Rich Bastard {mxm}

Seventeen.

"What good is money if I rely on the poor to help me?" -C.T

I couldn't do it.

I was falling into that bottomless pit again.

The wall that I built eight years ago was crumbling, breaking apart and the sad thing was that I could do nothing about it. 

I didn't know how I found myself in front of that bar.

"Go home, Pierre," I threw out in an emotionless voice as I closed the door to the limo. "You're no longer needed," I could hear the gears in his head turning due to confusion. He was wondering why I had said nothing the whole entire ride here. "Just go," I softly snapped, not having it in me to raise my voice. 

I didn't say anything else, but I just dragged myself inside the bar, the lifeless night above me doing nothing to dispel the immense pain that was eating away inside me. 

"What can I get for you?" The same bartender that I saw the other night greeted me as I sat down, trembling in the seat. "Your strongest," My voice probably sounded loud to me, but it was a soft whisper to him and he gave me a strange look before obliging with my request. He slid me a cup of something clear and I wasted no time downing it.

"Another please," I croaked out, feeling a tear leave my eye. I couldn't believe that I was letting my lips touch some cup that wasn't sterilized for 24 hours, but the worst called for it. I could feel my head lolling around as another glass was placed in front of me. Like the first, I drunk it so quickly, wanting to not feel the way that I did at the moment. "Another," I whispered, chuckling to myself as the world started spinning before me. I could feel my insides sloshing around as the bartender hesitantly passed me a refill, the burning taste stinging my throat as it smoothly glided down. 

"One more," I slurred, feeling that tinge of pain making its way. I couldn't control the tears that escaped my eyes. "I just need," I gurgled at the use of alcohol, a drink I probably hadn't had in about three years. "I just need to get rid of this feeling," I pointed to my heart, staring teary-eyed at the bartender.

"Aren't you a friend of Joaquin's?" The bartender said, but I couldn't hear him. The sound of the bar music was drowning out the sorrow-filled gasps that I was letting leave my mouth unconsciously. "I'll call him," The man turned to walk away and I put my head on the desk, more and more tears just coating the counter. 

With each sip of the alcohol, my taste buds dulled and I was pushed further and further into that black hole. There were no words to describe the wound that Christine just opened up. 

I was doing fine before she came. But now that she challenged me head-on, forcing me to confront what I had been trying to avoid, it was hard to keep hold of my anchor. It was hard for me to keep control when I kept letting go.

"Do you think that it's normal to a-," I hiccuped, unable to see straight as I spoke to whoever I was looking at. The lights were merging together and I couldn't keep my eyes open. "Always feel like a failure?" I whined at no one in particular, wanting someone to just hold me. I couldn't even think straight, a puddle inside of my head spilling out. 

I wanted to say that I knew how to feel, but right now, the only thing that I could feel was immense hatred. "Hafta stop," Stop what? I didn't know. 

"Cheyenne, what the hell is up with you?!" I felt a hand grip my shoulder and I let out a giggle, lolling my head up. "Who'z tha?" I cringed as the music got louder, seeing someone plain and boring standing over me, brown eyes tinged with concern and care. "...it's Joaquin," I felt my body being turned around to face him, but it felt like I was floating on air.