Leo sat at the bar, a near empty glass between his fingers. He stared at its surface intently, the fragmented crystal reflecting the bouncing lights of the club. His long fingers turned the cup in full circles, raised it to his lips, brought it down, and repeated the process. The bartender had kept a close eye on him since his arrival. In his full, expensive white suit, with his height, and stoic demeanor, Leo stuck out like a sore thumb among the colorfully clad masses of the club.

Several girls, and a handful of guys, had tried buying him drinks. Leo never said anything; he simply gave them a heavy, leveled glare that sent them away. Impressed, the bartender watched him. He seemed to possess an internal silence, a personal storage of tranquility within him that allowed him to sit so perfectly still, so inhumanly quiet in an environment that exploded with music, alcohol, and dancing bodies.

What the bartender didn’t know was that Leo sat so perfectly still not because he felt peaceful or serene, on the contrary, Leo’s insides burned with anger and jealousy so intense they rendered him immobile. Anger and jealousy had driven him out of his routine and into this fun-house-turned-club of a place.

Leo was not quite himself. In fact, Leo had not quite been himself since she’d decided to leave him.

In the glass swam the memories of his relationship with her. He could see himself finding her lost puppy, keeping him for a week before she finally answered to a “Found Dog” flyer. He could see the puppy refusing to leave his side, forcing her to forge a friendship with him. He could see himself sitting beside her, listening intently to her tales of college life and how her roommate snored so loud she had to plug her ears to sleep.

Countless nights on the phone. Endless conversations. Dates at the park, at the aquarium, at the café. He could see them all. What he could not see was the when or how or why of her desertion. No matter how much he thought about it, he could never find it, the answer to their breakup.

Earlier that day, he had spotted her walking with another man, his arm around her waist. Their eyes had met briefly, a quick glance, a flash of recognition. She had turned away. He had stood there, raging.

It had driven him mad. Seeing her with another man had pushed him over the edge.

On his way home, he saw the suit up on display; all white, expensive, nothing at all like himself. He bought it. Farther down the road, he’d come across a hair salon. He caught sight of his reflection on the window, touched the long locks that brushed his cheeks, and walked right inside.

Now, his short hair elongated his already long features. The lack of his soft smile, his tender gaze, it made him look menacing. And very, very alluring.

“Bartender,” he said suddenly. “I need more. One more.”

The bartender almost didn’t hear him. Whatever she’d been expecting, she had clearly not expected his voice to be as silvery or thin. She poured him another drink, noticing how he looked over his shoulder ever so discreetly.

She could see her perfectly, in a white suit that matched his. She stood by the broken mannequins, her hands empty, a man leaning in close. She rose her eyebrows; it clearly looked like cheating. She returned her gaze to Leo.

“What’s a gentleman like you doing in a place like this?”

Leo stared at the liquid inside his glass, downed it. He wiped his lower lip with his thumb, the fabric wrapped around his hand soaking up the moisture. He’d ripped apart her favorite shirt of his earlier in a fit of rage. Before leaving his apartment, he’d tie