As Drunk As Chloé ONC 2024

Gin: Nine

Nothing but a full moon accompanies an inky night, its silver gleam casting slices of light along the row of vehicles lined up by a deserted parking space.

A lone figure trots in with a casual gait, but his steps are with purpose. The hoodie masks his greedy eyes that have been set on a particular, fancy navy blue since it’s been parked hours ago. Despite the fact the lampposts are dim and the closest security is the surveillance camera propelled by the corner shop on the other side, people don’t hesitate to leave their cars here.

The area is spacious, with a busted parking metre so late night workers can’t resist the convenience. Though there’s been break ins or thefts here and there, ignorant drivers hold onto the doubt they won’t be the next victim. He almost wishes he can see the look on the owner’s face when returning to see their beloved set of wheels gone, but sticking around only leads to trouble.

Once done checking no one’s around, he rifles out his tools from his pocket and like clockwork, begins disarming the alarms and lock on the respective door. Before he can relish in the satisfying click of the safety lock unhinged, a pungent small wafts his nostrils. It’s a distinct smell of some kind of fruity drink normally served in bars and by then, he's too late to react to the black outlined shaped in the windshield.

A pair of monstrously strong arms strap his shoulders, his grip on his tools is lost, following his balance when his feet are lifted off the floor. The idle moon spins and the next thing he knows, pain bursts out of his back that breaks his fall to the pavement. A crippled cry is caught in his windpipe, the impact has knocked all the air out of his lungs and he desperately wheezes out for oxygen.
Amidst this, the ghastly black figure looms over. The moonlight highlights her brown hair that sprawls over her flushed face, a maniac smile hangs on her lips as she giggles down at him.

'Oh, that sounded painful,' she slurs out with empty sympathy. There’s a hiccup before she adds, 'Now, don’t struggle and this will all be over—’

She suddenly stops. Her stance straightening with alarm flashing in those glazed blue eyes, then a strangled noise erupts at the back of her throat. It’s within that last second, he can only behold in horror as the woman doubles over, left in the merciless hands of gravity as rancid bile sprays down on him. His screams unleash to stir the dead streets wide awake.

**

Chloé’s done pacing the freshly mowed yard for the seventeenth time when a distinct black sedan pulls up onto the quiet, suburban neighbourhood. His burly figure climbs out of the driver’s seat. Unlike her, genetics didn’t rage a war over their mixed pools during late adolescents and he’s kept their mother’s golden locks since birth. He's groomed them into a sleek undercut, matched with their dad's athletic height. Though, traces of his years as an aspiring dancer is evident is his graceful stride towards her.

Bruce Godoy takes Chloé in with narrowed brows. ‘Last time I checked, isn’t your house like, two towns over and several storeys off the ground?”
After two decades of living with those lame jokes, it’s practically become a second language to her. 'Good to see you, too. I need your help.’

He sighs. ‘I knew this day would come— who did you kill?’

'Seriously, Bruce. And you need to swear to me that you won’t tell mum or dad about it.’

Bruce thinks for a moment. ‘Fine. What’s the deal then?’

Chloé digs into her bag to find the court sentenced documents, handing it over to her brother. His eyes widen after reading for a moment, 'Larceny? You stole a car?’

‘No! Read it to the end, dummy. It says I caught the plaintiff who was in the process of stealing a car. He's trying to sue me for unlawful means of violence against him.’

'Well, he's an idiot. Just plead to self-defense, without probable cause that your actions were unlawful then he's got nothing to go on.’

Chloé purses her lips. ‘Yeah, that’s the thing. I kind of…' Those blue eyes identical to her own eye her with concern. ‘I ended up vomiting all over him.’

Bruce stares.

‘It was an accident.’

‘Well, that’s a start.’ There comes a deep, heavy sigh from the man as he unloosens his tie. ‘Let’s talk inside.’

**

Despite having to endure her brother’s lame jokes and constantly bragging about his girlfriend Leslie, Chloé finds it had been the right choice heading up to seek his aid in her current predicament. She’s barely able to get by the charges from claiming her as some lewd offender, with the bare minimum of being guilty to committing public indecency and the car thief is promptly prosecuted for his attempted robbery. With another trial pending in process for several car break-ins and larcenies to occur in recent months.

