loud, crowded resort wasn't exactly my style. I liked the quiet, the stillness of my own space. But that very quiet silence threathened to swallow me whole. Being here, amidst strangers and noise, gave me a break from thinking—at least, that was what i told myself.
The guy beside me—some eccentric guy whose name I hadn't caught—had been talking nonstop since I sat down. I wasn't really listening. I had politely nodded and smiled, trying not to be rude. But the more I tried to tune him out, the closer he leaned in, his voice dripping with an irritating insistence.
