DRUNK

Xender's POV

I walked into the pub and immediately ordered a drink. Today had easily turned out to be one of the worst days of my life. I poured myself a shot and knocked it back in one go.

I felt the liquid burn its way down my throat, welcoming the sharp, numbing satisfaction. Charles usually comes here with me, but hearing that Emily had returned left him in an even worse mood than I was in.

Today just wasn't my day. I almost wished he was here so I could distract myself with his constant nagging. I looked around the pub and realized just how empty it was.

Aside from me, there were only two other people sitting on the far side of the bar. One was a blonde lady, and the other was a man still dressed in his corporate work attire. I guess I wasn't the only one who had a miserable enough day to drink over.

But there was something strangely familiar about the blonde. She reminded me of someone I had crossed paths with earlier today. I could only see the side of her profile, though, so I couldn't be entirely sure.

No, it can't be her, I thought. Even though they both wore the same blue dress, she didn't look like the type of person you'd find hiding out in a pub in the middle of the night.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Seeing the caller ID, I slipped outside into the cooler night air to take it.

“Hey, son.”

“Dad. What do you want? Why are you calling me this late?”

“I wanted to invite you to a business gathering tomorrow that will heavily benefit you. Are you up for it?”

“I’ve already scheduled my entire day tomorrow, and I don't have any spare time.” What was he up to now? Why was he suddenly being so nice?

Handing me a business proposal and inviting me to a top-tier networking event was completely unlike him.

“Try to make time to be there,” he pressed, his voice dropping into that smooth, authoritative tone. “I need to introduce you to Mr. Barnard, and then the three of us can discuss the proposal together.” He always had a way of manipulating things to get his way.

“I'll see if I can clear some time and get back to you.” I ended the call and let out a heavy sigh. I needed to start heading home; I couldn't afford to get drunk tonight.

I walked back into the pub to grab my suitcase and suit jacket, but stopped short. The bartender was having a visibly difficult time trying to get the blonde lady up on her feet.

“Hey! Leave… me… alone!” she lashed out, aggressively shoving the guy away. She ran a frantic hand through her hair, snatched her handbag off the counter, and stumbled toward the exit.

Just when I thought this night couldn't get any more complicated, the universe proved me wrong. The lady from earlier was now staggering directly toward me, struggling to keep her balance.

As she got closer, my chest tightened. What on earth was she doing here?

“Oh… it's you,” she slurred. She pointed a trembling finger at me, blinking rapidly as if trying to force her eyes to focus on my face. She took another unsteady step forward, but her balance completely gave out.

“Aaah!”

She hit the floor with a dull thud. Before I could even react, she let out a frustrated sigh, kicked her high heels off, and tossed her handbag across the floor. I stared at her in utter disbelief. Unbelievable. I decided right then and there to just ignore her and go about my business.

I was sure she would find a way to manage. I grabbed my suitcase and jacket and headed out the door, turning a completely blind eye to the woman who now appeared to be totally passed out on the bar floor.

Why should I care what happened to her? If she couldn't handle her alcohol, she shouldn't have been drinking heavily in the first place. Reaching the parking lot, I tossed my things into the car, started the engine, and drove down the street.

But as the pub vanished in my rearview mirror, a heavy weight settled in my stomach. I just couldn't bring myself to leave her behind. That neighborhood wasn't safe for anyone to walk alone at night, let alone a completely defenseless, intoxicated woman.

“Damn it,” I muttered, slamming my foot onto the brake. The car screeched to a halt in the middle of the empty road. I felt a wave of frustration wash over me. Why was I even trying to help her?

Running both hands through my hair, I cursed under my breath. I couldn't believe I was turning back for someone whose first impression I absolutely detested.

I pulled a U-turn and drove back to the pub, rushing inside to get her—but the spot on the floor was empty. She was gone. Did someone pick her up? I marched over to the bar to confront the staff.

“Excuse me. The blonde lady who was on the floor before I left—do you know where she went?”

The bartender shrugged, wiping down a glass. “Some guys walked in, claimed to be her friends, and took her out.”

“Some guys? How many of them?” panic flared in my chest.

“About four of them, I think.”

“Four men came in here and dragged an unconscious woman out, and you just assumed they were her friends? Are you completely stupid?!” I snapped, my temper boiling over. How could he let four strangers walk off with her without a single shred of suspicion?

“Hey, man, she went willingly with them,” the bartender defended, raising his hands. “So I figured she knew them.”

“She was completely wasted! Do you honestly think she’s in her right mind to give consent?!”

I didn't waste another second. I stormed out of the pub and bolted down the street, my eyes scanning the dark alleys and sidewalks.

