Last Night Here

Illustration: TBS

One bottle every night. It was the only way I could sleep or else my overthinking brain would stay up creating Venn diagrams and bar graphs to analyse whatever the heck happened between us. At meetings, on my way to work, after I woke up, I would subconsciously drift to him. 

I write notes on my phone to show him, but how? He blocked me everywhere. They say it gets better but his absence makes me wish I was dead. Why am I this intense? Every hurt is ten-thousand folds worse as every little joy is ten-thousand folds exhilarating. I try to numb it by overworking but that never works. I wear my enormous dark shades and keep my KN95 mask on so no one would notice me have panic attacks in the moving car.

Them: You must come to the Texas Hold'em Finale at Dutch Club tonight. 

Me: I don't know a thing about - 

I could hear my girlfriends' laugh on the other line. They were all three together, trying to convince me to go. 

One of them exclaimed: Winner gets 5 lakhs.

Me: What? 

Them, in chorus: Yeah

I agree nonchalantly that I'll drop by. Free easy money.

So how do I dress the part? I want to feel powerful one last time. I go through my wardrobe and find a floor-length black dress with a daring slit. Put the red lipstick on. What if they give cash old-school style? I chose my biggish nude Celine matching my nude Louboutins. 

"So, I'll transfer it to you if – na, when I get a hold of it. Make it look like an accident. I'll be at the Dutch Club tonight. You can send someone there or…yes, yes."

The other line: "If you want to back out let us know by – "

"No backing out. Confirmed."

I enter the crime scene. I suck in the energies like a vacuum - 90% fake smiles. We were together for 7 years. No on-and-off bullshit. How many reached out? 

"So sorry I didn't message earlier. I'm here. I was –"

I almost wore a fake smile, but I recalled his words, "I shouldn't ever feel pressured to feign a smile or laugh."  I heard an audible snicker,

"Carrying such a big bag here? 

"Maybe to carry all her ghusher taka (Bribe)," another whisper.

Words from acquaintances so their remarks never mattered but what hurt was the absence of people I loved the most as I was going through the most. Some of them were there that night feigning sympathy and giving explanations about their business going through red light during the Covid-19, but I heard through the grapevine how they were hosting a Garden Tea Party of 50 but couldn't see their hurting favourite cousin for even 5 seconds. True colours are revealed during dark times so I'm grateful for these revelations; not the dark times; God no, don't want a rerun. But trying times manifest who loves me. It wouldn't matter if I just died right now. They will be partying next week. And him? He wouldn't even notice. 

I stayed close to the game table, observing. When the final winner was announced, I stood close. My quick photographic mind registered the winner pressing her passcode.

"Can I get a selfie with the winner?" I asked, fangirling. We were in the ladies' room. She handed me her phone as she dabbed her forehead sweat with tissues. I have a few minutes till she might need her phone again. 

"Will you teach me sometime?" I attempted to distract her.

"I can give you a few beginner tips right now," she slurred unaware of her phone's whereabouts. 

"I'll just be a second", I said and whizzed inside a cubicle. If she realizes, she will know it was an honest mistake. We were all drinking. My head spun a little as I sat down; I had to stay in character. Little. He called me, little. My head spun again. How many shots did we have? 

I airdropped it to my iPhone and passed it on. Done. I felt lighter. As I got out, I ordered one last glass of wine to commemorate my win. I should, story tonight. I wore the pink nail polish he liked, held my wine glass next to the poker table and captioned it, "Last night here". 

I froze as I noticed someone had seen my story. Did he unblock me? Wait, does that mean he wants to reconcile? Shit. Mission abort. Will I message them to abort first, or him? I was too tipsy to think coherently now. He always came first in my thoughts; sober or inebriated. 

I texted, "I can't see anything. Where are you? This is my location". I sent my current location. 

She's fine, she's writing normally he assumed; forgetting iPhone autocorrects.

Him: "Lol I'm not there."

I texted again. "Can we meet and talk about what happened?"

"No"

"You don't know the story from me. How can you believe baseless rumours? I sent you my loc-"

My head felt lighter. Lighter. Lighter. Lighter. Till I was finally, comfortably numb. 

Disclaimer: The story was developed in Dhaka Flow's creative writing workshop named "Pen Warriors".