I decide to check all of the nearby malls and stores that she likes first, restaurants, parks, anything I can think of. The drive is tensely silent and I avoid making eye contact with Mason.
I pull over to the side of the road and take what feels like my hundredth deep breath of the day, slamming my fist against the steering wheel in frustration, beginning to lose any hope I had.
Mason breaks the silence, "Is there anywhere else she would go? You know to eat or... drink?" he asks uncomfortably, I know exactly what he's referring to. Bars. Clubs. Liquor stores. It's not like the thought hadn't crossed my mind—I just hoped it wouldn't come to that, it was a last resort.
I start the engine again, "I know where to look."
I head towards her old drinking spot, a bar not far away from my house. I have vivid memories of her telling me about this place when I was young—she would fawn over it in her drunken states. Many times cab drivers would drop her home basically catatonic after spending the night there.
As we arrive outside the dimly lit building with a broken neon sign; I prepare myself to go inside, trying to stop myself from breaking down.
"Do you want me to come inside with you? There will probably be a lot of drunken assholes in there." Mason mumbles.
"You mean like my mom?" I scoff, "No thanks, I'll be fine."
As I step out of the car I hear him sigh, that was harsh. I know it was. I'm just on edge and in all honesty, embarrassed. I'm embarrassed that I had to drag him here. I don't want him to have to see what I'm scared to find.
"That's not what I meant, Amara. You know that." he sounds defeated and uncomfortable.
"I know, I'm sorry." I apologise sincerely, earning a small, slow nod in return.
As I walk inside I feel my stomach turn at the familiar smell of alcohol and cigarettes, it's nauseating.
I begin to look around, hoping nobody realises I'm underage. I'm also underdressed by far compared to everyone else in here, I just need enough time to look for her. I try to scan the room for my mom as quickly as I can so that I can leave, but it's too dark and crowded, there's no way I'm going to find her here.
I decide to ask at the bar since I'm pretty sure she's well known in here by pretty much everyone, she used to rhyme everyone off by name as she reminisced.
"Excuse me." my voice betrays me, coming out a lot less confident than I intended.
"Do you know if my mom came here? Her name is Dawn, she used to come here a lo-"
"You're the daughter she was always banging on about, eh?" he chants, cutting me off again—he has a thick british accent.
"So, did she come here?" I ask, but I pray that I'm wrong, that she took a D-Tour on the way to Carol's house, and that she's on her way there now. Sober.
The cheerful bartender points to the far corner of the room with a smile on his face, my eyes follow. So much for wishful thinking.
There she is. Leaning against the wall struggling to hold herself up, wasted. Sitting on a stranger's lap. Holding her famous bottle of rum. Instead of marching over there I freeze. My feet cemented to the alcohol soaked floor. The familiar sight makes me feel sick to my stomach and despite my efforts, the tears start to pool in my eyes. I finally manage to bring myself to move and walk over to the table. I don't speak, I just look at her.
Her bloodshot eyes meet mine and I see the dread fill them almost instantly.
"Mar..." she slurs, trying to hold her head up long enough to look at me.
"Get up." I snap, I no longer feel hurt, its rage. Sheer anger.
"Let me explain." she slurs once again, whilst spilling the rum all over my jeans.
"Explain? You're going to explain? I don't even have words for you right now." I yell as eyes around the room begin to focus on us. I try to pull her up but the stranger who seems to be glued to her grabs my arm instead. "She doesn't want to leave." he slurs. I yank it away and know there's going to be a bruise by how forceful he was, but I don't care. The adrenaline and anger masks any pain that would have been there.
She tries to stand herself up, yelling at the man for his actions—although her words barely string together, before falling onto me. I can't do this alone, I struggle to keep her upright as the man behind the bar comes over to try and help balance her.
"Move." I hear faintly from behind me. The voice was soft but stern. Mason.
The bartender steps aside as Mason gives me what I dare say is a reassuring smile, before carrying my mom out of the door and to the car. I follow. He places her gently in the back seat as I prop her head up with a spare travelling pillow I found in the trunk. I take a second to look at her, her bobbed brown hair lying across her face, on top of her smeared mascara and lipstick, the rum stains spotted all over her white shirt.
As we get into the car I can feel the tears falling down my face. Mason doesn't speak, he just sighs deeply. I prefer it, in all honesty. Before I drive off I remember my mom leaving in her car.
I stretch into the back seat, she's asleep, or blacked out. I don't know which. I fumble in her pockets and find the car keys. I shake my head, running my fingers through my hair.
I can't believe she spent the day here, getting wasted. I can't believe she put me in this position, again.
"I'll need to come back for my mom's car." I rub my temples.
"I'll drive it back. As long as you can get her inside." he almost smiles a sympathetic smile. At least his version of sympathy.
I return the smile and nod, handing Mason my keys and telling him my address. His generosity is strange and I dare say it won't last long, but right now it was greatly appreciated.
Once I arrive home, I make my way to the back seat, trying to wrap my arms around her to get her out of the car.
