Author's Note: This was the first story I had ever written that I was proud enough to share. It was also the first piece of writing that I was truly recognized for, so it's really dear to my heart. It was written when I was 12, so the writing's not exactly the best. Despite that, I'm still very proud of it to this day because of the milestone in my writing career that it exemplifies. Originally, it was named 'Straight As A Circle', but I'm posting it under this title because that was the title it was first recognized.

Ben the bartender was very, very, very bored. And very tired. His shift began six hours ago, and he was pretty much ready to die. Despite the fact that there was a plethora of extremely attractive girls milling around the place, he had long discovered that most guys didn't appreciate it when a bartender was trying to pick up chicks. No matter how bored he got, Ben would never have the slightest desire to get in a conflict with a drunk male.

* * *

Most people would've thought he was going crazy—for God's sake, he was mixing drinks for people at a wedding reception. How often did one get to experience the joy of watching a freshly wedded couple beam at each other and exchange extremely sappy looks?

But this wasn't the first time he had been present as a bartender. In fact, if anyone ever bothered to make small talk with him, they would discover that mixing drinks at wedding receptions were part of the job description for what he did for a living. This was nothing special.

Just when he legitimately thought he would pass out—from boredom or exhaustion, he wasn't sure—something sparked his interest. No, not something—someone. She would be very average looking, having the kind of face that nobody really remembered, if not for the mascara running down her cheeks and the very large wad of used tissues sitting very comfortably in her lap. After blatantly staring at her for a few minutes, taking in the smaller, less obvious observations, her head suddenly snapped up. Her eyes swept over the bar. She stood up, (scattering the tissues,) and started taking purposeful strides towards Ben.

* * *

Phoebe the emotional wedding guest—well, she preferred not to think of herself that way, though it was true that she was exceptionally emotional—seated herself at one of the stools of the bar. The bartender was staring at her, not even making an effort to be subtle about it. She ignored him. She knew she was attracting a lot of stares with her makeup running down her cheeks, but she didn't really care. In fact, if anyone went through what she went through in the last seventy-two hours, she was sure they wouldn't care either.

After spending the last hour in tears and moping about matters she couldn't do anything to change, she wanted to forget.

Everything.

* * *

Ben was still staring at her when she opened her eyes and stated that she wanted—no, needed—some jäger bombs. He was still staring at her when he asked how many she wanted him to make. He was still staring at her when he mixed her shots.

But he wasn't staring at her when she finally replied a good moment later. "As many as it takes," she said. His gaze snapped up. She tapped the space in front of her, where he neatly placed the five jäger bombs in a horizontal line. She picked one up and held it away from her lips. "As many as it takes to forget."

* * *

All too eagerly, Phoebe tipped her head back and swallowed. She welcomed the burn in her throat and reached for another shot. She repeated the process again. And again. She kept going even after her body started feeling light, her mind lucid. She didn't stop after she reached cloud nine. She was afraid that if she didn't keep drinking, she would fall and crash and find herself drowning in her sea of wretched memories.

She was a helium balloon. She would go up, up, up. Away from this devastating place that was reality. Away from the place where dreams were crushed beyond repair and would never come true. She would escape. She was a helium balloon, oh so skilled at evading children's fists and finding freedom . . . .

But she was a helium balloon, and despite how good she was at escaping, at finding freedom, she was twice as good at popping. And she popped. And she fell. Down, down, down she went, so different from the euphoric high she had experienced only seconds before.

When she crashed, it was like waking up in a bucket of ice. Only, it was twice as bad, because the memories came flooding in. Suddenly, she wasn't at a wedding reception. She was in her dorm at the University of Tokyo, reliving a moment she had lived a week ago. She was staring at a sheet of paper, unable to believe her eyes. The envelope was left discarded on the floor. The invitation to Trey and Kendall's wedding came during the last week of the last semester of her university life. It had come as a nasty surprise, a nasty shock of sorts.

Of course Phoebe didn't expect Trey to be celibate until she returned to the States. Of course she didn't expect him to feel like he was incomplete without her. Of course she didn't expect him to fall heads over heels for her the moment they met up—oh, who was she kidding? She was thoroughly infatuated with him. She was certain she loved him. And, for some strange demented reason even she couldn't explain, she expected him to be as smitten with her as she was with him.

