CHAPTER FIVE

We Will Be Victorious

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Flash.

A bright light briefly blinded me as I blew out a cloud of smoke, blinking away the spots. Behind the flash came the sweet, innocent giggle of the asshole who took my picture.

"You're so cool," Lydia teased, lowering the camera and flashing a grin that made me roll my eyes.

I shook my head, taking another drag of my cigarette, still debating whether to head inside the bar or not. Leaning against the wall, I let the hot smoke curl out of my lungs, savoring the autumn breeze against my cheeks. The peace was short-lived, shattered by the loud voices and music drifting from the bar.

Why the hell did I agree to come here again?

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up." Lydia let the camera dangle around her neck as she walked up to me, scanning my face for any humor. There was none.

"I don't know why I did," I muttered, looking down at her. I pointed at the camera. "And what made you think bringing that was a good idea?"

"Er, well..." she mumbled, fiddling with it. She shrugged, letting the camera fall, the strap around her neck catching it. "I like bringing it with me. You never know when something interesting will pop up, and I'd kick myself if I missed the chance to capture it. So, it comes everywhere most days."

She chuckled and blushed. Oddly enough, that was the first thing Lydia said that didn't leave me confused. It made sense and I actually could relate. Mulling over what she said, I took a hit of my cigarette and blew the smoke upwards.

"Come on, loser," she said with a playful nudge, grabbing my wrist.

I looked down at her hand, feeling the unexpected softness of her touch. It was oddly comforting, a warmth that betrayed the chill in her fingers. Her hand lingered before she noticed my discomfort. She quickly released me from her grasp and offered an apologetic smile.

"Let's go," she said, spinning on her heel and heading toward the bar.

As she walked away, I took in the full view of her.

Her light brown hair fell in waves down her back, ending just below her shoulders, and it moved with a fluid grace, like the ebb and flow of the ocean. I took another drag of my cigarette, stood up straight, and flicked the butt away.

My gaze wandered over her—those light skinny jeans that hugged her curves perfectly, and that dark cropped t-shirt that revealed just enough of her pale skin. I quickly looked away and stubbed out the glowing remnants of my cigarette with the toe of my shoe.

Sure. She was attractive.

I huffed out that last bit of smoke and followed behind her, trailing into the bustling bar. The bouncer stood at the front entrance and Lydia offered her I.D. I glanced at it, only catching a glimpse of the photo and her full name. Lydia Jarvis. He nodded and handed it back to her. The bouncer didn't even bother to check my license. I didn't blame him. I may have been twenty-four, but I sure as hell looked like I was in my thirties. He nodded at me and allowed me to go through without any problems.

"What do you want? First drink is on me!" Lydia offered as she waved down one of the many busy bartenders.

I shrugged, pushing past the crowded entry area of the bar. Lifting my head, I lost sight of her when two guys backed into me, causing me to stumble.

"Hey, sorry man," one of them said, a heavy hand patting me on the shoulder. I wrinkled my nose. I hate people.

"Markus?" Lydia called out. I turned back towards her voice and shoved my way through until I finally was pressed up against the counter beside her.

"Jesus Christ," I huffed, tugging down the beanie that was on my head. She chuckled as the bartender approached with two beers in hand.

"I didn't know what you wanted," she said, trying to compete with the other noises surrounding us. She took the beers from the bartender and offered me one.

Music thumped loudly in the background, while strangers bumped into me every so often. The air was thick with humidity, making it difficult to breathe. Overwhelmed by all of these sensations, I clenched my fist and rested it on the counter.

I snatched the drink from her hands and said, "It had to be a bar? Not like... I don't know, a quiet restaurant maybe?"

"Well, I figured a bar would be less pressure. Restaurant feels a little like a date, don't you think?" Lydia lifted an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. "Or are you asking me out?"

She took a sip from her beer, and I rolled my eyes. "I don't even know you," I grumbled, taking a swig of my own drink. "Just tell me about this photoshoot so I can get out of here."

Lydia's eyes narrowed at me as she continued sipping her beer. A few moments of silence stretched between us–I assumed so that she could gather her thoughts.

