I clomped backstage, heavy boots echoing off the linoleum. The show had just been a blur. I hadn't been engaged at all, so distracted I had nearly swallowed the kerosene.
"Gene! Wait, can we please talk?"
I flinched at the sound of Paul's voice, walking faster down the hall. Ignoring the cold shoulder I was desperately trying to give him, Paul fell into step beside me, grabbing at my wrist.
"Please, please can we just talk? We just need to talk, we can work things out don't worry, please Gene come on can we just sit down and--"
"No," I said, tearing my arm free from his grasp.
He continued to trail after me, still begging me to take a moment to sit down and talk to him. I didn't want to. I wanted to forget about everything. I wanted to forget about him.
By the time we reached the dressing room, he had given up and was only walking in silence a step or two behind me. The sound of our boots against the floor seemed to get louder with every step, drilling into my skull, filling me with irritation. I shoved open the door, giving Paul a glare over my shoulder before starting to get out of my costume and makeup.
I could see Paul looking at me through the mirror as I wiped off my makeup with a damp towel. A part of me wanted to savor the feeling of the warm towel against my skin, but the other part just wanted to get out of the dressing room and away from Paul as quickly as I could. It hurt, seeing him. It was just a constant reminder of what he had done, of how much I had loved Bea, and how it had all been nothing more than a lie.
Finally I had cleaned off my face and stepped out of my costume, happy to just slip back into normal clothes, wishing I could just slip away entirely.
Shaking my head, I rose to my feet, gathering up my last few things and heading for the door.
"Where're you going curly?" Ace called, looking up suddenly, and all three of them turned to stare at me.
"Out," I said, walking out of the dressing room.
"I'll go with you!" he shouted after me, and I bit back a sigh, slowing my stride just enough to let him fall into step beside me.
"Missed a spot," I said, glancing at his cheek, and he gave me a sheepish smile, wiping away the last few bits of white greasepaint.
"Sorry. Where're you going? What's 'out' refer to?" he asked, and I shrugged, stuffing my hands into my pockets.
"Not sure yet. Just out," I muttered.
Smiling sadly, he patted me on the back, lapsing into silence, which I was grateful for. We walked out of the stadium and I shivered in spite of myself as the cold night air hit me. Ace was humming to himself as we walked down the sidewalk, an annoying spring in his step, although I knew he wasn't trying to be so cheerful. He just sort of was, especially when he was tipsy.
An idea began to form in my mind and I pivoted, turning into the first bar I saw, Ace hot on my heels.
"Hey whoa what are we doing? You don't drink!" Ace said, brow furrowing as he looked at me.
I shrugged, plopping down on a stool at the bar counter and muttering to the man behind it that I wanted a shot.
"Might as well start now," I muttered, reaching for the shot glass that was set down in front of me, but Ace was quicker, snatching it up and knocking it back before my fingers could even touch the glass.
"No, no, you shouldn't start now. This is a horrible time to start, you're grieving and drinking while sad isn't a good idea, especially for someone who's never drank once in his damn life," he said, shaking his head.
Ignoring what I knew was actually sound logic from Ace, I just rolled my eyes and turned to the bartender, asking for another shot. But once again, Ace intercepted me, draining the glass and setting it down with a small shiver.
"Gene, this is a horrible idea. We should go to the hotel, or the movies, or to a restaurant, or-or just anywhere but here, alright?" he said, giving me a pleading look.
I looked at him for a moment before turning to the bartender and ordering a third shot, and he groaned, leaning over me and picking up the shot glass.
"C'mon curly, if we do this all night you're gonna kill me. You wanna at least pick something else?" he grumbled, shuddering a little more this time.
With a sigh, I rolled my eyes, ordering just a beer this time. Ace was happy to take the bottle, sitting on the counter beside me and starting to sip on it.
"Can we please go home? I don't want you to do something to hurt yourself. This really isn't good for you, this isn't going to solve anything," he said, intercepting the second beer I tried to order, starting to drink both at once.
"I just want to forget," I said in a small voice. "I wanna forget about how happy I was with her. I wanna forget how much he hurt me. I don't understand. It...it was all just a lie."
He reached over, putting a hand on my shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "I know. But it's not good to just forget. You gotta process things and move on, not just ignore it all."
Shaking my head, I just tried to order another drink.
I gave up after an hour or so, without a single drop of alcohol crossing my lips. The same could not be said for Ace, and I felt a twinge of guilt tugging at my heart as I helped him stumble from the bar.
"Sorry. You're a good friend though," I said, and he giggled, a smile plastered across his face as he pressed a finger against my lips.
"Shshsh don' apologize curly! I had a great time an' you're okay an' that'sh what'sh important!"
"Yeah. I'm okay," I said absentmindedly.
It was easier to just lie, to him and to myself.
