Aven Brooks
My mind is hollow tonight.
My smile is bright with invitation, my cheeks pink with innocence, my words stellar with intelligence. I'm a perfect picture, a well-behaved bachelorette longing for a gentleman in her life. My dress is classy but sexy enough that makes me a fantasy to the male gaze.
But I feel nothing.
Despite my apparent interest and genuine laughter, I'm a sunken essence of void. Tonight, I'm running on autopilot and nothing more.
Mingle. Network. Flirt.
Mingle. Network. Flirt.
Mingle. Network. Flirt.
Nevertheless, no one here knows that I spent the last three days locked in a pitch-black room with only my declining thoughts. Curled into a ball on the frigid concrete, you start to forget what it's like to be a person. To recognize colours, to hear laughter, to feel the warm touch of someone else. Your thoughts become stripped from you by the hour until your mind finally convinces you that your life was an illusion. Your memories were artificial, your existence was never real to begin with.
It's unbearable.
And the worst part is—right when you've convinced yourself the world never existed, the door busts open and your hauled back into it like a sick game. After three days of nothing but a cold pitch-black room, I found myself thirty minutes later sat in front of my vanity with makeup being applied all over my face, preparing me for another one of my father's tasks. When I saw my own face in the mirror, I didn't recognize who it was. I merely forgot what I looked like.
And now, here I am.
Another banquet, another dinner, another night dressed to the nines. Walking through the classical music, suited men, trays of champagne—I find myself dissociating my own human existence.
But, there's an open bar.
"Can I get vodka on ice, please?" I say to the bartender.
Glancing around the room, I'm confident that Zayn is in close proximity. I make a mental note to be vigilant with regard to alcohol tonight. As the bartender hands me a glass of pure vodka on ice, I confidently gulp it down to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention.
"Can I actually have another?"
He nods and is quick to prepare me a second. Once I toss it back quicker than it had taken for him to make it, he cocks his head to the side in curiosity
"We also have shots, if you rather that..."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you've ordered six vodkas on ice tonight and treated them all like shots."
I've had six already?
"It's more ladylike to have it in a glass," I remind. "I'll take one more."
He walks off and goes to equip another. I tap my black pointed fingernails on the glass counter in wait.
"Mariana..." I smell his cologne.
My eyes roll back into my head before turning around and making eye contact with Zayn towering behind me with his glass of whiskey.
"You've been over here a lot." He warns.
"I'm just chitchatting with the bartender."
"Your vodka on ice, miss." The bartender says at the perfect time.
Zayn tilts his head and squints.
"Sue me." I turn around and toss it back before he has a chance to take it away.
"You have to contain yourself, you know you're on thin ice with your father after what happened."
"I got the necklace back, all is forgiven." I correct.
I'm starting to really feel the buzz now.
"In some shady way you're refusing to elaborate about."
"I told you it was with that creep I was set up with. Patrick? I knew he was weird that night I ditched him at the dinner."
"And why didn't you need my help?" He challenges like he doesn't believe me.
"Because after three days of isolation, I realize I don't need help from anyone."
I go to push past him but he grabs my bicep.
"You're supposed to be socializing tonight." He says to the side of my head.
"I have been!"
"And you reek of liquor." He whispers as I'm looking out at the crowded room behind him.
"I'm sure no man here will care about that." I roll my eyes.
He pulls me back in front of him so we're eye to eye again.
"I overheard your parents talking the other day. They're getting frustrated with you walking out on every single bachelor you've been set up with."
"And I'm sure there are many more contenders on their precious list."
"They want you to reproduce within the next year, Mariana. And if you don't pick someone soon, he'll pick someone for you."
I pause, staring up into his serious eyes that are only trying to warn me.
Reproduce? Am I some machine to them?
"They...want me to have a child...this soon?" I feel an anxious wave of heat roll through me, creating a storm with the alcohol.
He nods. "You need to start taking these social events seriously or you could be stuck with someone you hate for the rest of your life. There are a lot of contenders here tonight. For the love of god, take your pick."
I think I'm going to throw up.
I knew my parents felt this way, but I didn't think this would all happen so soon. Within a year they expect I be pregnant? That I give birth to further my father's sacred bloodline? This is just like how I was born, my father got my mother pregnant so soon on purpose. He only cares about his legacy, his blood.
"I...need to go to the restroom." I slowly feel all the vodka catching up to me.
"I'm not trying to scare you, I just thought you should know before it's too late." Zayn reiterates.
I push past him, my steps staggering by the second. Passing the dining area, my eyes land on open bottles of liquor. Spotting an empty table, I quickly snatch the glass neck of one and take it with me. I pace through to the restroom and hide inside one of the ten stalls. Closing the toilet lid, I sit down and place the bottle on the floor. My head whirls from the transition as I rest it in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut in mercy.
This can't be happening this soon.
I grab the bottle off the floor, bringing the spout to my mouth and tossing it back. Vodka again. The rich liquor pours down my throat, tasting not as strong when I'm already drunk.
