Jack walks up to me. “I will cut you off if you do that again. You almost broke the glass. I don’t need customers breaking glasses and then cutting themselves. Be careful,” he warns as he wipes off the bar.
I wipe my hand on my white button-down shirt. “I asked her to marry me earlier than I planned, because I couldn’t wait any longer. When she was away from me, I felt like a part of me was missing. We were the lucky ones. These days, not many people experience the kind of love we had. So unconditional and pure. She was kind, smart, generous, beautiful…and most of all, mine. I always wondered why I was blessed to have someone like her at my side. She had her faults, and so did I. We accepted each other with all the good things and the bad. She was the best gift I have ever received. It was Christmas morning every morning when I woke up next to her. She was my best friend and my soul mate.” I stop for a moment to catch my breath. I’m on the verge of another panic attack. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. Breathe in. Breathe out.
My fists clench even tighter. “Overnight, my life changed. Every single thing was abruptly taken away from me. I live in a dark world now where nothing turns the light back on. My life was a brightly burning candle, and then someone blew it out. Now I’m here alone, feeling like I’m in fucking quicksand. Constantly being pulled down, but I have no will to pull myself back up.”
The sound of a glass or bottle shattering on the ground brings me out of my stupor. Did I do that? I look over the bar and sigh in relief. Jack’s at the end of the bar sweeping shards of glass into a pile. I turn to the young woman, surprised to see her still staring at me. “Did I just say all of that out loud?” I rub my face.
“Yes. Do you need a tissue, or would you rather use your sleeve again?” she asks as she searches through her big bag. She finds a pack of tissues and lays it on the bar.
I grab the pack off the bar. “Thank you.” I take out a tissue and rudely blow my nose. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to be in this place. Memories come back, and I replay them in my mind like a movie. As if it wasn’t real. I can’t stop torturing myself. You picked the wrong barstool to sit on tonight. I guess you’re sorry you sat next to me.”
“Not really. You’re closer to the bartender, so I thought I could get some drinks faster.” She lifts her hand. “Two waters without ice cubes, please.”
Her joke makes me laugh…I think. Did I laugh? Smiling and laughing no longer exist in my world. I don’t remember what they feel like.
“What’s her name?” she asks softly. Her voice is smooth like silk. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or if she truly sounds like that.
“Jessica.” I turn my body a miniscule amount so I can see her better.
“Where did you meet her?” The words flow out of her mouth like a song. Almost hypnotic.
“I was beginning my first-year residency at the hospital here. It was orientation day for first-year medical students. I was given a table to answer random questions from the students. She walked up to me and smiled. We were together ever since.” I stop for a moment and close my eyes, imagining I was there right now. Reliving that moment.
“She was so beautiful…long, wavy auburn hair and hazel eyes. She was a third-year resident. I remember I couldn’t even speak right away when we first met. I was mesmerized by her beauty.” I smile at the memory. Wow, another smile. “We told our story to everyone. We planned on telling our story until we were old and gray.”
Jack brings the waters. She pushes one of the glasses in front of me. “Drink this. I think you need it after drinking your whiskeys so fast.”
I am pretty thirsty. I drink the entire glass within seconds. Cold and crisp.
She turns her body toward mine and leans her head on her hand. “Did you go to medical school here?”
“Yes. I also finished my residency here last year, in emergency care.” I stop talking because my whiskeys suddenly kick in. My head spins. I have no idea how many I have had. “I think I need to leave,” I slur. I stand up too fast and lose my balance. She jumps from her stool and grabs on to my arm and shirt. She saves me from falling on my ass. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time. One time I fell and almost broke my nose.
“Have you eaten anything in the last few hours?” she asks, sounding perturbed.
“No, because I’m not hungry.” I push away from her.
She pays Jack while she speaks to him. They turn their heads toward me. She shakes her head and walks over to me.
“Ready?” She puts my arm over her shoulders, and her arm goes around my back.
This is the closest I have been to a woman since Jessica.