Could this day honestly get any worse? I was starting to think I had been genuinely cursed. I ran all the way down to the local bus station, and my heart skipped a beat when I spotted her slumped on a waiting bench. I let out a massive sigh of relief, but as I stepped closer, my focus shifted to the shadows nearby.

On the other side of the platform, four guys were huddled together, whispering excitedly. Clutching tightly in their hands was the exact handbag I had seen her throw across the bar floor.

I walked right up to them, but they were too absorbed in their little victory to notice my approach.

“Hey!” I barked.

They all jumped, their heads snapping toward me.

“Give that back,” I said coldly, nodding toward the bag.

The leader of the group—a guy sporting shockingly bright pink hair—clutched the bag and stepped into my space. What kind of grown man dyes his hair neon pink?

“You want this? Fine. You can have it,” he sneered, throwing the empty bag directly at my face.

The group burst into loud, mocking laughter, tossing jokes back and forth at my expense. A dark, dangerous anger flared inside me. I had started the night wanting nothing more than a quiet drink, not a street fight, but it looked like I was going to have to break a few ribs to get my point across.

I picked up the bag from the floor and checked the pockets. It was completely empty. There was no way a woman like her would be out at night without her wallet, ID, or phone.

“I am going to ask you guys this exactly once,” I said, my voice dangerously calm as I stepped closer. “Did you remove anything from this bag?”

“Yeah, actually, we took a lot of her things,” the pink-haired guy teased, a smug, punchable smile spreading across his face.

“Return them right now, while I’m still being nice.”

“Or what? What are you gonna do about it, suit?” he countered, shoving his chest out and stepping even closer.

I didn't hesitate. I threw my head forward, driving my forehead straight into the bridge of his nose.

A sickening crack echoed through the station. He let out a pathetic scream of agony, clutching his blood-covered face as he stumbled backward away from me. I stepped into his retreating space, keeping my eyes locked on him. Where did all that tough-guy bravery go?

“Are you going to return her property, or do I need to break another bone?” I demanded, turning a cold glare toward the other three. They were standing frozen, staring at me in absolute shock. Looking closely at them now, they were just kids. I bet none of them were even twenty, except for the idiot with the pink hair.

He was clearly older than the rest, which made it even worse. Why was an adult leading a pack of teenagers around, teaching them to steal from defenseless people?

“At the count of three, if there is a single item missing from that bag, I will personally ensure every single one of you spends the rest of the year behind bars. One… two…”

Before I could even hit three, they panicked. They rushed forward in a frantic scramble, dumping the stolen contents at my feet.

“We're really sorry!” they chorused, terrified.

“Good. Now run home and focus on your studies,” I growled. “If I ever catch you taking things that don't belong to you again, I will make sure you pay dearly for it. Now get lost. All of you!”

I watched as the teenagers sprinted off into the dark, leaving me alone with the pink-haired ringleader, whose nose was bleeding profusely. I grabbed him tightly by his collar, dragging him up to eye level.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty,” his voice trembled violently, completely stripped of the arrogance he had moments ago.

“Do you want me to call the cops?”

“No, please! I can't go back to prison. My mom… she has a weak heart, it'll kill her.”

“If you actually care about your mother, don't walk down a path that will put you behind bars,” I snapped, loosening my grip. “Drop whatever else you took from her and get out of my sight.”

Trembling, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out her smartphone and driver's license, and dropped them next to the pile before running away as fast as his legs could carry him.

I let out a long, exhausted breath. Thank god that was over. I knelt down, picked up her license, and squinted at the text in the dim light of the station.

Alda Barnard.

My breath hitched. Her last name was Barnard? That's strange.

I carefully placed all of her belongings back into her bag, zipping it securely before walking back over to the bench. To make matters worse, she was now completely dead to the world.

“Hey. Miss. Alda… Alda, wake up,” I said, gently shaking her shoulder, but she was completely unresponsive. Unbelievable.

With a defeated sigh, I scooped her up into my arms and carried her back down the street to where my car was parked. I carefully laid her in the passenger seat and began scrolling through her phone, trying to find a contact like "Mom" or "Dad," but everything was locked behind a passcode.

That left me with only two viable options: take her back to my place, or check her into a hotel and hope she could figure things out by tomorrow morning.

But looking at her curled up in the seat, a strange pull in my chest wouldn't let me just leave her with a hotel clerk. Why did I suddenly feel this overwhelming sense of responsibility for her, even if it was just for tonight?

“I really hope I don't regret saving you,” I muttered to myself, walking around to the driver's side. “I have no idea why you keep crossing my path.”

I turned the key, shifted into drive, and steered the car toward my apartment.