Oh, how it hurt to realize that that wasn't the case. That her special boy had already met his special girl and dated her and kissed her and asked her to marry him. . . .

Gasping, Phoebe pried her eyes open and reached for another shot. She choked it down her throat. What had been a pleasant sting in the back of her throat was suddenly overwhelming, as were the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. She took another shot and found herself in another flashback.

Trey was sitting across from her, looking a million times better than he did on those postcards he sent her every Christmas, drinking his tea. He was wearing that lopsided smile that made her want to lean over and kiss him over and over again.

Instead, Phoebe of three days past smiled awkwardly and reached into her pocket, letting the velvety feel of the ring box soothe her. What she was about to do next would either be the ruin of their friendship, or the foundation of their romantic relationship. She knew she was taking a huge risk, but she was done beating around the bush. She had been waiting since the seventh grade, a year before her father got a job in Japan, and would wait no longer.

She was going to take the plunge.

She closed her hands around the small black box and stood up. She walked a couple feet to the left and unsteadily got on one knee. She opened her fingers, opened the box, and asked, "Trey Scott Anderson, will you marry me?"

She observed Trey's face for his reaction. She watched as his face traveled from amusement to shock. Then, like a light switch being flipped from off to on, his face quickly reddened until the redness of his face could rival an overripe tomato's. She waited expectantly, more than aware of the fact that the entire restaurant had become so silent one could hear a pin drop in a matter of seconds.

Trey stood up and looked from Phoebe to the unusually silent customers and back. He started laughing a very forced laugh. "Oh, you're funny. You nearly got me, oh my God. Was this really your idea of a belated April Fool's joke?" He held out a hand to help her up, still laughing. "You've made your point, Phoebe. You can get up now."

When she made no move to get up, his laugh turned slightly hysterical.

"This is funny, but seriously. Get up."

His laughter turned maniacal and he grabbed her wrists, attempting to pull her up. "Up, Phoebe. Up. Phoebe. My God . . ." And he finally understood. Phoebe was very serious about this. This was no April Fool's joke, even if this particular event happened on the second of April.

Bad timing, on her part.

He started hyperventilating. "You're not joking, are you?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Phoebe, I love you. Just . . . not like that. Not like that."

Phoebe was suddenly humiliated. She snapped the box shut and stood up. Feeling like she was slapped in the face, she asked, "Why not?"

He looked at her with exasperation and anger and a touch of pity. "I'm getting married to the love of my life. I'm not single. I'm taken."

She sat back down in her seat, trying to ignore the fact that everyone in the restaurant was watching with unveiled interest. "S-so?" She tried to sound flippant, but failed miserably.

Trey whirled on her. "So? Is that all you're going to say about this?" He hitched his voice an octave higher in an attempt to mimic her voice. "Will you marry me, Trey? I don't care about the fact that I'm essentially telling you to cheat on your fiancé, Trey. So what? It's not a big deal, Trey."

Phoebe shuddered. What she was asking from him didn't sound nearly as horrific when she played this scene out in her head.

Glaring at her, Trey spoke gravely. "You're so selfish, Phoebe. Not everything is about you."

* * *

Ben was serving a cackling old lady some tequila when the girl slumped upon the counter let out a whimper. He hurried over, sighing in relief. She was downing those shots like nobody's business, so the bartender wasn't the slightest bit surprised when she passed out nearly ten minutes ago. Either way, it still felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders when she made another whimper, at least proving the fact that she was alive and well.

Ben sighed when he took notice of her flailing hands. She was probably feeling around for another shot. She lifted her head and opened her crusty eyes, wiping drool from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes did a languid sweep over the bar and she scowled when she didn't find any more shots. She glared at him, her voice unnaturally hoarse when she asked, "Where's the jäger bombs?"

Ben looked at her, his jaw slack. She just woke from being passed out due to alcohol intoxication, and the first thing she asked for was more alcohol? He shook his head. "No more. Six's the limit."

She didn't seem to hear him, as she staggered over to where Ben's previous customer sat. She reached for the lady's tequila before he even finished his sentence. Ignoring the woman's offended scoff, the girl snatched the drink and downed it in one gulp. Ben wasn't sure if he should be impressed by the her boldness or be worried about the level of alcohol in her body.

Before he had the chance to decide, he glanced over and found her crumpled form on the bar once again.