Wow, she’s short. Her head comes only to my shoulders. She must be strong to be able to hold me up.
“What did Jack say to you?”
“He asked if I can handle you when you are drunk like this. Does it bother you?”
“I don’t fucking care what people say about me.” I’m such a dick. I shouldn’t be like this. She’s only trying to help me.
We walk outside, and the cool wind hits my face. It’s refreshing and wakes me up. For a second anyway. I drag my feet over to the wall near the bar entrance and lean my body and head against it. Cars speed by, causing a vibrating ring in my ears.
“Is there someone I can call to come pick you up?” she says, out of breath.
Before I can answer, she interjects, “You are damn tall and heavy. That was tough holding you up.”
“And your point would be?” I huff. “Sorry, shorty. You decided to help me. I didn’t ask for your help.” I feel like sticking my tongue out like a seven-year-old. She stares at me with a look that could kill.
“The answer to your other question. No. I don’t want my family or friends to see me like this again. I can take a cab.”
“Where would you go? Do you live alone?” She holds her hair out of her face as the cool wind kicks up.
“I live with my sister. Can you stop asking me so many questions? I can’t even see straight.” Spit shot out of my mouth when I snapped at her. She hands me another tissue. I am such a disgusting loser.
“Don’t be stupid, nasty pants. You can come with me to my place. I live right down the street. You can eat something and sober up a little bit. Then you can choose what you want to do next. Okay? I think it’s going to start raining any minute. Do you want to get stuck in a downpour? Well, then again, it might sober you up.”
The door to the bar opens, and the stench of old smoke surrounds us. I crinkle my nose. Even though this bar is smoke-free now, you can still smell old smoke seeping out of the walls.
“Who uses the phrase ‘nasty pants’? Are we in elementary school again?”
She pokes me in the chest. “I do when I’m dealing with a fucking child. Do you want to come with me, nasty pants, or should I leave you here in the pouring rain so you can throw up on the sidewalk?”
Wow, she is brave to talk to me like this.
I push her hand away and grunt in response. I have no choice but to go with her.
“Does one grunt mean yes?” She stands with her hand on her hip, waiting for an answer.
I grunt again, moving my head up and down, and shove away from the wall.
She lets out a long breath. “I guess that means yes. Put your arm over my shoulder.” Once again, I lift my arm as she puts her arm around my waist.
“Are you sure I can lean against you? You are so damn small. How can you hold me up?” She ignores me and starts to walk forward. “Which foot goes first?”
“Be quiet and let’s go. Don’t put all your weight on me. I know you’re drunk, but you need to focus and try to stand up straight so you can walk.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I widen my eyes in order to focus. Everything around me is foggy, but I try my best to see straight.
“Now left foot forward, right foot forward. Can you do— Ouch, that was my foot, nasty pants!”
“Stop calling me that! Let’s try this again. Left foot forward, right foot forward.” It’s
working now, but my feet still scrape the sidewalk. We walk in sync, but slowly. Did I just feel a raindrop?
Her long hair blows everywhere as another strong gust of wind surrounds us. It tickles my face, and a strand sticks in my mouth.
“We need to pick up the pace. I have a feeling the sky is going to open any minute now. Do you think you can do that?” she says while walking faster.
I take a deep breath. “I’ll try. But I have some of your hair in my mouth.”
She flips her hair away from me.
“Much better. I can’t promise I won’t step on your foot again. What’s your name, by the way?”
“Lisa Schmitt.”
“Linda Shits is your name? I feel sorry for you.” Hiccup. “I knew a Linda—or was it a Lisa?—once.” Hiccup.
“Let me repeat myself slowly. Liiiissaa Scchhmmiiittt.” She laughs.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Yes. You are kind of a funny, sarcastic drunk.”
“I’m only funny when I’m with someone who’s so little.” Hiccup.