"Come on, you have to walk." I plea with her, and thankfully she's coherent enough now to comply.
After what feels like torture, I finally get her into bed. I perch myself on the edge and stare at the wall blankly, numbness has washed over me. I can't believe we're back to square one, and I can't believe she lied to me. Maybe I can, maybe I should be used to it by now and stop giving myself false hope. I wince slightly as I touch my arm, noticing a bruise appearing already.
I get some ice from the kitchen and slump down onto the couch as I compose myself, holding the cold against my bruise. I hear footsteps and look up to see Mason standing in front of me holding the car keys. His dark brown hair falling against his face as he sweeps it away, clearly as exhausted as I am. I smile thankfully and take them from him, wiping my eyes as he sits beside me.
"What happened?" he asks, looking at my bruise, his brown eyes filled with confusion.
"Some guy in the bar, the one my mom was stuck to as I walked in." I say, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
There's a brief pause, not an uncomfortable silence, it was almost nice—the quiet.
"Italy." the silence is broken by Mason.
"What?"
"Italy. I'm from Italy." he answers my previous question, which set him off so badly last time.
"Oh, I knew it was a foreign accent." I chuckle, not wanting to pry too much. I can't handle any more hassle in one night.
"Why didn't you just tell me that?" I ask, before I can stop the words coming out.
"I have my reasons." he replies, I notice him tense at my question. Although his answer was vague, and didn't really help, at least it was civil.
"You should change." he shrugs, his eyes scanning my alcohol soaked clothes.
I almost forgot about the drink spilled all over my jeans and shirt, besides the smell of rum making me nauseous.
"Wait, you don't have a car." I remember, I completely forgot I bombarded him earlier and drove him here. The thought of having to drive again makes me want to cry. I consider asking him to just sleep on the couch, but I decide I've made things uncomfortable enough for him tonight. Besides, he probably has to go home and curse out his roommate to make up for all the niceness he's given me tonight. So he doesn't explode.
"You can take my mom's car, she wont be needing it anyway. You can just drop it off after class tomorrow or something." I half expected him to argue with me, but he just nodded and walked towards the door.
"Thank you, Mason, for tonight. Maybe you're not so bad after all." I tease, trying to lighten the mood slightly.
"I didn't really have a choice, you showed up at my dorm crying about your problems." he spits, his expression neutral, ouch. I assumed the pleasantries were a one off, but that was a low-blow. I watch his eyes flicker between me and the road, almost as if he didn't know what to say. I bite my tongue and decide I don't need any more arguments tonight. Jake's friend's anger issues are the least of my worries, it's not my problem after tonight.
"Goodnight, Amara." he sighs, before driving off.
As he drives off I can't help but wonder why he was so cagey about telling me where he was from, it's not that big of a deal. If I was from Italy it would be my opening line to everybody. I dont have any interesting aspects to me like he does. I shake off the weird feeling I have and go to bed. I know tomorrow will be hectic, with my mom, and I have classes early in the morning. I fall asleep almost imediately after my head hitting the pillow, wondering what the boy from dorm room 34C has to be so defensive about.
If only I'd known.
————
I wake up suddenly to the sound of something breaking, I pry my eyes open and stand to my feet. My head is pounding and feels as though it's being drilled open from the inside out. I shuffle to the door and there she was; still drunk, leaning against the wall, standing over a broken photo-frame of us that lay on the floor, how ironic.
"Great." I sigh as I make my way back to bed. I can hear her sniffling and muffled sobs from here, but I have no sympathy left, no empathy. Deep down I know the drinking problem isn't her fault. But, relapsing was. She chose to drink, just for fun. Because she thought 'screw it' and decided she could have a 'cheat' night.
It's not like a diet. You cant gorge on chocolate cake and go back to eating greens the next day, with no consequences but a guilty conscience. We're back to square one, again. And I feel more alone than ever, especially after Jess' attitude towards me earlier today, when I really needed her.
I glance at my phone, it's 4am. I have to be awake at seven to get ready for class and I already know I'm going to be exhausted. I'm planning on leaving a little earlier than usual to avoid my mom. Sadly, I can't avoid Jess, whom I sit beside. My thoughts completely overtake my need for sleep and I find myself tossing and turning for what felt like eternity. Eventually, I fall asleep, dreading everything tomorrow has to offer. I wish I could just disappear for a few days, just until things calm down.
The nauseating sound of my alarm snaps me out of my broken sleep as I pull my pillow on top of my face, lightly screaming into it. I'm never a morning person, but especially not this morning.
I get up and shower, brush my teeth, pick out clothes—the usual monotonous routine. I decide to wear jeans and a plain black shirt, I have no energy to make any effort today, I couldn't care less. I decide to grab breakfast on my way to class to minimise the time spent in this house.
Just as I reach the door and turn the key...
"Mar?" her voice is low, husky—and full of regret.
I turn around taking in the sight of my mom, and the aftermath of last night. Hungover, shaking as the alcohol leaves her system. She can barely look at me, her eyes scan every inch of the room, besides me. I notice her gently rubbing her neck, trying to soothe the burning sensation in her throat, I assume.
