From the corner of his eye, Marco spotted Raluca near the entrance to the tavern. His mind quickly raced through more than a few possible outcomes to scenarios which could occur depending on his actions in the next minute.
Should I approach her? What should I say? What will she think?
Marco bombarded himself with endless questions which is beginning to drive him insane. For weeks, he had not been able to get any sleep and what he could muster would hardly be considered as quality sleep. He distanced himself physically and mentally from everyone else around him - his family, his friends, his colleagues. Solitary confinement had only added to his depression and ever-growing disconnection from reality.
He needed to get out. He needed to break out of the prison he had built for himself and subsequently a grave he had dug himself.
In the midst of mental chaos and on the verge of losing his sanity, Marco thought of Raluca. He does not know why or how, but this charming young woman has always had a way with words that compliment her other-worldly looks. It appeared that everytime he is near her, Marco felt peace, warmth and hope. He wanted to talk to someone he knew, but not specially close to - like those he lived and served with on the Pegasus.
He took a sip of the strangely coloured substance the barman offered him and was almost choked by its concentrated fume. Then he put down the small shot glass and began making his way nervously towards Raluca's table.
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