The Waiting Game

The music was loud-thumping through the walls, beating like a second heart in May's chest. The lights flashed in waves of neon pink and electric blue, painting the crowd in wild colors as bodies swayed and tangled in the dark. It was chaos, but the kind May had grown used to. Needed, even.

She sat on her usual barstool near the end of the counter, where the light wasn't too harsh and the noise softened just enough to hear her own thoughts, if she let herself. A drink swirled between her fingers-dark, strong, just how she liked it. Her lips curled into a half-smile as she sipped, eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk without purpose.

Her red dress clung to her curves like it had something to prove. It was short, daring, loud. So was she-at least tonight.

"New guy at two o'clock," said Lacey, her friend and bartender, nodding subtly toward a man leaning near the speakers. "Looks like your type. Tattooed, tall, mysterious."

May rolled her eyes. "My type is 'for one night only.'"

Lacey chuckled as she mixed a cocktail. "And tomorrow you'll pretend he never existed."

"Exactly." May raised her glass like it was some twisted toast. "To forgettable nights."

She meant it, too. She wasn't looking for forever-hadn't been for years. Not since that night everything broke inside her. Since that trusted face twisted into a nightmare and took something from her she could never get back.

Now she lived by one rule: stay numb, stay sane.

The man approached. A smooth talker with a lazy grin and no idea what May wasn't looking for.

"You always drink alone?" he asked, flashing teeth that probably got him into trouble.

"Only when I want to," May answered coolly.

He sat anyway, clearly not taking the hint. But she didn't push him away. Not yet.

There was a strange kind of comfort in these meaningless exchanges. No depth. No expectations. No God-talk. Just two people pretending for a moment that loneliness could be fixed by chemistry.

"I'm Jake," he said.

"Tonight you are," she replied, sipping her drink.

The rest played out like a script she knew by heart-flirty conversation, a few laughs, hands that lingered too long. Her body went through the motions while her mind floated somewhere above the club lights.

By midnight, they were back at his hotel room. The curtains were drawn, but the city still leaked in-honking cars, distant sirens, the muffled sounds of a city that never slept, just like her.

Afterward, Jake fell asleep with a smile.

May didn't.

She stared at the ceiling, wishing she could stop the thoughts. Wishing she could feel something that wasn't just survival.

By dawn, she slipped out of bed, dressed in silence, and walked out the door like she always did.

***

The streets outside were mostly empty. Only a few early risers moved around-street cleaners, joggers, a woman in scrubs holding coffee like a lifeline. The air was sharp, cool enough to sober her up. May kicked off her heels and walked barefoot, heels swinging from her fingers. Her feet ached, but not as much as her heart.

She passed a church on the corner-a big white one with wide steps and stained-glass windows that glowed in the early sun.

She didn't look twice.

Her apartment was a few blocks away, small and quiet, cluttered with half-read books, empty wine bottles, and laundry she hadn't folded in a week. The kind of space that echoed when you spoke too loud.

She walked in, dropped her shoes at the door, and sank onto the couch with a sigh that felt too big for her chest.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Gray – 8 missed calls.

And a text: Cassandra made banana bread. Come over. We miss you.

May rolled her eyes and tossed the phone aside. Gray never gave up, and Cassandra was too sweet to blame. But no amount of homemade bread could fix what was broken between them.

Still, she typed back: Maybe.

Just that. Not yes. Not no. Just maybe.

***

Later that afternoon, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, wiping off smudged makeup. The woman staring back at her looked older than she felt. Tired in a way sleep couldn't fix.

She traced a faint scar on her shoulder. Her fingers paused, and for a second, her expression shifted-like something had cracked behind her eyes. She remembered it all too well. The pastor's office. The false warmth in his voice. The locked door. The lie that God sent him.

That was the day her faith died. The day she stopped believing prayers did anything.

And Gray... sweet, devoted Gray... he never understood. He still spoke about healing and forgiveness like it was something you just chose, like changing shoes or switching lanes.

She stared at her reflection.

"If He's real," she whispered, "why didn't He stop it?"

The silence felt like mockery.

She splashed cold water on her face and walked back into the living room. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Instead, she opened the window and lit a cigarette, watching smoke curl into the sky like a secret she couldn't keep.

***

That night, the club welcomed her back like an old friend. Lacey raised an eyebrow as May slid onto her usual stool.

"Didn't think I'd see you two nights in a row," she said, pouring her usual.

May gave a tired smile. "It's either this or stare at the ceiling wondering when life's going to get better."

Lacey looked at her, softer this time. "You ever think maybe you deserve better than this?"

May laughed. Not because it was funny-because it was the kind of thing people said when they didn't really know.

"Deserve's a strong word," she muttered.

The music picked up again. A new wave of strangers filtered in. May turned to face the dance floor, her eyes glossing over the crowd. She wasn't looking for anything. Just trying to forget everything.

That was the thing about her nights-each one was a little louder than the last, trying to drown the voice inside that still asked for more.

Not more drinks. Not more men. Just... something real.

Something safe.

But she didn't believe in that anymore.

Not in men. Not in love. Not in God.

And definitely not in herself.