"Another?" The bartender who's name I've learned to be Betsy, asks me.
My unlikely drinking partner Richard has escaped to the restroom for the fourth time since we've arrived. I get the feeling that Betsy may have a slight liking towards Richard which makes me really fucking uncomfortable.
With a nod, I dismiss the burly woman and wait for my drink. It's now after two in the afternoon and I've had four drinks, that wouldn't be so bad if they weren't straight bourbon.
My thoughts are cloudy and my anger has yet to subside. I don't know who or what to be more pissed about so I've given up on reasoning and decided to go with a general state of pissed the fuck off.
"Here ya go," she slides my drink in front of me as Richard takes the stool directly next to me. I was under the impression he understood the importance of the empty stool between us, guess not.
"Did you order me another?" He turns to me, raking his hand over the rough hair of his beard. The sound is disgusting.
"You should shave that," I offer my somewhat intoxicated opinion.
"This?" He does that thing with his hand again.
"Yes, that. It's not a good look," I half laugh.
"It's okay, keeps me warm," he laughs and I take a drink to stop myself from joining him in laughter.
"Betsy!" He calls, she nods and pulls his empty glass from the counter.
"Are you going to tell me what it is your drinking over?"
"Nope," I move my bourbon in a circle, causing the ice clinking against the glass.
"Fine, no questions then, only booze," he smiles.
My hatred toward him has dissolved for the most part, that is until I picture the blonde ten year old girl hiding in her mum's greenhouse. Her blue eyes are wide, fearful almost, until the blonde boy in the fucking cardigan shows up to save the day.
"One question," he presses.
I take a deep breathe and an even deeper drink to calm myself from doing something idiotic, more idiotic than drinking with my girlfriends alcoholic father.
"One," I roll my eyes, this family and their fucking questions.
"Did you get kicked out of college today?"
I look away, pawning over the question, wishing I hadn't had four.. no five, drinks.
"No, but she thinks I did," I admit.
"Why does she think that?" Nosey fucker.
"Because I told her that I did, that's enough confessions for one night."
"Have it your way," he smiles and raises his glass to hit mine but I pull away, shaking my head.
I can tell by his laughter he hadn't expected me to toast with him anyway and he finds me very amusing, the same way that I find him very annoying. A woman around his age appears at his side and takes the stool next to him. She wraps her thin arm around his shoulder and he greets her openly. She doesn't strike me as the homeless type, but she obviously knows him. He probably spends majority of his time in this shit hole of a bar. I use his distraction to check my phone for messages or calls from Tessa, nothing.
I'm relieved but annoyed that she hasn't attempted to talk to me, relieved because I'm drunk but annoyed because I miss her already. Each glass of bourbon that slides down my throat makes me want her more, makes the hollowness from her absence grow.