The Darkest Hour: A San Diegan Novel

by S. M. Soto

  Breath Aliza, breathe, I chide myself.

  “Ma’am, do you want to be seated at a table or the bar?” An older Mexican woman asks. My sudden fog clears at the sound of her voice and I’m able to breathe almost regularly again.

  “Bar,” I rasp out through the tight lump lodged in my throat. She smiles sweetly with a swift nod before gesturing toward the bar so I can look for an empty seat. I hastily wipe the tears off my face, needing something to dull the ache of this pain. My feet falter slightly, the closer I get to the bar.

  “What am I doing?” I ask myself.

  This is by no means a usual thing for me. I don’t drink. Ever.

  But right now, drowning all my pain and sorrows with a few shots and maybe a margarita doesn’t sound so bad.

  I timidly take a seat on the closest, empty bar stool, near the front of the bar unsure of how to proceed. Do I call out my drink order or do they just magically notice you’re there? A young Latin man tending the bar who is no more than twenty-three years old, turns my way holding his finger up to let me know he’ll be right with me. I let out a relieved sigh gripping the locket that’s around my neck in a tight grasp. I haven’t taken it off in three years, nor do I ever intend to. It was my mother’s. She wore it everyday without fail; I like to think wearing her necklace draws us closer together now that she’s gone. I absentmindedly rub my finger along the heart shaped pendent.

  “What can I get you?” The guy asks behind the bar. He’s tall and well built, with mocha colored skin, and the friendliest smile setting my frayed nerves at ease. His nametag reads Fabian, and I’m surprised by how much the name suits him.

  “Can I get a margarita and a few shots?” My voice is quiet, sounding a little unsure.

  “What kind of margarita do you want?” He asks as his eyes rake me up and down from across the ledge. He reaches below the bar pulling out a menu filled with alcoholic drinks and hands it to me, our fingers graze and I can’t help but wonder if that was his intention.

  I flip through the laminated pages, stopping on the margaritas. The flavors range from lime, to strawberry, and even mango. Still feeling out of my element I point to the strawberry margarita and hand the menu back over to him thinking I’m done.

  “Top or bottom shelf tequila?” He raises his thick brows in question and I shrug my shoulders looking at the shelves illuminated behind him.

  “What’s the difference?”

  They all look the same from where I’m sitting. He must read the confusion on my face because he chuckles, filling in the blanks for me.

  “Top shelf is the best of the best. It goes down smooth and has the best taste, while the bottom shelf is a lot cheaper and it’s not a hundred percent blue agave.” He steps away grabbing two glass bottles of gold liquid. Both bottles have intricate designs with Spanish names emblazed on the labels.

  “Don Julio is top shelf.” He gestures to the bottle in his left hand with a jerk of his chin, the muscles in his arms tense with each of his movements. “And Jose Cuervo is bottom shelf,” he says raising the bottle in his right hand.

  “I’m guessing the top shelf is a helluva lot more expensive than the bottom shelf?” I ask, just looking at the display and design of the bottles I can tell which is more expensive. Fabian laughs, revealing a lone dimple in his cheek.

  “Smart and pretty.” He winks at me. Under normal circumstances I might’ve blushed at his brazen flirting but not now. The whole reason I’m here, in a new city, about to drown my sorrows in liquor still weighs heavy on me. I’m here to escape the pain—nothing more nothing less. I push those thoughts away telling him I’ll take whatever’s on the bottom shelf.

  “You got it, but first I’ll need to see some ID,” he says with a patient smile. Reaching into my bag I sift through its contents pulling out my wallet that shows my ID. He looks it over and a fleeting look of surprise flashes across his features. It’s the same look I always get from people when they find out my age. I’ve always looked a lot younger than I really am. It used to bother me when I was younger, but not anymore.

  “I know I sort of look like a fifteen-year-old girl without makeup but I promise you the ID’s not fake.” I joke.

  “Ahhh, you’re beautiful without makeup, you don’t even need it,” he says with a little smirk and another wink.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s flirting with me now, but instead of feeling giddy at his comment, I feel…nothing. I should be happy that anyone even finds me remotely attractive anymore, because I sure as hell don’t. What really bothers me is the fact that I have no immediate attraction to him. He does absolutely nothing for me, which only makes me feel worse about myself.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  He’s obviously good looking, seems like a decent guy, so why don’t I feel anything?

