The Deep End ✔️

18 - call me, beep me [m]

this is sooo late and sooo random
idk where this chap came from
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
hope u like
(the [m] is up for debate)
(very slight [m])

—

When I was sixteen, I got drunk for the first time.

I remember it clearly. Back then, I was too afraid to push my boundaries so I had more self control than I did now. Chris had paid his older brother to buy us a bottle of Malibu and we snuck it into my house. Erick couldn't make it that night, so it was just Carlos, Chris, and me. It was a core memory instilled in my mind forever.

The first thing I remembered, after a hilarious bout of gagging from Carlos when we had our first round of shots, was the feeling of my lips going numb.

It was addictive, in a sense, and after that, I craved more. I wanted to feel like that throughout my entire body. We drank a few shots each, chasing it with Mt. Dew. Looking back, that was probably the worst mix in the history of ever, but it was all I could find in my kitchen without raising my mom's suspicion. Chris was the first to point out that he was drunk and Carlos and I soon agreed, the feeling foreign but welcome.

That was the feeling I had been chasing forever. It was that numbing feeling that I only achieved from alcohol, the one that magnetized my ass to a seat at the bar every night. I loved the way I could forget everything after four-and-a-half vodka sodas. It was down to a science now.

Going to the bathroom and having to hold myself up with a flat palm to the wall to piss, then staring at myself in the mirror for far too long to appreciate my red cheeks and unrecognizable glazed look in my eyes. It was all so familiar and I loved it, I did. I loved it and I never wanted to stop pursuing that high.

Maybe it would catch up to me one day. I didn't give a shit. That one day was simply that: a day in the future. Fuck did I look like trying to be a fortune teller?

I plopped back down at the bar and returned to watching the muted episode of Law & Order: SVU. Straight-hunky-bartender Adam brought me a refill and leaned against the bar while he collected the random dude sitting next to me's signed bill. That guy was long gone, all that was left of him was the ring of condensation that dropped off of his beer onto the bartop.

"Two dollar tip," Adam scoffed. "Real nice."

"You know I treat you right, Adam," I slurred, shooting him a flirtatious wink that never worked but I'd never stop doing. He laughed and shook his head, tucking the receipt into his little black book. SVU returned to commercial break even though it felt like it was only thirty seconds of playtime. "Got any plans for New Years?"

Adam shrugged. "I'll probably be here. You?"

"Same," I grinned, but a sadness ached in my heart, deep down. I swallowed it down with another sip of my drink. "Guess I'll have to be your New Years kiss, huh?"

"In your dreams, Meek," Adam laughed, turning toward the girls trying to get his attention for shots in the corner.

I sighed. Less of a frustrated sigh, just a content one. This bar was practically my second home, at this point. Every day after work, I knew my seat would be waiting for me. Adam and Britt, the other bartender, knew I'd show up somewhere around eleven and I'd have a vodka soda waiting for me before I even took off my jacket. It was a mundane, repetitive routine, but it was mine.

The group chat was trying to convince me to go back home for New Years to celebrate, but I didn't want to. Honestly, why did Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years have to be so close together? There wasn't enough time in between to wind down from the previous. So I'd be staying home, likely having to work late since the restaurant I work at usually threw a New Year's party and, after the kitchen closed, back-of-house could drink for free.