audacity // kryoz

nine

"Can we make an exception? Just for today?" I ask trying my hardest to flash a seductive smile hoping he would give in and give me what the hell I wanted.

After a moment he gave in and pulled a couple of shots glasses out. "Thanks, babe," I say to the bartender while blowing a kiss before downing a shot.

***

The burn of the first two shots made me a little apprehensive to keep on drinking but my mind kept reminding me of painful memories from both the date and life in general. I couldn't help but to cringe and it seemed that the only way I could get my brain to shut up was by the burn of the alcohol. Now don't get me wrong, I'm no raging alcoholic and I'm very aware that this is not a very good coping mechanism but at this current moment I couldn't care less. All I cared about was the shots in front of me. What definitely helped, note my sarcasm here, was my constant habit to look over at the happy table on the other side of the room. I could hear the loud laughter echoing around the bar but one stood out to me. I hated it so much. I hated it so much that the vodka in the third shot made it to my mouth and down my throat.

I hated caring. It always got me hurt so eventually I stopped entirely. It may have messed up a few relationships for me in the past but it was worth it, I was worth it. It was the only thing that kept me afloat while I drowning. I knew that if it all went south I didn't care so, in the end, I didn't get hurt. Some would argue that I'm hurting myself by doing this but I really don't give a fuck. It's gotten me this far so what's to say that it won't stop working for me now?

Somehow my thoughts began to move towards my family. I distanced myself from them entirely after I moved out. After all, I had sworn when I was 17, that when I moved out I would never look back and that's exactly what I did. Every once in a while, I do call my mother to check up on her but after my parents got divorced I never talk to my dad. I barely talk to my older brother and I talk even less to my younger brother. I'm sure they all hate me but tons of people already do so what's one more? I felt my brain prod at the thoughts that I had kept locked away since I was 16. To keep that lock intact and my eyes from tearing up, I downed the final shot.

Once again, the burn brought me back into reality. I bitterly chuckled to myself. How fucking pathetic am I? I'm sitting in a bar, all alone, downing shots and close to tears. Holy fuck I'm lonely. I was staring at the bartop with my hands limp in my lap when the bartender came to collect the shot glasses I had just emptied. Looking up at him, I asked for another four shots.

He looks at me unsure, "Are you sure you want more?"

I nod my head, silently pleading that he'll pour me more shots.

He seems to have given in and shrugs his shoulders, pouring me another four. Just before he pushes them to me, he asks if I'm going to pay. Yet again I silently nod and open my purse and dig around to find my wallet. I quickly find my credit card and hand it to him while praying that it doesn't get declined. My prayers were answered and it wasn't. He hands my card back to me then pushes the shots towards me. I haphazardly shove my card into my purse not concerned at all whether it made it into my wallet or not. The bartender, Jakob, whose name I learned after I heard someone call out to him, walked away leaving me to my thoughts once again. A dangerous thing to do.

I felt as if the vodka was taunting me. They seemed to want me to give in and drink them. Maybe I should stop. This isn't healthy. Well, my entire state of being isn't healthy.

"Fuck it, " I murmured to myself right before I grabbed my fifth shot and gulped it down. Letting myself get more and more intoxicated, the opposite of what I wanted, happened. I desperately wanted to keep the flood gates of my memories, feelings, and thoughts closed but it seemed that lock on them only loosened. The more vodka I poured down my throat, the more the lock was oiled. I was trying my hardest to press my conscious against the bursting door, trying to distract myself with anything and everything. I haven't cried since I was 18 and I'm hopelessly trying to keep my streak.

Suddenly I heard someone sit next to me. I was hoping that they wouldn't talk to me but my luck had run out as almost instantly they began talking to me.

"So what's a pretty girl like you doing here all by yourself?" He asked me in an attempt to flirt with me while slurring his words slightly.

I look at him and smile bitterly, "Drowning my sorrows,"

He seemed a little surprised by my honestly but I couldn't be bothered to lie. I wasn't in the mood to plaster a fake smile onto my face.

My answer seemed to sober him up a bit as he solemnly nodded and looked at the bartender who was approaching us. I heard him order a whiskey which was odd to me since he looked quite young to me and I had always assumed that it was a drink that only old, balding men ordered. The bartender wasted no time in pouring the alcohol into a glass and handing it to him. Without another word to me, he walked away.

I felt the vodka kicking in as I heard his steps getting further and further away. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding while a tiny smile appeared on my face. I can now properly drown my emotions in the rest of the alcohol sitting in front of me.

In my slightly drunken stupor, I drank the rest of the shots. Just as I swallowed the vodka, I heard footsteps getting closer to me again. Lucky for me they didn't try to talk to me this time but I also noticed that it was a different person this time. I wanted to see what they looked like so I tilted my head towards them a bit so I could look at them discreetly.

It was the bleached hair man that I had been trying my hardest to avoid. I'm still not quite sure what pushed me to avoid him but I dealt with John much like how I do with most other problems, I avoid them. 

I wasn't even focusing on what he was saying to the bartender, I was just watching him, studying him. Drunkly, I was admiring him like a piece of artwork and somehow I was perfectly fine with that. Never in my life has someone entranced me as he did sitting in that barstool. He seemed so carefree in that very moment, nothing like how I had seen him hours before. Was it the alcohol that momentarily gave him peace of mind? 

He finally noticed me staring at him not-so-discretely anymore and looked back at me with hard and cold eyes that somehow made my heart clench. 

I'm not quite sure what happened at that moment but it seemed that he recognized me and with that recognition came his soft blue-green eyes once again. It looked like the ocean was just poured into his eyes. His soft eyes only returned for a moment before they were replaced with eyes of worry and pity. 

Suddenly I heard my mother's voice in my head telling me to not give anyone a reason to feel sorry for me. So for the first time in a long time, I listened to my mother and tore my gaze away from his eyes and pulled myself out of my chair. My legs wobbled so I put my hands on the back of the barstool trying desperately to regain my balance. It didn't work as I fell almost instantly. I clenched my eyes tight expecting the impact of the ground but it never came. 

It was obvious that he had made the connection between the empty shot glasses and my wobbly legs and grabbed me by my waist before I hit the ground. I hadn't even made it a step away from my seat so he simply sat me back into my seat as if I was a toddler.

"How many shots did you take?" He asked with what I thought was a twinge of disappointment in his voice.

"Eight," I said proudly in my drunken daze.

He sighed, "Let's get you home shall we?"

With that statement, I knew that it was about time I head home. I have had enough of feeling and just wanted to sleep.

He stood me up slowly and I leaned on him as we left the drinks he had ordered and made our way to the table where the rest of his friends sat. They all had their eyes on us as we neared.

"Everyone meet, Anna,"

A/N

double update! we really out here. sorry about all the feels and angst. oops. i was listening to some sad ass songs as i wrote this. sorry about that. oh and also sorry if the ending feels kinda rushed. i was tired. until next time. love you.