“I’m not that short. I’m five foot three. People call me petite or short, not little. Great things come in small packages. Didn’t you ever hear that before? I can’t help it you are so damn tall.” She digs her fingers into my side. “Anyway, what’s your name? Do you remember who you are?”
“Look who the sarcastic one is now,” I say as I dig my fingers into her shoulder.
“It hurts when you do that. Control your strength, big guy. I wouldn’t be so wet if you weren’t walking so slow. I’m surprised you can even speak rationally. The rain seems to help you.”
People snicker as they walk past us. It must look funny when a short, skinny girl is holding up a big guy on the street when it’s pouring. I hear someone on the street yell, “Drink another one, buddy.”
“Again, what’s your name?” She says it slower, as if I don’t understand her.
Pulsing rain bounces off the sidewalk. “My name is James. James Kramer,” I say as the rain streams down my face. I’m still leaning on her, but I swear her fingers dig into my side even more when she hears my name. “What the hell are you pinching me for?” I’m too tired and wet to focus or really care.
We walk longer than I thought we would. “Are we almost there yet? I’m soaking wet! I thought you live close by.”
“Stop your complaining. We’re almost there. We’ve been walking for maybe five minutes. Don’t forget I’m also soaked. Get a pep in your step, and maybe we will get there faster.”
She guides me to the left, and I see an apartment door with the number one on it. I hear her keys jingle when she opens it. She flips a switch, and a muted ceiling light blinks on. We enter directly into a cramped kitchen area. It has a table with two chairs, light-colored wooden cabinets, and a small countertop to the right. To the left is a narrow room with a washer and dryer. The smell of fabric softener wafts through the air.
“It’s pretty dark in here, even with the light on.”
“One of the lightbulbs in the ceiling lamp blew out. I haven’t had the time to change it. I usually call the landlord to change it since I can’t reach the ceiling. I don’t have a ladder.”
She puts her bag and keys on the counter. “I’m going to change my clothes. Stand there or sit at the table while I get you a towel,” she orders. “Oh, can you please take your shoes off so you don’t track dirt on the carpet?”
I grab one of the chairs and sit down. A sense of déjà vu hits me. This place seems strangely familiar. My eyes roam around the kitchen. While I try to focus, I can tell it’s organized. No dirty dishes are on the counter, the appliances are all neatly placed and sparkling. Almost like no one uses the kitchen.
“Here’s a towel to dry off.” She hands it to me, and I immediately dry my face and hair. She’s changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt. I kick off my shoes and leave them on the kitchen floor.
I stand up, holding on to the table. My balance is returning, but my vision is still foggy. “I need to shake the weasel.”
She takes a step to the side and stifles a laugh. “Even though you’re funny, I hope you don’t talk like this when you’re sober or talking to your patients.”
Little does she know…I’m not practicing anymore.
She dries her hair with a towel. “You can use the bathroom if you want. Once you’re done, go lie on the sofa.” She points to the sofa with her thumb.
“I may be drunk, but I know what a sofa looks like,” I snarl.
“I’ll ignore your rudeness. I’ll bring you a glass of water and something to eat.”
She opens and closes the cabinets. I stumble into the living room, where I see three closed white doors. Two straight ahead and one to the left wall of the living room. I didn’t see where she went to get the towels. I shuffle my feet along the light-green carpet to the one door straight ahead on the left. I peek my head in. Nope, not a bathroom. From what I can see from the light pouring through the window from the streetlights, this is a bedroom. I pull myself out of the room because I’m going to piss myself if I don’t find a toilet.
I close the bedroom door and proceed to the one on the left. I walk with my head and shoulders hanging down. Forgetting the door is closed, I walk right into it. I bang my forehead hard and loud. My hand goes immediately to my head. Fuck! Can I humiliate myself any more tonight? I look over my shoulder to see if she saw me. It appears she didn’t. Her back is facing me. I take a deep breath and open the door. Thank God! There’s the toilet.
The bathroom is extremely narrow. I lay the towel on the sink. I could piss and wash my hands at the same time if I wanted to. As I relieve myself, I hold on to the counter with one hand so I don’t lose my balance.
