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The burn of the first two shots made me a little apprehensive but I keep drinking as my mind continues to replay painful memories. The burn will eventually shut my brain up; I'm certain of it, all I need is more time and more drinks. Now don't get me wrong, I'm no raging alcoholic. I'm very aware that this is not a good coping mechanism but at this current moment in time, I don't care. What I do care about are the shots sitting in front of me. Silently, I stare at the red lipstick that rubbed off onto the glass while the burn helps me to drift away into my thoughts.
What definitely helped my emotional whirlwind, 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 of many echoing around the bar from that one table but one stood out from the others to me. Parker Jacob's. Curse him for being here at the same time as me.
I kept on reminding myself, 'mind over matter'. I can get over this, I can get over him. You see, I desperately wanted to love him but it's safer to hate him. It's safer for both him and I. I'm too messed up. I couldn't subject him to that pain. He doesn't deserve it.
He doesn't matter. I hate him. Suddenly, I found myself lifting another shot to my lipstick covered lips. The sting of the alcohol pouring down my throat throws me deeper into my mind.
I began to think about myself and how I always kept myself detached from others. At times I hated it, but in the end, they would always leave so what's the point of getting attached? I hated caring. It always caused me pain so eventually, I stopped entirely. I cared about me and only me, after all, that's all that I need. It may have messed up a few things 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 drowned.
Somehow my thoughts started to move towards my family. The family I distanced myself from entirely after I moved out. After all, I had sworn when I was 16, that I would never look back once I moved out 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 a few more? I've got me and that's all I need. I felt my mind beginning to prod at the thoughts that I had kept locked away since I was 18. To keep that lock intact and my eyes from tearing up, I downed the final shot.
The burn of the fourth shot knocked me back into reality. I bitterly chuckled to myself. How pathetic am I? I'm sitting in a bar, all alone, downing shots and close to tears. Jesus Christ, I'm lonely. I was staring at the bartop with my hands limp in my lap when the bartender came to collect the stained shot glasses I had just emptied. Looking up at him, I asked for another four shots.
He looks at my wet eyes unsure, "Are you sure you want more?"
I nod my head, silently hoping that he'll give in and pour me more shots.
He gives in and shrugs his shoulders, pouring me another four. Just before he pushes them to me, he asks how I'm going to pay. 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 he hands my card back to me without a hiccup before pushing the shots towards me. I haphazardly shove my card into my purse not concerned in the slightest whether it made it into my wallet or not. The bartender, Jacob, 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.
As I stared at the color-less liquid in front of me, I felt as if the vodka was taunting me. It seemed to want me to give in and drink it. It wanted me to succumb to the dark thoughts in the back of my head that were constantly whispering. It wanted me to loosen my grip on my sanity. Maybe I should stop. This isn't healthy. I just need to go home. I need to lay down and get some sleep. I'm so tired.
I gave a long look at the shots on the bar front. I deeply sighed. "To hell with 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 floodgates of my memories, feelings, and thoughts closed but it seemed that lock on them only loosened. The more vodka I flooded my stomach with, the more the lock was oiled. I was trying my hardest to press my conscience against the bursting door, trying to distract myself with the alcohol resting on the bar top. I haven't cried since I was 19 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 unfortunately, my luck had run out as they began talking to me almost instantly.
"So what's a pretty girl like you doing here all by yourself?" The tall stranger asked me in an attempt to flirt with me while slurring his words slightly.
I look at them and smile bitterly before answering, "Drowning my sorrows,"
He seemed a bit taken aback by my honesty but I couldn't be bothered to lie. I wasn't in any mood to plaster a fake smile onto my face and pretend like everything was okay.
My honest answer seemed to sober him up a bit as he solemnly nodded and looked at the bartender who was approaching us. Looking back down to my drinks, I heard him order a whiskey. The bartender wasted no time in pouring the alcohol into a glass and handing it to him.
Without another word to me, the stranger walked away, back to wherever he came from.
