"Oh, you really want to know what I think?" I yell. "Okay, fine. I think you're fucking Eric, that's what I think. I think it's calculated, and regular, and hidden from me. I think you're sneaking out on a regular basis and letting Eric put his dick in you."

Barb looks at me a moment, blinks, then breaks into loud laughter. "You, that's what you think?" she asks. "Really?"

I blink, look down at the ground. "Well... yeah. That's what I think."

She shakes her head, laughs again. "You just don't..." she starts. "You... asshole. What the fuck could you possibly be thinking? Me and Eric? What kind of paranoic little fantasyworld do you live in up there?" she says, tapping my forehead.

"Don't fucking touch me," I say, standing up.

"Don't fucking touch you?" she yells, standing up herself. "You had your cock crammed down my throat about three hours ago and now it's 'don't fucking touch me?'" Then she stops, laughs again. "This is ridiculous. This is so fucking ridiculous." She grabs her coat and starts to walk.

"Where are you going?" I yell.

"I don't have to answer to you!" she yells back across the bar. "But I'll tell you anyway. I am going home. I..." She points at herself. "...am going home. And you are not going there. You are going somewhere else."

"That's just fine with me," I say.

"Yeah. Well." She pauses. "Good."

"Fine."

"Fine." She starts to walk out, muttering, "Don't even dare showing up tonight..."

I come out of my trance, notice I'm standing in the middle of the bar, several people staring at me. I look around, pick up my glass, take a drink, run my hands over my pants, sit down.

Fuck.