All in all, it sums up a pretty gruelling weekend.

In return for Bruce’s services pro bono and sworn secrecy from their parents, Chloé covers his bill for the hotel suite he had to rent out throughout the trial. It’s not like he'd be bothered by the mess at her flat, bearing in mind, he's dealt with sharing a roof for years and far worse at the hunting club he went to while Chloé was stuck with Bible Camp.

Though currently, her apartment is flooded with liquor bottles and news headlines marked around unsolved crimes. She hadn’t minded sharing her vigilante gig with him, but neither he or their mother knew just how serious Chloé intended to makes this and she'd rather keep it that way than have them worrying.

Being Bruce’s last night around, she accompanies him for dinner and relays her discovery of her abilities. Unsurprisingly, Bruce seems skeptic but she isn’t interested in him being convinced, she only wants someone to share her latest adventures and he's heard most of her make-believe ones from when they were little to gladly lend an ear.

‘So it turns out, when I take cocktails specifically, I get super strength and become indestructible. If it’s whiskey, I can see visions and if it’s anything with Coke, I get really thirsty.’

'What like, for blood?’

‘No, you moron. For water.’
Bruce raises his hands. ‘Well, I wasn’t really sure after the other ones, seems like kind of a cop-out.’

'What kind of power move is that? I'm not a vampire.’

'For now.’

She scoffs, shaking her head and at that, remembers a certain creepy someone that might as well be hiding a set of fangs. ‘So I met this bloke the other day— Davila,' she starts. She goes over the entire conversation at the coffee place and onto where she'd relayed it to Selina who didn’t seem to care much for it and has stayed radio silent since.

‘Well, that fella sounds like all kinds of dodgy,' Bruce replies. ‘Don’t sleep with him.’

‘What.’

‘Come on, Chloé. Let’s not deny you have some this bad luck thing where you end up dating freaks. Like that nutter, Eddie Waltz who went to our church for a bit. He'd have a fit over eating the bread at communion so you'd secretly eat his piece.’

‘We weren’t dating. He just invited me for ice cream a couple of times.’

‘Oh, yeah. Me and Leslie went out for ice cream too. Even gone for a few rounds without the cone.’

'It wasn’t like that! And that's fucking disgusting, Bruce.’ She throws one of her sweet potatoes at the sicko who only snickers. ‘I'm being serious. The guy seems to have it out for me or something.’

Bruce's expression turns more sincere, gaze sharp. ‘Well, I don’t know what he could be after but he’s got nothing to go on, right? And it’s been five days, maybe he was just having a go at you or something. But I'll look into him, if it puts you at ease.’

'It really would. Thank you.’

'No worries. But don’t get worked up over it, if Selina doesn’t seem fussed, then it must be nothing.’

Chloé nods. He has a point there.
‘How’s um, she doing by the way? She seeing anyone or…?’

Chloé frowns. ‘Don’t you have a girlfriend?’

‘I’m just asking. Is it so wrong to want to hear about how my old neighbour’s doing?’

'Right well, I think I'll be heading off now.’

She ignores her brother’s pleas to stay for a little while longer and apologetic look. Normally, she can disregard these kind of topics. Her brother had been at the forefront of when Selina transformed into sex on legs, he'd use to look for just about any dumb opportunity to hang around and truthfully, Chloé wouldn’t have grown so close to him without it.

But tonight, she’s not in the mood to reminisce about her past where she'd been nothing more than a leverage to stupid crushes. She'd much rather get drunk and kick some ass.

**

‘I’m sorry, Chloé but we’re going to have to let you go.’

Chloé stares, dumbfounded to her superior, Mr. Abu. When she'd been called into his office first thing that morning, she'd been thinking it’s to scold her for using the DVD player in the office during slow shifts. Suddenly, that sounds more ideal than this conversation.

‘By letting go do you mean, you’re giving me another paid-week off? As a reward for stopping that car thief?’

