It was Aaron's first time introducing me to his circle after years of excuses for not taking me out to meet his friends.
I put the glass down on the table, smiling politely, "Sorry, guys, I'm allergic too."
Aaron's face fell immediately.
"Jane, you pleaded to be here, and now you pull this?"
"If you won't drink, you can just get outta here."
I heard it before, and it echoed a night six years back when I found him drunk, heartbroken over a past love.
I'd grabbed his drink, unwilling to watch him spiral.
His drunken gaze fixed on me:
"Drink this, and I'll go with you. If you won't drink, you can just get outta here."
Without hesitating, I drank it, and darkness followed.
I awoke in a hospital.
I confessed, and he accepted.
A year later, we were married.
I thought it was the culmination of four years of unspoken love.
Now, I realized I might have just been a familiar face from his past.
My voice empty, I told him, "Have fun tonight."
Lily hugged Aaron, challenging me with her eyes,
"You really should adjust that attitude, Jane. Aaron apologized, why the fuss? No wonder people don't respect you. Always jealous, that's not what Aaron wants."
I looked away, indifferent,