"There is this old, empty warehouse I pass by on my way to class," she started, her gaze drifting. "I don't know, there is something about it. Something that draws me in. Kind of like you," she said with a chuckle, pointing at me before finishing her drink.

I narrowed my eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She had this odd curiosity about her that intrigued me despite myself. A mystery seemed to linger in her voice and it left me wanting to know more. I shook my head, trying to shake that feeling, as she shrugged.

"I guess I like to draw connections between things," Lydia said. "You've got an interesting look, and there's a story behind it. So does that warehouse. To be completely honest, I've been wanting to do this photoshoot for a bit, but I've been too much of a chicken to ask until now."

She shrugged nonchalantly and leaned against the counter, as if admitting she just wanted to use me for her photoshoot was no big deal.

I grumbled and glanced away, taking a sip of my beer as I tried to figure out how to answer her ridiculous comment. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her studying me intently, like she was analyzing a specimen. My heart skipped a beat.

Just another animal in the zoo.

"Seems a little insensitive, don't you think?" I said, rolling my eyes, and signaling the bartender for another drink.

Her face went pale with shock, and she stammered, "Insensitive? No way! It's actually a compliment. I don't find many people who catch my eye like you--"

She cut herself off, her cheeks turning pink as she fumbled with her beer. I watched her, my irritation giving way to curiosity. I couldn't help but let a small, amused smile slip.

"Sorry," she said, "That probably sounds weird. In any case, let's see if we can find some empty stools to sit on."

Lydia spun around, searching before pointing to a pair of bar stools along the counter. She scurried over to make sure no one took them, then waved me down, beckoning me to join her. With a huff, I squeezed back through the crowd and slid onto the chair beside her.

We sat next to each other, legs brushing as I chugged my second beer. I knew I shouldn't. Dr. Garcia warned me against drinking or using drugs–anything that I could turn to in order to alleviate my pain.

I stared into glass, swirling the liquid around. A couple of drinks wouldn't hurt.

"I figured we can go to the warehouse and check it out. Is it cool if we shoot for this weekend?" Lydia asked, resting her chin on her hand.

My eyes widened, "So soon?"

"Sure, why not?" she said. I tore my gaze from her strikingly blue eyes, flecks of brown tainting the edges of her pupils. I cleared my throat and replied.

"Whatever. Just don't forget the money." I wanted to remind her that I wasn't coming out there to waste my time. She chuckled as I realized she ordered another round for both of us.

"I'm not staying," I said over the rising volume in the bar. Lydia lifted a soft brow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.

"Sorry, can't hear you!" She turned back to her drink, this time something fruity, and sucked on the straw. I narrowed my eyes at her, patiently waiting for her attention until I huffed and turned towards my beer.

"So, what got you into photography?" I asked, taking a swig of my third bottle. She smiled gently, locking her eyes to mine.

"I'm a terrible writer and an even worse artist," she admitted, tearing her gaze from mine and glancing up in thought, "But I've always wanted to express myself creatively. So one day, I picked up a little disposable camera and started taking pictures. They sucked, but I was telling a story through them. At first, I needed a whole series of photos to convey something, but eventually, I got to the point where one photo is truly a thousand words."

I contemplated her words while finishing my drink. Despite the chaotic noise of the bar, silence settled between us. I liked her reason. It was better than mine, at least.

"What about you?" she asked, after some time.

With a quickened pulse, I flicked my eyes to hers and shook my head. "Just 'cause," I muttered.

She glowered at me, clearly unimpressed with my response.

"You really can't tell me why you picked up photography?" she pressed.

"I could. But I don't want to," I said, my voice losing its edge.

"Hmph, well then, let me take a wild guess," she said, turning to scan me up and down. "I think looks can be deceiving. You don't look like the type to pick up a camera. But truthfully, deep down, you're a creative, just like me. Always were. I bet you liked art class when you were little. You just look tough on the outside."

I scoffed. "Sure, that's it."

"If you don't want my imagination to run wild..." Lydia rolled her eyes dramatically with a smile.

