Possible futility of this effort. David has an eerie knack for knowing just before I completely lose it. That's how I feel right now, but it hasn't always been this way on my birthdays since my parents passed away. Any skepticism that may come from such a hypothesis is dismissed. The situation is unique. I really need this to end things. A full stop after so much mourning.

I used to throw myself into bonfires in an attempt to experience anything.

Tonight, I'll be jumping out of a perfectly good aircraft and crossing my fingers that my parachute doesn't suddenly stop working.

I raise a glass and let the scotch dance on my tongue. There's a tinge of nostalgia in the flavor, and it causes my throat to tighten.

"Darling, you're too lovely to be downing that."

I stifle an impatient sigh. There are three guys seated at a table in the corner, and they have been staring at me ever since I stepped in. They are all at least 10 years older than me and have families of their own. Before mustering up the nerve to approach me, this naive creature inadvertently lost his.

When I'm uncomfortable in my own flesh, I don't have many standards. Nonetheless, there are boundaries that not even I am willing to breach. It's one thing to cause pain to myself by my acts, but quite another to cause pain to another else. I just can't bring myself to do it.

In other words, "Are you going to tell me that only elderly guys drink scotch?" I raise the glass to my lips and take a deep drink while maintaining eye contact with the stranger. Perhaps I'm just not your cup of tea.

He looks at me blankly, the effects of alcohol on his faculties making it difficult for my words to register. Slowly, insight is gaining ground. His already bright red complexion becomes an almost purple shade of crimson. To paraphrase, "You've got a mouth on you."

That's what "the vast majority" of people would say.

His gaze lingers on my crimson-painted lips, which complement the dress that clings to me like a second skin. I'm willing to bet you already have a plan for it.

Having to talk to a guy who thinks a lame pickup line and a quick temper are appealing is becoming old fast. Ultimately, "there's no way to find out."

I look away from him and return my attention to the bar, but I can't help but keep one eye on him. I really doubt he can accept a direct rejection now, given how violently he responded to my statement regarding his evident lack of interest. The bartender has his attention diverted by two attractive ladies on the opposite side of the room. He won't be of any assistance. It's not that I'm in need of assistance, but if I get into an argument, tonight won't go at all as planned. I can't predict when David will arrive, and I certainly don't want him to come to my rescue if I don't really need it.

Certainly not in this calendar year.

The guy straightens up, and I let out a sigh I've been holding back for a while now. It's a direct confrontation. Assuming I can have this taken care of fast, it shouldn't ruin the remainder of my evening. "Hey, you come out as a very pleasant man."

"Have you heard of me before? You can't address me in that manner. He moves forward and into my personal space.

I look across the room at the wall of bottles. All of them are high quality and pricey, however the packaging is boring. Similarly to this person, I suppose. To that, I can only shrug. It's a land of liberty. Don't feel obligated to explain yourself to me for having shown up here uninvited. Whatever I want to say to you, I can say.

"You little' bitch. So you think you're quite hot, huh? His tone becomes agitated and shrill. Pay attention to what I'm saying, babe.

The atmosphere of the tavern changes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I shudder. Oh no. Before David got here, I had planned to handle this alone. I was beginning to think he wouldn't come at all. Well, it seems I was mistaken on both of those things.

"Are you taking me seriously?" The guy leans out to put a hard touch on my arm.

Without fail, he avoids any attempts at communication.

I take a deep breath and turn to see the guy at my back, but David has already grabbed his wrist. A female respondent said, "She wasn't interested." A quiet but distinct voice comes from him. He also seems to be quite enraged.

Oh, man.

Cursing, "Who the fuck are-" his hand splays out as David tightens his grasp. "Fine. Fuck. And even if she weren't, she'd be unattractive.

"Leave." David's tone chills me with its subtle brutality. I wouldn't find it appealing if I were more intelligent. I wouldn't be secretly pleased if he defended me, even if it would make my plans for the evening more challenging.

He showed up.

Because of Philip, I feel dizzy all the time. To the point that I almost didn't hear what he said next. "Get up. "We're getting out of here."

Leaving. Simply put, he is not actually here for me. As he has for the last six years, he has come to save me by wrapping me in blankets and carrying me to safety. I won't stand for it, and his trying to intervene now will make today seem like any other birthday.

I have a single shot at making things right. My options for making a scene are limited to neither raising my voice or being too emotional. Seeing it would just convince David that he was correct and that I am really in danger. There is nothing else to do except to give him nothing to work with. Soon enough, the bartender comes back to the actual bar, and I wave him over, grinning. Inquiringly, "May I have another?"

As David speaks, I feel a sudden tightening in my thighs in response to his ominous tone. "Return to your house."

No. I will not be returning to my house. You're not alone in this. I remark carelessly, "Can't go home." The distance from here to home is rather great. Yes, if not both of them.

