Spinning

Chapter 29: in the graveyard, doing handstands

Hi my lovely readers. This opening was one of my favorites to write. I could picture it so vividly... Enjoy, my loves. 

xo, V (is it cliche that I want to sign my notes like this?!)

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Two Months Later

I knew this jacket would be too thin. The biting January wind easily pierces the black fabric and I shiver yet again. But the jacket is perfect – a combination of Audrey Hepburn's aesthetic and Jackie Kennedy's grief at her husband's funeral. It's black with a wide boat neckline, with hidden, double-breasted snaps and a tie waist. It pairs perfectly with the simple, black, hip hugging dress and nude pumps I threw on less than an hour ago.

Large sunglasses cover my bloodshot eyes. I tried to do my makeup like Amy Lee's to hide my evident sleeplessness. I wasn't satisfied with the results, so I grabbed these sunglasses on my way out. Maybe if I didn't drink so much last night I could've woken up with the sun and perfected the smoky eye. I can't remember the last time I got a full night of sleep. Probably not since he used to sleep by my side...

My nausea slightly subsides as I take a drag from an old cigarette. I wanted to throw the used cigarette onto the grass, but that's a bad look for a graveyard. Instead, I crush it into the hood of my Jeep and tuck it behind my ear.

Another gust of wind pulls some loose strands from the twisted plait I attempted this morning. I ignore them as they whip around my head wildly. I imagine I look like a cinematic cliché right now, perched on the hood of my car, hair spinning like demons around my face, in a nice dress.

I can still taste tequila on my breath as it forms a condensation with the frigid air. Last night was one repetition of a dozen nights that have haunted me the past 8 weeks. I am slowly unraveling, and each night in my drunken stupor, I sink lower and lower into the darkness.

As always, it started with Jess pulling me from the lethargy of my bedroom with a double shot of tequila. The smell caused a rise in bile from my throat, as the dregs of the previous night's hangover were still lingering. But after two more drinks, I was feeling fresh and ready to attack the bar again.

"Ryan was cute, don't you think?"

"Who?"

"The blonde with a buzz cut."

"Blue eyes or brown eyes?"

"Blue."

"Yeah, not bad."

"Why didn't you text him?"

"I had already given my number to three other guys."

"You scandalous hoe! A right heartbreaking bitch on our hands!"

I wasn't in the mood for Jess's sarcasm. I just rolled my eyes and took another shot.

"C'mon, tonight's the night. A Kanye-loving, Seinfeld-watching, sculpted hockey player is going to float into the bar on a bed of clouds and seduce you until you can't remember Eddie's face anymore."

Eddie. It was the first time I had heard his name spoken out loud since his... departure. My blood turned to ice. I took another shot. As I've done every other time I think of him.

As always, we arrived at the bar and Jess starts pulling her normal man-trapping stunts. She "accidentally" backs into cute guys, comments on their drinks, recognizes them from "the gym" that she has no membership to, or just stares at them until they initiate a conversation. I usually get stuck talking to the friend of her victim. Last night, in order, it was Luke in the flannel, Pierre with the weak mustache, Colin who called himself a freelance security guard, and then Marcus who got angry when I called him *Mark*. That was just the first bar. We then went next door where I met Drew with bad breath as Jess talked to Chad or Brad or Ned or Ted or something. The night gets hazy from there, but I ended up leaving with a scrawny kid with shaggy brown hair whose name I can't remember. We made out for a little bit during the cab ride home, but I left the car alone when he failed to ignite my senses or tingle my wrists. I've been trying to recreate that sensation since— I can't even will myself to recall that morning.