Drink It Up

Flash fiction prompted by a series of "Why I Broke Up With You" stories.

We almost broke up because you “accidently” made out with your boss at the annual office holiday party.

Your lady boss.

As your loyal, very manly, and very gay boyfriend, of course I was shocked. I yelled. You groveled.

But I didn’t do the deed.

We were still a we.

We went out for some post-make-up-sex drinks at Scarpia’s, you remember? Our go-to bar; our place.

“Just a regular ale please, babe.”

I called after your shadow, you already at the bar.

“Maybe I should’ve been more harsh,” I kept thinking, playing with thoughts and my birthday bracelet, the one I bought for me “from” you.

But thoughts of “should’ve” thinned away as you returned, hands full of a pair of clinking bottles.

“Two bitters, for us, per usual!” You said, “And here are the caps, of course, for your collection.”

You dropped the two caps in my hand like coins, secret treasure.

You always got the easy part right, didn’t you?

But this time, I needed you to get the hard part right.

I broke up with you because of that bitter, and not regular, ale.

Author's Note

From the viewpoint of a young gay male, I was looking to make this a purposeful second person piece.