I flush the toilet and turn to the sink. I squint my eyes and look around. I feel like an old man without his glasses. This is definitely a girl’s bathroom. It’s tidy, with lots of girly things. Perfectly folded light-green and powder-blue towels hang on the towel rack. The walls are painted the same color green as the towels. A powder-blue candle sits on the back of the toilet, near the shower. Three bottles of perfume, makeup, and a jumbo bottle of hand sanitizer sit on the sink countertop. I thought I was the only one who has that in the bathroom. I pick up one of the perfumes and hold the bottle near my nose. I accidentally spray it on my chin. Shit! Now I smell like fresh powder and vanilla. She will smell it on me when I leave the bathroom.
I bend over the sink and rinse my face to lessen the smell and wake me up. When I finish drying my face, I see my reflection in the mirror. Only it’s not me. The person I’m staring at has dirty, messy brown hair, dark circles under his dull, blood-shot green eyes, and a pale face. He hasn’t shaved in days. He has a red bump on his forehead from running into the door. This is what my life has become.
This man is a stranger to me. I don’t recognize myself anymore because I’m no longer complete. My sister describes me as an asshole living in an empty shell. What does she expect when my better half was ripped away from me? The old version of myself is gone and perhaps never coming back. I’m disgusted looking at my reflection. I take the towel and quickly exit the bathroom.
Ahh, there’s the sofa. It looks so welcoming with those big green and blue pillows on it. What is the obsession with these colors? The sofa is inviting but maybe a little bit small for me. I don’t care. I will lie on anything. I’ll stay here for a minute and then leave. I don’t even know this woman.
I’ve just fallen back onto the sofa, when I hear, “Wait! Your clothes are soaking wet. Please, dry off before you lay all over the sofa.”
“Lay all over your sofa? I’m not a wet dog.” I stand up and start to pull off my shirt.
“What are you doing?” she asks nervously, her eyes darting in every direction.
“I’m soaking wet. Unless you have a magic trick that will make me dry, I need to take my damn shirt off. I think we have seen worse things. Do you have a clothes dryer?” Of course she does. I saw it when I came in.
“Fine. Do what you want. Yes, I have a dryer.” She turns away, as if she’s searching for something.
What’s her problem? I finally get the shirt off and proceed to dry my arms, shoulders, and chest.
“Am I dry enough now? I will not take my pants off, just so you know. Unless you have another pair of sweatpants. Yours seem pretty long on you, so maybe they’ll be long enough for me.”
“Is that another short—” She turns around and freezes. Her eyes grow wide, and just now I notice how blue they are. I watch her eyes move up and down my body.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I look down to see if something is hanging out of my pants, like my junk or toilet paper.
“It’s not an everyday occurrence for me to have a half-naked male stranger in my living room,” she says as she tosses a towel on the couch for me to lie on. She moves closer and takes my hand, dropping two pills into it. Her hands are shaking. “Take these, please. I put a glass of water and a bowl of pretzels on the coffee table. Try to get some food in your stomach. I’ll go put your shirt in the dryer.” She turns away but stops. “Why does it smell like my perfume? Did you spray one of my perfumes in the bathroom?”
My eyes shoot wide open. I need to change the subject. “Wait. You didn’t answer my question. Do you have another pair of sweatpants? My pants are soaked. Or would it be a problem for you if I wear only my boxers?” She stands there, rubbing her finger on her chin.
“Give me a second.” She disappears into one of the rooms connected to the living room.
That was a close one. I don’t want her to think I’m a psycho.
A few seconds later she comes out with another pair of sweats. “Here, try these on. They might be too short, but they’re dry.”
“They are fucking hot pink! You only have pink sweats to give me? That’s just cruel.”
She covers her mouth to hold back her laughter. “Sorry. The others are in the laundry. It’s either these or your wet khakis? Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Lives Collide (Collide #1) Page 8
