Drunk

My drunken state catches up to me, and my words collide together in a slurred mess.

"Well, I'm sure he can spare you for just a minute, Lucille," he promises.

"Call me Lucy," I croak, and drunkenly wink at him. My mood completely switches, and I forget about my husband.

I start to fall forward, and he braces me against his chest.

Then, I flutter my eyes up to him, and begin to swish my hips side to side.

Somewhere in the back of mind, far off into no man's land, there's a voice. It calls out to me, declaring that I'm acting like an idiot, and that I will regret this once I'm sober.

But I continue to dance, the last remnants of the song drifting off into the night.

Leave your lover, leave him for me.

I look up again at this man, and my mind latches onto a particular thought.

"You look a lot like my husband!" I blurt out of nowhere.

He glances down at me, and maybe I'm just being little ol' plastered me, but in his bright green eyes, I spot a bit of amusement.

I smile goofily, and lean forward on his chest, my hand springing up to touch his hair.

"His eyes are just like yours. They're so pretty. And his hair is the exact same color!"

I run my fingers through this man's dark locks, and stare into his eyes.

"But my husband hates me. And obviously, you don't hate me, cause you're dancin' with me."

And then, I pause, my eyes widening with horror.

"Wait, you don't hate me, right?"

I don't give him a chance to respond, before I burst into tears.

"Nobody loves me!" I wail.

His arms lock securely around my waist, and he begins to drag me toward the exit.

He doesn't say a word, and when my feet begin to stumble he just picks me up, carrying me across the floor.

We reach the door, and he shoves it open, strutting over to a black car. My short waterworks begin to dry up, and I rub my eyes.

I rest my body against his, and stare up at the sky.

"The sky is so pretty at night. Almost as pretty as your eyes!"

A silly smile rests on my face, and his face stays set in a serious, grim look.

He slowly places me inside of the car, and shuts my door, before walking over to his side.

He gets in the car swiftly, not wasting any time, and even in my drunkard state I noticed the picture frame attached to his keys. A girl, with short, curly blond hair, and lively blue eyes stands out to me. The only physical flaw I can detect is the perpetual frown that sits on her face.

Next to her, a tall man is poised. It is obvious who it is.

I sneak a look at the man beside me, and my gaze travels to his left hand.

"Your wife is pretty," I comment nonchalantly.

He glances at me for a second, before turning back to the road. I wait for an answer, but minutes pass by without him saying anything. I give up on him replying, and turn to the window.

"Yes, she is," he finally says.

I notice the expensive houses we pass, and I lean my head against the window.

"Do you love her?"

The question seems to catch him off guard, as he flinches, and keeps a steady gaze on the dark road.

"Well, I love my husband. It may seem like I don't, to him. But I do. I just conceal it. It's just, he's never home, and I really wish he was. I feel like our marriage is falling apart, you know? I mean, I don't even know what his favorite color is, for God's sakes!"

I stop, catching my breath, before continuing.

"It was one of those arranged marriages. One of those marry-him-now-love-him-later things. My mom's business was tearing at the seams, and his father is rich, and best friends with my mother. So we married. I don't really understand the logistics of it, but apparently us marrying solved the problem. So that's good."

I'm sniffling now, and although he doesn't seem to be listening, I know he is, because his head is tilted towards mine, and his eyes flicker over to mine occasionally.

"I fell in love with his eyes first. They're just so wonderful. The most lovely shade of green I've ever seen. And sometimes, when I'm sleeping, I dream of a world where everything is okay, and we have tons of kids, and he loves me like I love him. That is my most favorite dream in the whole wide world. To be with him. No conditions. No contracts. No arranged marriage in the way. Just to be with him.

That's all I ask for."

By now, I'm sobbing, and my words are hardly coherent. The car is parked in a driveway, and he gets out of the car.

He hurries over to my side, and when he reaches me, he scoops me up bridal style.

My body is cradled to his chest, and he walks into the elaborate house.

His keys are thrown onto the kitchen counter we pass, and he carries me up the stairs into a bedroom.

The whole room is covered in darkness, but still he manages to find his way to the bed. I'm set carefully onto the bed, and he lays down beside me, tucking me into his body.

I'm instantly overtaken by the need to sleep in the comfort of this man's bed. I slowly drift off, my head rested lightly on his shoulder.

I'm almost wrapped comfortably in sleep's veil when he speaks.

"Yes. I do love her."

And then I'm fast off to sleep, a warm body tucked silently beside me.