I Told You Nothing's Gonna Happen But (...We've Gotta Hold On To What We've Got...)

If there’s such a thing as a cliché love-triangle diagram, it’d go something like: Female lead A—in this case, Cher—is into the main guy—yours truly—but doesn’t get her feelings until Female lead B—Aya—shows up, sparking a misunderstanding. Female lead A gets pissed, makes a scene, or has that dramatic breakdown and vanishes for two chapters.
That’s roughly how it works.
Problem is, I didn’t see a triangle—just a single point, like a laser, and that point was Cher’s interest. Not for a breakdown, but to cause one… Fuck, she wanted to snap us in half and glue us back together, basically.

“What the fuck next? Huh?” Cher grabbed my shirt and yanked me close, eyes locked on Aya. “She gonna hug you? Stroke your hair? Tell you everything’s fine as long as you’re together? Keep thinking about all the cheating, and I’ll slit both your throats right here.”

“We already hu—” For way too obvious reasons, I slapped my hand over Aya’s mouth.“No, don’t even. She doesn’t get sarcasm—she’ll take it literal and open us a second asshole,” I said, clamping my hand tighter to shut her up.

“Cher, chill, yeah uh… actually… this is all part of an act…”Aya kept trying to talk, but I just pressed harder.

“An act, huh? Filming a sneaky porno or what, you pieces of shit…” This time her face whipped to mine, and damn, it sobered me up fast—I even skipped the hangover, hurray for that, I guess.“No, no, no… listen, listen…” I leaned into her ear. “See her tattoo? The crew she works for could hook us up if we make ‘em owe us a favor.”

“Uh-huh. And all this?” she asked, pointing at our still-linked hands.

“Haaa… thing is…” I nodded toward the bar. “The bartender, the owner, was messing with her, so I figured I could score points by setting this up and… maybe, I don’t know… take him out?”

“Yeah… so that’s it?” she said, tightening her grip.“That’s… the story.”

“Damn, Hiro, I swear I almost killed you both and then offed myself… You should’ve said something sooner…” she said, sighing in relief.

Now, what I just pulled is technically called “gaslighting,” and I gotta clarify it ain’t ethically cool. I don’t give a shit, but someone's making me say it.
Also, busting a fiction myth: Bottles don’t break easy. Way simpler to crack a skull than a whiskey bottle…
How do I know? Cher didn’t hesitate—she hurled the bottle right at the bartender’s face, dead center.
Let’s just say… it didn’t sound like the glass that shattered.

Sorry, random stranger, but it was you or us, and you weren’t adding much to the plot anyway.

“Seriously, from now on, give a signal or something when these plans hit you…” Cher said, hopping behind the bar and grabbing a beer bottle. “Huh… who’d’ve thought?”

“What?” I asked, straightening up and eyeing the floor where the guy lay.

“He’s dead.”

“You expect anything else?”

“Good point…” she said, picking the bottle up off the floor. She wiped it with the same rag the bartender used and set it in front of me. “Lucky you, still some left. Oh, and… girl… guess you’re not a whore after all,” she said, turning to Aya.

“Your mom’s the whore,” Aya finally spat, prying my hand off her mouth.

“Don’t fuck with me—do you know her?”

Aya didn’t answer, just stared at her, then at me, then back. Yeah, hard to process, I get it.

Amid the crowd’s noise—nobody even blinked at this shit—the jukebox switched tracks.
Fuck yeah, I love Bon Jovi, and it landed on Livin’ on a Prayer.

“H-Hiro…”

“What?”

“Don’t you think… she’s got issues?”

“Depends how you look at it—this worked out perfect for us,” I said, debating another drink.

“B-But… who the fuck buys something li—”

“What’s your name again… cutie?” Cher asked, leaning over the bar, poking Aya’s shirt buttons with her finger.

“A-A-A-Aya…!” she replied, arching her back in a shiver.

“Mhm… cute name… Got a minute free?” Cher asked, circling the bottle’s rim with her tongue. No clue what she was going for.

“I-I… no… uh…”

“She’s a virgin, Cher,” I said, slamming my palm on the bar. “Don’t corrupt that purity.”

“In what fucking universe am—” I clamped her mouth again.

“Anyway, we haven’t slept, my face hurts, I’m freezing, and all today’s hits are catching up delayed… so how about we find another spot for the night?” I said, sliding my phone to Cher. “Money’s no issue… neither are guns now…” I finished, tilting my head toward Aya.

“Hm… Could use a place with a decent bath. Nothing else can go wrong today, so yeah, let’s switch motels.”

“Weird way to phrase it, but yeah, we’re all in.”

“I didn’t agree to shit,” Aya said, hopping off the stool.

“Sorry, but you’re in neck-deep now—you’re coming with us,” I said, standing too.

“In that case… Five-star hotel hunt! One with those bubbly tubs…” Cher cheered, grabbing as many bottles as she could and heading for the door.

Aya surprisingly followed without a peep. “Hey… Cher, right? Shouldn’t we hide the body or something? Guy’s cooling on the floor.”

“Nah. The prologue guy was the problem, and Hiro put a nice bullet in him.”

“The what guy?”

“We’re on chapter four, so there’s a plot hole.”Aya stopped, staring at me as I got up.

I tucked the .45 away, stretched my back, and dragged my feet—told you the adrenaline would crash.“What’re you staring at?” I asked.

“What’d she mean by prologue guy?”

“No fucking clue, she talks like that…” I said, trailing behind them. “Woah-oh, halfway there, woah-oh, livin’ on a prayer!”

“Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear! Love this fucking song!” Cher yelled, shaking her bottle side to side as she walked.

“You both got serious issues…” Aya muttered.