You can go to your flat within walking distance in a matter of minutes.

Naturally, he is aware of this. When my parents passed away, a trust money was left to me, and he is the executor of that trust. David has been very prudent with the money; according to my financial adviser, I now have more money than I had when my parents passed away. When it comes to finances, he never talks to me. The financial planner handles all of my demands. The number of times David flat-out tells me "no" is negligible. He has been completely silent to me.

We'd have to have a chat about it.

I look at the time on my diamond wristwatch. Soon, very soon.

"Anna."

To which David replies, "Raise your glass," I offer him a drink. For the sake of nostalgia.

"Anna." Beyond his barely contained fury, something more seeps through his tone. David casts a wary eye around, as if trying to gauge how many eyes are on us. Are we going to have a hard time with you?

Though my chest aches a little, I grin. "People say I'm constantly a pain in the neck."

He faces me again, his black eyes still holding that inexplicable expression. Eventually, he lets out a sigh of relief. "You have one more drink and I'm calling a taxi for you," he said.

You got it right; I don't think so either. The humor in me nearly lets loose, but I know he wouldn't enjoy it. Though I was victorious in our first meeting, I still have a long way to go before I can declare victory in this conflict. And at that same time, the bartender steps up with the second drink. Putting it on the bar, he walks away silently.

I like a scotch when sipping on it. It's quite stalker-like that you continually finding out where I am on my birthday," she said. This seems like a lot of effort for not much reward.

David looks down at his beverage as though it had just insulted his mother. Avoid seeming naive by all means, Anna. Don't bother with it; it's not right for you. To find you, I only need to use social media. You put your whereabouts out there for the world to see.

"Oh. That." I raise my glass and grin. In the days coming up to my birthday, I always, always post and provide my whereabouts. Since my first birthday in Madeli, I have. It's only natural that I update so often. Sponsorships on social media are a major source of income for me. They are fond of sending me on errands. There's nothing out of the ordinary about it. It wasn't something I was really interested in throughout my teenage years, but I can now appreciate the rush that comes with a well-curated social media feed. In fact, I've gotten to the point where I'm earning a comfortable livelihood from building them for other people. I don't need the money, but I like doing this.

You pose a serious threat, the speaker said. He whispers it so low that I doubt he even intends for me to pick it up.

He is completely unaware.

We had been drinking in quiet for what seems like an eternity. Instead, David just watches me drink. Fear is creeping in now that the moment has come. That David has been a significant, if limited, part of my life is not evidence that he views me in the same light. I could have made up the chemistry that flares up between us anytime he's in close proximity. It's possible that I misunderstood something that occurred on my previous birthday, too.

As I shut my eyes, I mentally prepare myself. No. Believe me, I didn't misread it. I'm almost certain of it, but the only way to be sure is to take my shot in a manner that he can't ignore. I'm not getting in the taxi with you, David.

"You are, indeed."

"In reality, I am not," I said. When my knees touch his on the bar stool, I stop turning to face him. It just takes the slightest touch to send shockwaves of pain through me. In other words, "I'm about to have a birthday."

You may say, "I'm aware." There's a little tenseness in his leg, but he makes no additional movements... Nothing, not even a move.

You beat the clock. The day of my birthday is the only time you ever come up, and even then you behave like the birthday Grinch after I've already had a good day without you. Nonetheless, I really doubt that what transpired last year could be classified as amusing in any sense of the term. To have fun, all you need is a sense of the absurd. The celebration of my previous birthday was very passionate, and its aftereffects seem to have embedded themselves deeply through my own being. It's something I've daydreamed about plenty of times.

I should probably put it out of my mind if I want to be productive.

"That's a weird way to express gratitude."

I retort, "Because I'm not saying thank you." I didn't need you to rescue me or come seeking for me.

David studies the collection of bottles that lines the bar's back wall. "You had to be rescued."

I'd want to disagree, but it's the truth. I spent a long period in free fall following my parents' deaths, and even though I eventually recovered my footing, my birthday is still the one day of the year that always throws me for a loop. Each and every single year. In that case, maybe he is somewhat correct that I do need rescuing. It's possible that you've been useful on occasion.

When he looks at me, my chest tightens with anticipation. His good looks make me weak at the knees. He has a big frame, which may provide for excellent hugs or enable him to pull someone's head clean off. He had to be in his early forties, but his dark hair is still a bit too long and shows no indications of graying. Last year as he carried me and I buried my face in his beard, I could smell cloves.

David's look is too vague for me to interpret it. One thing I can say for sure is that it's quite exciting. He has a soft, low voice and can convey a lot with only a few words. "Amsterdam."

