Strobe lights made frantic squares across the trampled carpet, which had been littered with snack food wrappers and shoeprints of various shapes and sizes. Multitudes of scents tangled with the air, one of sweet milk chocolate, pungent cologne and rose perfume, and the of sweat wafting hazily from dancing bodies. But one smell prevailed above all, pricking at the air like thorns, with an undertone of anguish: desperation.

A man with long chestnut hair and a leather jacket sat on one of the velvet stools in the bar, reaching for his Lager. There was a downward touch to his slightly stubbled cheeks, like they were crippled and he was forcing them to remain joyous. His name was Tanner Fowler.

Tanner watched one of the staff members make rounds from the storage closet to the bar, accumulating stools with the gaining customers. Every time he set a stool he'd wobble violently like a sand-impaled flagpole in a wind, and as soon as he regained balance he'd head off again. In his drunken stupor, Tanner could only laugh, loud enough for the closest customers to hear but not for the fleeting staff member. It was as though whenever he brought out more stools, more customers would come in. A stool-customer deficiency. But he understood the chaos, for it was Friday night, and all the suffering juniors of United University dropped in with the sole purpose of getting drunk. And to add onto the pain, it was finals week, and desperation reeked stronger than ever.

He swirled the remaining alcohol in his glass and signaled the bartender to bring another fill. This would be his last drink. He was down to his last ten dollars.

Mandy will be here any minute, he said to himself to calm the rising anxiety. He darted one eye at his watch: 1:30. She always had the habit of being late. She'll come. She'll come. Probably traffic. It was bad at this time, especially downtown.

He watched the bartender prepare the last drink, and Tanner immediately grabbed it and forked over his remaining cash. There goes was all the bar money for this semester. He glimpsed into the still swirling translucent liquid, foaming and reflecting a stark brown face and blinking strobe lights. Mandy would want this, he declared. She loved Lager. How could he be so selfish? Without thinking twice, he pushed the glass on the counter and folded his hands together.

"Praying to that beer? Finals got you down?" A slightly loopy voice shrieked, much like a pelican screeching as it blindly scooped for its prey.

Tanner looked up to meet the most alluring of eyes, like two smooth emeralds shining under the harsh light. Instead of admiration, his heart welled up with rage, and the alcohol swimming through his veins didn't help calming it. She was still the same as he last saw her: bearing an almost plastic smile, automated, forced. She wore a thin, blood-red dress, accentuating her slender frame. Her posture was the definition of power, her back upright, and paired with matte red lipstick. Here she was in the flesh, Rebecca Green.

"Long time, no see," Rebecca spoke again. The only thing that has changed was her voice. It had grown deeper and much more sultry. She probably rehearsed it. She took a shallow sip from her glass, tipped with maraschino cherries. Did she purposely pick the reddest thing off the options? 

"Didn't expect to see you here," Tanner could only reply.

Rebecca laughed. "Saw you here all alone, thought you wanted some company."

Tanner rolled his eyes. There was a greater chance that the Milky Way should collide with Andromeda today than Rebecca accomplishing an altruistic action. "Bug off, Rebecca," he muttered.

"Finals screwing you over?"

"Must you intrude in my matters?"

"Yes, I must." She took a long sip this time.

"I'm waiting for Mandy."

"Wait, you mean good Christian Mandy, the one with the thick glasses, is coming at 2 A.M to some random bar filled with college students and meet her bodybuilder boyfriend? That's a good one," she howled with laughter, more than healthy. She almost dropped the glass as she covered her mouth to blot out the volume. After she grabbed the remains of her sanity, she smoothed back her burnt umber hair, keeping it to perfection. When she did so, Tanner suddenly smelled rose perfume.

"Mandy has another side you don't know about," Tanner protested, pinching his arm to dissipate the frustration building up in his muscles. If such a thing happened, he would give a hearty jab to his punching bag. He could feel his face turn red, imagining it to the hue of Rebecca's dress. "A-And I love her."

The words seared sharper into Rebecca than what he expected. Her features grew downwards, drink along with them. After folding her lips, she said, "if you love her, then she loves you back, right?"

Tanner nodded his head, hoping it was true. Hell, it was true. She never said it, but he got the idea.

"Do you remember when we snuck out to the beach with Nick and his buddies, and we sat by a fire?"

Tanner smiled, recalling the night perfectly. The drinking games. The smell of Nick's new perfume, that everybody relentlessly complained about. Aster's declaration that he was in love with Cassandra Habeas, when they had been playing truth or dare. Rebecca made Tanner drink saltwater, and he ended up projectile vomiting onto the sand where a couple flecks got on the bottom of Abigail's dress. "Good times," he grinned, staring off into space.

"Exactly. And they don't have to leave. Sometimes, relationships need to be let go--"

Instantaneously Tanner saw what she had been getting at, and his nerves couldn't take it anymore. With all his might he swept his arm across the counter, watching the beer tumble to the floor, breaking glass splattering in all directions. Hot tears ran down his face, falling on the corpse of the glass. In the fast moving second he glimpsed at the entrance of the club, where the bouncer was beginning to cordon off the door to newcomers.

Clutching his face to catch the tears, he reached for his phone and pulled up his thread with Mandy. A single word lingered from their last conversation a week ago, and the image of her raven black hair from behind whipped through his mind.

have a good life.

goodbye.

Based on the 3 AM Epiphany prompt: 'The Unreliable Third'.