"There's Advil in the kitchen, maybe it'll help your throat. Possibly even minimise the lies you seem to spout at me like they roll off your tongue effortlessly." I snap. All of the upset from last night has dissolved, leaving a fresh layer of anger, resentment.
Her eyes meet mine and I notice the glossy tears forming. Still, I have no sympathy. She brought this on herself.
I slam the door and head to my car. I decide to stop at a coffee shop a few minutes away from campus, I need something to wake me up a little, and to take my mind off of things. They sell the most amazing lemon muffins, I don't even like lemons—but these are to die for. The drive is tense as I do everything I can to draw my focus away from the events of last night. I can't help but wonder if Jake knows that his friend was my personal chauffeur during my breakdown last night.
My attention quickly falls back to Mason. I've never met someone so... strange. I can't stop myself from wanting to know more, I guess I really am nosy. But everyone would be if they met Mason, I'm sure of it. Maybe I can get some information from Jake.
As soon as I step inside of the coffee shop the smell of freshly baked food and coffee fills the air. I order a small iced latte and a muffin—before taking a seat at the table in the corner. I've never been in here this early, I'm usually too lazy to get up any earlier than I have to if I'm honest, but it's calming. I could start my day like this every day. Just as I lift my cup to take a sip I feel a warm hand on my shoulder. I flinch and turn around.
"Hey stranger. Ditching me for my best friend?" he chuckles. Jake. Which means Mason did tell him about last night, I wonder what he said...
"Of course not." I force a laugh as he takes a seat beside me.
"How did you know I was here?" I ask awkwardly.
"I dropped by your house, your mom said you'd either be here or at campus. I took a chance on here first." he explains, of course he did.
"At 8am? Why did you need to see me so early?" I furrow my brow, "Have another set of keys to drop in my bag?" my petty side adds. I've never met anyone more... weird.
"I just wanted to see you before you head to class. Do you want to do something later?" he smiles.
I hear myself squeak as I fumble for the words I'm trying to find. He's acting like we're a couple, does he think we're a couple? My eyes widen at the thought, oh shit.
Why do I feel like I have to break up with someone I went on one date with? Nothing even happened, I was almost positive we both felt the same after how uncomfortable the date was.
"Oh, alright. So... what did Mason tell you about last night?" I try to change the subject, to... another subject I really don't want to talk about. Go Amara.
Although, I really do want to know what he told him, I know he's an asshole. I can tell, but I hope that he wouldn't do that to me. He has no reason not to, besides common decency—if he has any.
"Just that you grabbed some food, after he helped you with some stuff with your mom," he raises his brow. "She needed some furniture moved?" he looks at me with narrowed eyes, as if he doesn't quite believe Mason's story.
I let out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, furniture can be pretty heavy." I laugh awkwardly. I don't know why I feel more comfortable with Mason knowing rather than Jake. It's odd, since he's been nothing but mean to me. Maybe that's why. I think I find it easier for a stranger to know my business rather than someone I actually have to interact with, it's strange how that works.
I look up from my coffee to see Jake's stare set on me, he's tapping the table with his fingers repeatedly, his face is emotionless and I can't tell what he's thinking.
"Is there anything else?" he says, his voice monotonous.
"What do you mean?" I ask, drawing my words out in confusion.
"Mason. Did anything else happen?"
I don't know how to tackle this situation, I should be direct and make sure we're both on the same page—friends. Just friends. But for some reason I'm afraid it's going to blow up in my face.
"Jake, I did enjoy our date, but-" I'm cut off by him scoffing and sitting upright in his seat. I decide to continue anyway, rip off the Jake band-aid.
"But, I only see you as a friend. We don't have a connection at all and I don't think I'm really looking for a boyfriend right now anyway. I'm sorry." I tell him nervously.
I didn't lie, I don't feel a connection, and with everything going on in my life right now I don't have room for a boyfriend, it's not fair on them. I considered using the "it's not you it's me" line, but it really wasn't, it was him.
Jake stares at me, blankly. Again. I anxiously wait for him to say something, anything.
"Ja-" he stands up and slams his fist on the table, knocking over my cup and spilling the remainder of my coffee over my jeans, before walking out. I didn't expect him to take it well, but I didn't expect him to explode either. What is it with people spilling their drinks on me? In the past 24 hours I've smelled like a brewery and a coffee shop.
As I look up all eyes are on me, Jake's outburst drew the attention of everyone in here. I stand up giving everyone a reassuring smile that I'm okay, and head to my car. The barista offered to make me another drink, on the house—but I didn't have time.
I can't believe he just switched like that, why the hell is everyone so hot and cold? Maybe him and Mason aren't so different after all, Jake just makes an effort to hide it. I don't know which is worse.
As I arrive home, the door is locked, my mom isn't home. Where she managed to go without her car is beyond me, but I don't care. I hoped she wouldn't be stupid enough to make another mistake, but I simply don't have time to worry about it. I change and head to campus, arriving late.
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