With a sigh, I also say, "Amsterdam." Twenty-two. I went bar hopping with a group of strangers I'd just met, and after a few beers, someone was dosed. I don't think David was even there. After drinking heavily with the people I had just proclaimed to be my new closest friends, I don't recall much of anything. I came to as David was keeping my hair away from my face as I threw up on the bathroom floor. It was the only time he remained to do more than simply see me off to an aircraft home. He was quite kind to me.

For a very long time, he has provided for me, but not in the traditional sense of a guardian.

I make myself look at him. I was a train disaster for far too long, but I'm over it now. Since I was 22, I've come a long way, but I still have a lifetime of work ahead of me. I'm putting in my time at the therapist, trying to sort out the issues I've been avoiding for far too long.

Then why are we here tonight?

My therapist-sounding small voice is ignored. The last ###Chapter closes tonight. I'm closing the ###Chapter on this ###Chapter of my life and starting a new one in the future. And.maybe. Perhaps I still have an adventurous side, since I desire this. Knowing that I shouldn't have it makes me desire it even more. That's not the canal district in Amsterdam. What a miserable birthday.

David approaches up close, his black eyes penetrating my. "How about some recent birthdays, Anna?

I give a little flinch. In all honesty, you have a valid concern. Instinctively, I want to avoid the situation, but that would be unfair to both of us. On the contrary, I slowly exhale and straighten up. If not, I'm crossing my fingers that this is the one.

David looks at me intently while sipping his scotch. He starts to jolt slightly. For a split second, he stops seeming a walking storm cloud and more like a real person. Caol Ila, as seen here.

The heaviness in my chest and throat has returned. Even though it hurts, it feels fantastic, and that paradoxical quality improves the situation. A person who has never experienced the pain of loss cannot fully appreciate happiness. I'll never understand. No one ever gave me the chance to find out. "Mmhmm." My mouth quivers slightly when I grin. To be "Pop's pick."

"Yeah." Even a little grin plays on his lips. "Yeah, it was the case." Once again I find myself puzzling about how this guy got to be my protector. I realize that they bonded through their time in the military, but should it really be the deciding factor in who gets custody of a kid if anything happens to both parents? What about my peacenik mom? I find it hard to believe that Mom approved of this, particularly because David was never there, but she must have since we're here now.

We both savor the last sips of our drinks in quiet, and then he clinks his glass on the table. Okay, let's get going.

"Pass." To signal the bartender, I raise my hand, but David immediately seizes it in a grasp from which I can't free myself. And it's not like I'm planning an exit strategy. Likewise, though, giving up too readily is not an option. I look at the spot he's holding me in. It's time to ask, "David, what time is it?"

He keeps checking his watch and won't let go of me. "Twelve-fifteen."

To put it simply, I am happy. This time around, it really does. Absolutely genuine. As a result, you are no longer in charge of my trust money. To myself: "Happy Birthday!" Now is the moment to be brave and lay it all on the line. Whatever the outcome, I won't be looking back with regret. I hush and lean in closer to the person. To paraphrase, "Do you know what I want for my birthday?"

"What?" Worried, he asks the question.

"You."

David releases me swiftly. Inquisitively, I examine my wrist. I don't think he was holding me very tightly, but I'm quite sure I can feel his five fingers and palm imprinted on my flesh. He gives my empty glass the evil eye. We need to know, "How much have you been drinking?"

This was a question I was expecting, so even though I was nervous, I handled myself with grace. That's the only one," they said. Sincerity dictates that I may have benefited from a larger dose of this bravery enhancer. And I'm not even buzzed!"

Was that scumbag trying to drug you? When he tries to turn toward the three guys huddled in the corner, I put my hand on his forearm to stop him. The man is as hefty here as he is everywhere else on his physique. David is a large man, and a sneaky part of my brain can't help but wonder whether he's just as thick over there.

I feel dizzy from the excitement of touching him. My hand resting on his forearm is just a token gesture, yet it heralds the beginning of something wonderful. Instead, I hope against hope that this is just the beginning of something wonderful. Do you really think it's impossible for me to be sober and still desire you?

"Yes," he replies after a brief pause.

"David" It's my time to sound a note of condemnation now. Seriously, who could look at this dude and not desire him? While it's true that he isn't quite ripped and exudes a sour disposition, one must remember that there is more to this world than just a beach body and a good mood. He commands attention everywhere he goes. And yet, even if none of it were to matter, he still wouldn't be able to deny the fact that I desire him. Even though I was smashed last year, I recall every detail.

His jaw tightens and his cheeks become a pale pink. It was the slightest of responses, but it was as clear as glitter that I had an effect on him as well. I really should have intervened.

Even though remembering it causes me as much shame as it does want, I'm so relieved he didn't. However, you failed to. I try to speak gently. "I can't possibly have imagined the intensity of your surveillance. You can't claim that your motive was only precautionary.

A refrain of "I should have stopped you" emerges from his mouth.