"May I inquire as to what that intoxicating scent that you are wearing might be?" Edward leaned forward, bringing his nose dangerously close to skimming my jawbone. I suppressed a shiver, "Don't tell me. Let me guess-- vodka?"
   
  
     I drew the glass up to my lips.
     "Get lost."
     "I can see that the pleasantries are wearing thin," He sat on the bar stool beside mine and gestured the bartender over.
     "A glass of ice and the remainder of the bottle of whatever she's drinking," Edward handed the man his credit card, "Please."
     The bartender glanced down at the name on the card.
     "Sure thing."
     The bottle and glass were set before us with unbelievable swiftness. The bartender was at the other end of the bar before I realized that we had been served.
     "You've been drinking Monarch," Edward said with a frown, "You haven't even bothered with a name brand."
     "It's cheap and gets the job done."
     "Yes. So does rubbing alcohol," he topped up  my glass then filled his own, "Here's to blindness."
     I sucked down the contents of my glass without pacing it.
     "Would you like to talk about it?"
     "Do you care?"
     "Not particularly. I believe I already know."
     "Why are you here?"
     "That, I believe, you already know."
     "Where does that leave us?"
     "With me refilling your glass," He tilted the bottle forward to replace my spent vodka.
     I squeezed my fingers around the smooth cylinder.
     "I don't-- hate-- you, Edward."
     "We're above bar room confessions."
     "How should I confess?"
     "Sober and in broad daylight or not at all. To confess something is to admit to a wrong. Your confession of not hating me only means that all along you have felt that it was right to do so."
     "I don't understand. Are you saying that I should hate you?"
     "I'm saying that you should trust your instincts."
     "I think too much to have instincts."
     "You drink too much to have instincts," He covered my glass with his hand, holding it to the bar.
     "You just refilled that."
     "I was wrong."
     "There's no point of being in a bar if we're not going to drink."
     "We could go somewhere else."
     "Where do you have in mind?"
     He studied my face and seemed to get answers from it.
     "You aren't feeling well."
     I scoffed, "Obviously."
     "Other than that. Your skin is clammy; pale."
     "I'm fine."
     "I'll take you home."
     "I don't have a home."
     "I'll take you back to the room that you're renting."
     "I hate it there. It's too bright."
     "It's night."
     "I hate it."
     "You're incredibly difficult."
     "I wonder if you actually understand what that's like."