Page 24 of Notes About Vodka

When she’s not on stage, she’s serving tables, her warm smile lighting up the room. She still doesn’t see the way he acts, and it makes me sick. My protective nature is in overdrive.

As the night wears on and the crowd thins out, I keep tabs on him as he stumbles toward the exit, his pockets stuffed with his “trophies”.

Laura finishes her final set to thunderous applause, though his drunken clapping rings out louder and more obnoxious thananyone else’s from the hallway. Each clap seems to echo mockingly, grating on my nerves as if it’s a personal insult to her artistry.

When my shift ends, I find Laura in the dressing room, tidying up her belongings. I can’t hold back any longer.

“Laura, you were incredible tonight!” I exclaim, pulling her into a hug before I can stop myself. Her warmth catches me off guard, but I’m too focused on letting her know how much her music moved me as I breath in the vanilla of her hair and press kisses into her hair. She almost tastes like cinnamon buns.

She starts to respond and wrap her arms around me, but the door swings open, and the man from the bar stumbles in. He’s muttering under his breath, a scowl on his face. “Can you believe the nerve of some people, babe? Some idiot at the bar wouldn’t shut up, kept going on about the dumbest shit. Ruined my whole night. And that bartender? Watered down my drinks. Fucking asshole.”

Laura stiffens immediately, her expression guarded as she steps away from me. I glance between them, a sinking feeling settling in my chest. His presence feels like a dark cloud swallowing up the light she brought into the room.

“Oh, hey, …babe,” Laura slowly says, her voice unnaturally bright despite the thick atmosphere around us. There’s a tension in her posture that she can’t quite hide. “What are you doing back here? In the dressing rooms?”

He softens slightly, reaching for her.

“Just came to see you before I head out,” he says, pulling her into a possessive embrace. Her gray eyes meet his dark brown ones, and my heart sinks further, a sharp ache blooming in my chest.

It’s not just the sight of them together—it’s the way she looks at him, with a mix of resignation and weariness, that hits me the hardest.

I admire her strength, the way she carries herself with such grace despite whatever struggles she’s facing, but seeing her like this makes me feel utterly powerless.

I want to step in, to shield her from whatever’s weighing her down, but I’m painfully aware that this is her battle to fight.

That helplessness gnaws at me, twisting my admiration for her into a deeper, more painful longing to be the person she can rely on. It’s not just the sight of them together; it’s the way she looks—detached, almost resigned—that cuts the deepest. There’s a vulnerability in her eyes that she’s trying to hide, but I can see it. I feel powerless, a mix of anger and sadness churning inside me as I realize just how complicated her world must be, and how little I truly know about the pain she’s carrying.

I feel a mix of disbelief and anger, the kind that coils in your stomach and refuses to let go.How can someone so vibrant, so full of life, be tied to a man like this?

The thought rattles me, leaving me rooted in place as my mind scrambles to make sense of the scene unfolding before me.

Dark brown, just like mine…

Tall, just not as tall as me…

Then, he kisses her, and though she doesn’t resist, there’s something hollow in her response. It’s like she’s playing a role, one she’s grown tired of.

Anger bubbles up inside me—anger at him, at the situation, and at myself for being unable to do anything about it. Her expression as she pulls back from him lingers in my mind, a fragile mask of composure that seems ready to shatter at any moment.

When he finally pulls back, he smirks down at her. “I’m heading out for the night. Don’t wait up, okay?”

Laura nods, her smile tight. “Sure, I’ll see you later.”

As he leaves, he shoots me a dismissive glance. “Later,dude,” he says, barely acknowledging me before walking out the door. The door swings shut, and with it, the oppressive tension in the room seems to grow heavier.

The room falls silent. Laura stares at the floor, her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world is pressing down on her. I take a step closer, wanting to say something, but the words catch in my throat.

“Laura…” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“I need to go,” she says softly, grabbing her bag.

I grab her forearm gently, forcing her to look at me. “What the fuck, Laura? You’re with him? Seriously? Why are you with that guy? He treats you like a toy, like a trophy. If you heard the things he was saying at the bar tonight…”

Her gray eyes widen, startled. “Val, you don’t understand. It’s none of your business.”

“Why?” I demand, frustration and concern boiling over. “Why are you with someone like that?”

“That man,” she says, her voice flat but her eyes betraying a storm of emotions, “is Sam. My husband.”

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