‘No, I mean you’re fired.’

‘But why?’

‘Well for starters, you’re consistently late and when you are on time, you’re sloppy in your work. Orders of prescriptions were incorrect or the dose was wrong when arriving to be checked— all of which I was willing to overlook since you’re new and the added fact you’d recently been through a rather traumatic event. I greatly respected how you declined extra time off that I was willing to offer, it gave me the impression that I had hired someone with the right work ethics,’ says Mr. Abu.

Chloé purses her lips when there’s that pause and she so badly wants to end it there. She’d have gladly walked right out at that very moment with nothing further and she wishes he’d just done that instead of saying, ‘But?’

‘I’ve received reports that you’ve been turning up for your shifts rather sluggish and stash a bag full of ibuprofen tablets in your locker.’

‘Oh, that? Those are mine, sir. I can assure you, I’m not stealing them from the store. I’d never do something like that, I’ll bring my bag and prove it, the brands completely different from those ridiculously expensive ones sold here—’ It’s only when catching Mr. Abu’s nostrils flare does it sink in she might’ve overdone it on that note. ‘I-I-I mean, would you like me to get the receipts too?’

‘There’s no need for all of that, Chloé. Nobody’s accusing you of stealing.’

‘Oh.’ She steadies herself back on the chair, brows knitted. ‘Then, what’s the deal?’

Mr. Abu crosses his arms. ‘In your records, you didn’t mark yourself as someone with any sort of disabilities or illness so, what are you taking them for all the time?’

‘… I uh, have been having headaches lately.’

‘And you didn’t think to have yourself examined at a hospital? Chloé this isn’t sounding very good from what I’m getting.’

Chloé tries to find her words, mouth growing more dry the longer those dark, beady eyes of the man stares down at her. She knows the look well. It’s the look she knows means she’s utterly screwed. There’s another pause before Mr. Abu reaches for a sheet on his desk, handing it to her.

She stares down to the brochure for what appears to be a rehab clinic.

‘I won’t try to push you into anything, it’s only a suggestion. But they really helped my wife when she was struggling with an addiction to sleeping pills. I’m always grateful she found the courage to speak up before it got worse, y’know? I’m not judging you, really but it would be unethical keeping you around. I’m sorry.’

Chloé can’t find the will in her to protest. It’ll only make things uglier and what answer can she possibly give? That she’s not an addict but in fact a crime fighter working off raging hangovers every morning? The man’s going to be dialing up the psych ward on the spot, no doubt. Chloé simply says she understands, thanks Mr. Abu for the brochure and after clearing her locker, she begins her descent back home, rubbing away at her misty eyes.

***

Losing her first job in only two weeks has got to make the list of the top ten of Chloé’s records of fuck ups. She’s never been more glad her mother’s gone back home and there won’t be another likely Godoy reunion until Bruce’s birthday which isn’t for another two months. Plenty of time to find another job or at least come up with a decent excuse for why Brighid Pharmaceutical had her sacked that doesn’t involve coming out as a junkie or something.

Chloé groans aloud for the umpteenth time into her pillow, the pit in her stomach refuses to shrink no matter what she’s stuffed it with. Of course, she knows the quick and simple cure that can be found in the nearest pub but after covering the bill for lunch at Le Exquis and her brother’s hotel expenses, her wallets all tapped out. The remaining grand in her savings account depends on frugal spending to sustain her until she finds some means of an income. Not to mention, rent is right around the corner…

Oh god, has this week sucked.

Deep down, that nagging voice of Selina has been cackling at the corner, being right on about her decisions bound to blow up in her face. Well, Chloé’s certainly done with it all today. No more stupid vigilante gig, the hell had she been thinking? Maybe all the drinking has been having some side effect on her. Either way, she’s firmly adamant on not making any more dumb or reckless choices and come morning, she’ll get a fresh start on regaining employment.

That’s the plan she keeps in mind for the rest of the day, then late into the night, there’s a knock on her door. She pauses from reading the spy novel and drags her feet along the littered floor to the entrance way. ‘Who is it?’ She calls out.

‘It’s Davila.’