Grey Skies, White Lies - Larina | [COMPLETE]

Chapter 27 | Forget.

I tried to remain composed as the alcohol took over my system, reaching every far corner of my body, trying and succeeding were clearly two very different concepts.

"You've not said much." Marina queried, raising her eyebrows as she sorted the carrier bags on the till-top.

"Yeah." I replied, half due to not having any idea what to say, the other half being because I was trying my hardest to prevent her from sensing I was drunk.

Marina frowned. "Why, what's up?" She asked, unexpectedly delving into conversation.

"Nothing, honestly, I'm fine." I replied, again, keeping my response short. I could feel her eyes all over me, intently trying to solve the confusion. She approached me, stood right in front of me, and lifted my chin with her fingertips. I tried so hard to sustain my composition, closing my eyes and offering her a warm, dimple-filled smile.

It wasn't working.

"Have you..." She began, shaking her head and inducing my stomach to drop to the pit. "...Been drinking?" She whispered, almost as if it was a forbidden statement.

"No." I straight-up lied, although I knew she already had the truthful answer settled in her mind.

She stared at me, her eyes hollow now, offering no warmth or depth for me to indulge in and feel safe, she'd locked me out and left me on my own.

"Why are you lying to me?" She asked, proceeding to stare.

I was dumbfounded, my lagging eyes somewhat heavier now.

"I can drink sometimes." I tried to excuse, my still, limped face dropping at the sound of my feeble words escaping my lips.

"How much did you drink?" She asked, intensifying the situation even more than I thought possible.

"Wine." I replied, aware I wasn't making much sense, I couldn't make sense of my actions, how could I articulate enough of a justification as to why I guzzled an entire bottle of wine.

"How much?" She repeated, rolling her eyes, she knew my 'game' and she didn't want to play. Beating around the bush wasn't her thing.

"The first bottle." I confessed, turning my head to look away from her, the word 'bottle' and all its entirety made me feel repulsed, I couldn't stop it from ringing in my ears.

"What about the other?" She pressed.

"Down the sink." I told her, deciding against telling her about the quarter of it I drank in one mouthful.

"I'm closing up, let's go home." She sighed, removing the striped apron from around her neck and folding it over the till counter, closing the till itself and grabbing her jacket.

"B-but, you don't wanna lose this job." I stuttered, I needed her to know I was still thinking of her, that everything I do makes me think of her, perhaps I drink to forget her for a while - my only separation. I didn't want to get attached.

"Fuck it, we're going home." She clarified, beckoning me to follow her as she turned the lights off, left the shop and locked the shutters.

Our journey home was silent yet insightful, silence really can speak a thousand words. She was disappointed in me, I was disappointed in myself, and I knew which was worse.

"I'm sorry, Marina." I whispered, mentally joining the freckles on her back into star-shaped webs as she lay besides me in bed.

"For what?" She asked, though she knew what I meant, I think she just wanted to hear me say it, she wanted to  know if I knew what it could do to me, what it could do to any potentiality of 'us'.

"Look...About the job..." I began, but was cut off by a frustrated sigh.

"Fuck the job." She stared, turning her body to face me. "Why do you do it?" She asked, diverting the conversation.

"Why does anyone do anything?" I responded, a genuine yet simple response.

"I don't care about everyone else, but I do care about you." She told me, my heart swelling as she spoke - though I didn't deserve it.

"I'm so sorry." I replied, knowing of nothing else I could say.

"It's up to you, what you do, just please don't go back there." She pleaded, she didn't specify where she meant by 'there' but she didn't need to, I felt her sublimity.

"I drink to forget, forget it all, forget the past, ignore the present, avoid the future, in that moment, nothing else matters. It's like I'm in limbo, and I guess I'm kind of addicted to not existing." I went on to explain, figuring I owed her some sort of explanation.

"But by drinking, all you're doing is remembering your past-self. You're not that girl anymore, you're stronger now." She said.

"The only way you'll forget her is by living the present." She added.