To the Real You

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11 PM blared through the room and I felt like telling the DJ to shove the music up his ass. But I decided against it...

After all, I came there on my own volition.

The middle of the night club was cramped in a symphony of sweat, body, hair, perfume and the occasional fart so I decided to move my generous self over to the bar where I could drown in alcohol.

Dad was dating someone...

Something clenched in my chest as the memory of him pressed up against that woman- Anne- kissing like they couldn't keep away from each other, rose in my chest. I was irritated. So irritated about everything... not to mention the fact that he said that since mom and him were divorced he deserved to be happy.

And I didn't deserve to be happy how?

My dad, Arturo Rodriguez, was the coolest dad on the face of the earth. He owned multiple art galleries in Europe, knew more about Migos than I did and actually once joined me to break into some bully's house and suggested we used his sleeping face as a meme. 

I loved him... a lot.

But I was angry at him.

I slumped on the bar stool and the bartender turned to me with a glass cup and clean rag in one hand. His smile could put anybody else's to shame.

"Hey there... rough night?" He asked, dropping the cup in front of me and stretching a hand out. 

"You have no idea." I replied, giving him my ID-or my cousin's ID-luckily we looked alike.

"All's in order." He mumbled, "Care for tequila?"

"Drown me please." I replied with a sigh as he swiped a bottle from the speed rail and poured it into the cup.

He shifted it to me, "Enjoy."

"Thanks." I mumbled, raising the cup to my lips. I hadn't taken alcohol before, but my cousin Lucia- the one whose ID I stole- told me that alcohol solved all worries. Maybe it would help me swallow everything.

I took a deep swig, downing the cup in one gulp. I almost retched, clutching onto the laminated bar table for support. My throat was burning, like someone was doing parkour on fire in there. After a while, the feeling subsided and I was disillusioned from taking another glass.

"You okay?" Smiley-face bartender asked, with a chuckle, "You need water?"

"No..." I croaked, cheeks red with embarrassment. "I'm just... warming up... another shot."

He smiled (oh big surprise), and got the bottle again, waving over his companion to handle the person he'd just left for me. 

I focused on his long, really nice looking fingers as he poured me a second. Why the mierda was a taking another shot? "So, what's going on redhead?"

It instinctively made me tug on my shoulder length curls, "My dad's got a girlfriend, my best friend's in love with me, I can't seem to make friends here because I can dunk over some idiot dude's head and... my mom's boyfriend is hitting on me."

He raised his eyebrows, attending to a customer who sat on the stool beside mine, "That sucks... your parents divorced or what?"

"Yup," I popped the 'p', taking a swig right after, "I know that they can move on but... I really just... don't want them to you know?"

"I understand, "He said with a nod, handing over a bourbon bottle to the person beside me, "When my dad left my mom for another man I was pissed off. Like nobody wants to have a dad two months your junior."