"I don't know, I guess I just like capturing the moment. But I'm not really that creative, as I've recently discovered." I shrugged, finishing off my drink, my head starting to spin. I placed the glass down harder than I'd wanted.

Lydia rested her chin on her hand. "Why do you say that?"

I stared at her pointedly, lifting a brow. She met my gaze with doe-like eyes, always so intrigued. Frustrated, I ran my fingers through my hair and turned away. "Because seeing your photos made me realize how lazy mine are. There's no depth, no story. Just...pictures."

As if sensing my frustration, Lydia's face softened. "You're being hard on yourself. I don't think yours are lazy, not at all. And besides, I've been doing this for years now," Lydia said, pointing down to the camera.

"Yeah, maybe."

The bartender approached when she noticed our glasses were empty. Hesitating, I glanced at Lydia and then at my cup. I could feel the warmth creeping up my neck, my eyes fogging over. I slid the glass over and asked for another. When the bartender looked towards Lydia, she waved her hands and shook her head to say that she was good for now. After I got my drink, I chugged it, the two of us basking in the low glow of the bar, a rock song playing in the background. I finished the drink with a satisfied huff.

"Do you come to this bar often?" I asked.

Lydia shrugged, her hair falling around her shoulders. "Sometimes. I used to come here a lot more last year." Tucking her hair behind her ear, she lowered her eyes to the counter, suddenly lost in thought.

"What about you? You know your way around a beer, obviously," she chuckled, pointing at my drink. "I didn't take you for a partier."

"I'm not. I hate parties," I grumbled, curling my lip and turning away, feeling a pang of shame.

Lydia lifted her brows in surprise. "Oh. I misunderstood, you just seem like you can drink a lot–"

I didn't look at her, gripping my empty glass tightly as if it were an anchor. My eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Lydia fell silent.

"I guess that makes sense," she said after a pause, "You don't seem to be the talkative type."

"Figured that would've been obvious by now." I quipped, wrinkling my nose at her. "I don't like going out and talking to people, especially someone I barely know."

Her lips pressed into a soft frown as she spoke gently, "Wow. You're a bit rough around the edges."

Her voice had dropped to a near whisper, yet cutting through the noise around us. I sighed, leaning forward against the bar, my eyes tracing the worn grooves on its surface.

"Sorry, I'd just rather not talk about me. I'm not in the market for a friend, either. Thanks for the beers and the nice gestures. I'll see you this weekend if you still want," I said, standing up and turning away from her.

As I walked off, I heard Lydia's voice trail off, "Wait, Markus, I–"

I was swallowed by the crowd before being spat out of the bar, my head spinning as I sucked in the fresh night air. I leaned against the wall and felt the cool breeze clear my foggy thoughts, relief washing over me. Over the last couple of years, I developed a habit of retreating into myself, avoiding social interactions whenever possible. Anything beyond polite small talk felt draining, making the effort to be around people exhausting.

I didn't want friends. Friends went away, and that was the last thing I needed. Before college, partying and girls were the only important things in my life. If I were my eighteen-year-old self again, I would've tried to seduce Lydia and take her home for the night. I knew my past self was kicking me in the ass, but I didn't have that kind of energy anymore. That part of me was gone. I didn't have anyone or anything from before, no one to put my trust or belief into. I could barely hold onto my own family.

As the darkness enveloped me, the street lights casting weak glows, I stumbled home from the bar, just a few blocks away. I cursed myself for chugging so many beers in such a short time. Grabbing my head, my thoughts were suddenly back at the bar, Lydia consuming my mind.

 Maybe I was a bit mean. I wouldn't be the first to say I sucked at social interactions.

Leaning up against the wall of my apartment building, I fished out the pack of cigarettes from my coat pocket and plucked the last one. Dammit. I'd need to pick up more soon.

The sky was a dark void, the roads mostly quiet with only an occasional car breaking through the silence. I flicked the lighter and pressed it close to the end of the cigarette, taking a slow drag. I let the white smoke curl around my thoughts, my head consumed by the clouds of white.

Another thing Dr. Garcia told me I shouldn't do. And another thing I had no intention of giving up.

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