The thought of bringing a child into this world this quick is making me sick to my stomach with the sloshing liquor. Not only that, but with someone my father just pairs me up with.
My head spins, and my chest swallowed into itself. All I can think of doing is drink because in this moment, I need my thoughts to disappear. I can't think about pregnancy and labour and children and the selected man that comes with it. It's too soon. I should have more time. I need more time.
There are a lot of contenders here tonight. For the love of god, take your pick.
Zayn's words rally my mind like a carousel. The carousel I'm stuck in the centre of.
My temple rests against the side of the stall, my eyelids shutting so I see a world of swimming colours behind it. I start to feel like I'm floating and when I open my eyes, the room only swims more.
"Woah..." I feel my motor skills decrease by the second.
With one more heavy swig, I place the bottle back on the ground and stand up with my clutch. I rip the door open and stumble towards the sink mirror, my palms slapping against the marble counter to hold myself up. I meet my spinning reflection, my eyes heavier than before. I need to wake up.
I open my clutch and blindly fish for my small bag of cocaine. I scoop up just enough on my acrylic pinky nail for a bump, bringing it to my nose and sucking it up. The burn makes my whole face scrunch, the back of my hand pressing under my nose until I feel the irritation pass and the energy begin. I sway just from standing still, gripping the counter for stability.
Putting the bag back in my clutch, I lean into the mirror and quickly fluff my nose to make sure there's no evidence. My eyes glaze bloodshot.
I'm leaving, I can't be here right now.
I stumble to the door, the cocaine keeping me from melting into a puddle. My heart is racing and my eyes vibrate, but my body is a sloppy mess that I struggle to control. The second I'm back in the banquet hall, I'm making it my mission to get out the front door without Zayn catching me. Eventually, I spot him talking with a group of men with his back to me.
I get out of the front of the building and onto the crowded street, looking back and forth along the wet sidewalk. The city feels louder, the lights brighter, the air harsher on my skin than before. The roads are full of traffic even at this time of night. Hazily reading the street names, I turn left and just start walking. My vision is spinning, but I can still see somewhat straight. I keep looking back over my shoulder to make sure no one is following me, but every time I do I nearly lose balance. Making out street names, I stammer through the city with absolutely nothing on my mind other than the fact I want as far away from that building as possible. I forgot my clutch in the bathroom, but I don't have the urge to care.
The further I go, the more I feel the alcohol. I keep thinking it's not possible to feel it any more than I already have. But the only thing still keeping me on my feet is the cocaine pumping my blood. My face is hot and my ears ring. The streetlights feel physically blinding.
As I cut through an alley, I misstep and collide with a brick wall, my eyes pinching shut. Struggling to regain my balance, I lean against the wall and lower my head. I feel disoriented and dizzy despite standing still. My eyes eventually open and my feet continue walking, keeping a hand on the frigid wall for support. My heels scrape against the pavement as I take unsteady steps, but I persevere.
Out of the alleyway, I turn left on another crowded street. My shoulder bashes into someone in passing which almost takes me out. My head starts to pound with how much everything is spinning, sweat coating me from my rocketing heart rate. I stop against another building, resting my forehead against the cool bricks to retrieve myself. I hear a few voices asking if I'm okay, a hand touching my back but I shrug it off and keep going.
Time starts to not feel real but I don't even have the brain capacity to realize how long I've been walking at this point. Any mental strength I had went into reading the street names. Another alley, another block, another left, another right. I peruse the city getting to where I need to go. But any spurt of energy I had keeping me on my feet starts to pulverize. And as I cut through one more alley, I can't feel the strength anymore. Right next to a dumpster, I crouch down on the concrete with nausea. My eyes pinch themselves to focus on not throwing up, the back of my hand going to my mouth. One wrong thought and I'll curl up on my side and vomit.
Breathe.
I open my eyes and look at the rusty dumpster I'm holding onto, the smell not helping my sea of a stomach. My eyes focus on the number 222 labelled in the bottom corner. The numbers spin the harder I try to focus, my eyes clamping shut again until I discover stability in myself. I haul back up to my feet and keep powering through. Grasping onto anything I can blindly use to hold myself upright, I stagger. My knees are about to give out completely in this alleyway.
I can't do it, I'm going to pass out.
Persevering to the street, I basically sling myself around the corner onto the sidewalk. But as I imagine I'm about to plummet to the ground, I slam into a hard chest instead.
"Woah—" A set of arms catch me in my drastic fall, my body becoming dead weight. "Av?"
I open my eyes and look up at a sea of startled green gaping down at me. A sense of relief relaxes my limbs as I stare in astonishment at the familiar face under a warm street lamp. His eyes bounce back and forth between mine in confusion and concern.
"They want me to have a baby..." I whine in misery.
His gaze softens.
And just like that, my eyes roll back and my body turns to putty in the safety of his embrace.
The right place, the right time.
//
aven :(