* * *

Phoebe felt the liquid gushing down her throat, leaving behind a scathing feeling. The world around her had blurred ages ago—she couldn't tell the difference between her memories or reality or fiction—and she found that she quite liked it. See, this was the thing she loved about liquid courage. She loved how it made her feel as if possibilities were endless and anything was possible.

She stared up, gazing at the ceiling that had somehow acquired the shade of blue that adorned Trey's apartment's ceiling within the last three seconds. She looked back down and all around her. There was no mistaking it—she was in Trey's apartment. And there he was, Trey himself, sitting unnaturally still on his couch in a very awkward position, his drink raised halfway to his lips. Actually, everything in this room was unnaturally still, like someone had pressed the 'pause' button during a movie.

Suddenly, the door slammed open and she saw herself walking into the room. Phoebe wasn't so sure she liked being in the world of fiction and forgotten memories any more. She recognized this memory, and what an awful, embarrassing memory it was.

Like a phantom somebody had magically pressed 'play', everything went back into motion. Trey brought his drink to his lips and took a large gulp before looking over his shoulder where the two Phoebes stood. Phoebe pressed her hands to her ears and curled herself into a ball on the floor while Phoebe of two days past marched straight to where Trey stood. Oh, this was bad enough the first time—she didn't need to live through this twice.

"What do you want?" Trey asked, an icy edge to his voice.

Both Phoebes shuddered. Phoebe of two days past cautiously approached him, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. When she finally regained her voice, she spoke, her tone wavering. "I love you."

Phoebe sighed. She remembered the bitter hopelessness hanging in the air as if it were yesterday. She remembered how desperate she had been. She remembered coming over to his apartment as a last ditch effort to keep her precious Trey from marrying Kendall—that evil bitch she never met nor wanted to meet. She remembered turning away, remembered how disappointed she was when he never replied to her confession. She remembered wrenching open the door only to find a medium sized man with an impeccable taste of style in front of her. She remembered muttering a "sorry" so low she barely heard herself and moving to the side. She remembered watching the man step into the apartment.

Most of all, she remembered that Trey jumped up with the kind of enthusiasm she never was able to get from him and embraced the stranger, placing a passionate kiss on his lips.

She remembered her mouth falling open with shock, taking in a scene she never expected to happen in a billion years yet happened all the same: Trey. A stranger. Kissing each other with such passion one would think the world was ending.

She stood awkwardly to the side, wanting to leave but unable to leave, even after their lips parted and they shared a little private moment with themselves. When they both finally remembered that there was a guest in the room, they gathered their bearings and stood side-to-side, fingers intertwined.

Phoebe of two days past directed her stare at Trey, stumbling over her words. She couldn't seem to get them out fast enough. "I-I thought you were s-straight."

Trey laughed jovially. The man's unexpected companionship had done wonders for Trey's mood. He joked, "I'm about as straight as a circle."

The other man laughed awkwardly, sounding slightly like a strangled cat. He struggled to compose himself as he held out his hand to Phoebe, who shook it as politely as she could in her frazzled state. "I'm Kendall. It's been so nice meet you, we haven't had company in ages. Would it be too much trouble for you to stay?"

Phoebe never really understood why, but her two days past self consented.

And within the next four hours, Phoebe of two days past would begin to realize that all her effort—eight whole years of stalking Trey Scott Anderson on every social media platform she managed to get her hands on—would amount to nothing. She would eventually start to take notice of how beautiful a couple Trey and Kendall made. How undeniable their chemistry was. How sweet they were together, how much they cared for each other.

She would also come to realize that she was starting to accept the fact that the boy she had been so hopelessly infatuated with for nearly a decade of her life had found somebody that wasn't her. That Kendall Davidson was actually a much better partner to Trey than she would ever be.

But she was okay with that, because if Phoebe Mizushima was anything, it was most definitely not weak. She was strong. She would manage.

* * *

Though, technically, Ben the bartender would be able to testify against her last statement. With her body dead to the world and a high amount of alcohol coursing through her bloodstream, Ben decided that she was doing anything but managing. If anything, she was doing a very good job of letting go.

As the aforementioned boy gripped the drunken girl around the waist and haphazardly heaved her into the staff room, he smirked to himself. "Oh, that girl is going to have such a killer hangover tomorrow morning."

SEE ALSO: Alcohol-Free Epiphany Part 1

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.