Bounded Proposition

I slam my hand on the bar, the sharp sound cutting through the low hum of chatter in the lounge. "You jerk!" I yell, my voice louder than I intend. The room falls silent, and every pair of eyes turns toward me. Great. Just what I need-an audience. But I'm too far gone to care.

The alcohol hums in my veins, making my frustration feel bigger, hotter, impossible to contain. I know I'm drunk, but honestly, I don't give a damn. The sting of betrayal is sharper than any hangover could ever be.

I feel the weight of their stares, but most of them aren't curious-they're just gawking. It's the same thing every time I walk in here. Tight red dress, hair slicked back, the olive glow of my skin catching the dim lights. I know I'm a spectacle, but tonight, it just pisses me off. They're all too busy checking me out to notice the train wreck I've become.

The Sky Lounge is packed, as usual. Ladies' Night means cheap drinks, and right now, that's the only silver lining in my life. I've been coming here way too often lately, but can you blame me? Two days ago, I found out my ex-James, the con artist of the century-scammed me out of my entire savings. Every penny I spent years working my ass off for, gone.

"Married in Bali," I mutter bitterly under my breath, taking a sip of my beer. What a load of crap. The bastard had me dreaming of honeymoons and forever, all while plotting to drain my account. I should've seen the signs. The charm, the promises-it was all a game to him. And I lost.

"Mark!" I call out to the bartender, raising my empty bottle. "Another beer!"

Mark slides it over, but his face is a mix of annoyance and concern. "Careful, Sara. You're already tipsy. Don't want to lose your phone or wallet again."

I roll my eyes, waving him off. "Who cares? I just want to get drunk."

He leans on the counter, giving me that look-half warning, half pity. "Look, I'm not carrying you home this time. Call James or something."

I glare at him, the mention of James making my blood boil. "Ugh, don't mention that idiot!" I snap, taking a swig. "Just bring me another."

"You're on your fourth bottle," he points out, his voice dripping with disapproval. "Maybe take it slow."

"Mind your own business, Mark," I fire back, slamming the bottle down. The sound echoes in my ears. All I can think about is James. His smug face, his lies, his complete lack of shame.

The anger bubbles up, and before I can stop myself, I'm shouting. "James, you scumbag! You used me! You think you can just steal from me and walk away? You've got no shame!" My voice is slurred, loud enough to make heads turn, but I don't care.

"Sara," Mark says, his voice softer now, like he's trying to calm a wild animal. "You need to head home before you make things worse."

I whip around to face him, my vision slightly blurry but my fury crystal clear. "Who are you to tell me what to do?" My voice is sharp, the alcohol amplifying my defiance. "You don't control me!"

Mark sighs, his shoulders slumping like he's already given up. "If you overdo it and something happens, don't expect me to bail you out."