  He slaps his hand on the table jolting me out of my thoughts, and turns away to make my drink. I pull out a twenty from my purse and place it on the bar top, leaning back on the bar stool I wait for my drink. The lingering pain that’s always there is slowly starting to build back up into another panic attack. It easily creeps back in without any conversation to keep my brain preoccupied. Fabian slides the shots across the bar to me, and I down two of them back to back, immediately regretting it. The shot immediately burns my throat—like liquid fire. The warmth glides down my esophagus and into my stomach like a ball of hot coal. I have to physically restrain myself from gagging at the taste. Warm tingles travel from my stomach throughout my limbs, effectively heating my body. The tips of my fingers to my toes buzz as the warmth continues to flow through me in waves. I inhale deep breaths to prevent myself from throwing up the shots I downed. The numbness hits me immediately giving me a head change.

  Steadying myself on the bar stool; I place a hand on the bar for support. I sip my margarita in silence and people watch the patrons of the restaurant. The waiters scurry back and forth from the kitchen to the dining area, taking and bringing orders. The restaurant folk talk animatedly at their tables without a care in the world. The noise in the restaurant sounds like each person is trying to talk louder than the last, it’s almost deafening. Like a dull roar of a cafeteria. I take another large sip of my margarita and the tingling sensation throughout my limbs starts to intensify, the numbness now courses through my veins. My body doesn’t feel like my own, it’s lighter, and buzzing with a feeling I can’t explain. All I want to do is forget, just for one night I want to forget everything I’ve lost, and the guilt I harbor because of it every day.

  Please, just let me forget.

  Chapter Seven

  Three shots of tequila and a margarita later I’m drunk off my ass trying to play it cool and failing miserably. Not having any food in my stomach certainly didn’t help matters. It’s funny. I came here for food and instead I’m now completely drunk. Classy Aliza, real classy, I scold myself.

  After leaving the restaurant with the patrons giving me disapproving looks I now find myself walking along the street with no sense of direction and not a care in the world. My vision blur’s every so often but I continue walking not caring. I clumsily pull my phone out of my purse and check the time. My eyes struggle to focus on the blurring numbers in bold on my screen. I squint to focus and finally read the numbers. It’s a little after seven, I think, and I have no clue what to do with myself.

  Somehow, I gravitate toward the beach without taking into consideration that the sun is already setting. I’ll probably be kicked off sooner or later by a lifeguard or something.

  They have lifeguards at beaches, right? Well, whatever.

  I’ve yet to see any beaches here, so today is the beach’s lucky day, or my lucky day. Did that even make sense? Fuck, I’m so drunk.

  The strong So-Cal breeze whips my blonde hair around my face making me shiver despite how warm my body feels right now.

  I sigh in relief when the beach comes into view before me. The broad body of blue gets larger with each step I take, and I can’t stop the smi
le that spreads across my face when I hear the waves crashing against each other.

  “Wow.” I breathe in awe. “It’s so beautiful.”

  My feet sink into the mounds of golden sand with each step I take. I plop down ungracefully in the sand and spend some time just sitting around watching families start to pack up their belongings and leave.

  My eyes are drawn to my feet that are burrowed beneath the warm sand. I pull them out slowly and watch as the small grains slide between the crevices of my toes, and glide off my feet all together. I do it over, and over again, burrowing my pale feet in the sand letting every grain run through my toes until my jumbled brain gets tired of watching the same thing. I tilt my head back and stare up into the sky, and watch as it changes colors as the day slowly turns into night. A thick blanket of gray clouds rolls in from out of nowhere blocking the beauty of the setting sun. Of course, the one time I ever go to the beach it looks like a storm is about to hit. Fan-fucking-tastic.

  My eyes scan the remainder of the beach, momentarily stopping on the empty walkway leading into the water. It looks like a boardwalk, just a concrete sturdy version. I stumble to a stand on wobbly legs, shaking all the sand off me. My deliciously numb reprieve is beginning to fade, but my body still feels alien, not yet connecting with my brain. Thoughts of my family slowly seep in through the fading numbness taking over my brain like the plague. My feet sink into the sand and I stumble walking toward the concrete boardwalk, leaving my purse behind. My eyes scan around the beach briefly, the area is now deserted. Most families have already packed up, with just a few stragglers left—the beach now looks barren giving off an eerie vibe.

  I walk along the boardwalk and listen closely to the sounds of the ocean waves lapping against each other and crashing against the thick posts beneath me. The wind picks up speed, whipping my hair around my face wildly, and my sundress swaying against my legs viciously. Leaning over the railing my eyes scan the water below me. I take note that the tide is getting higher, and tell myself I have another hour or so before the waves get too wild. I stare at the horizon, focusing on the color scheme of the deep blue ocean against the backdrop of the gloomy gray sky. It’s funny because I thought the weather here was always sunny, but boy was I wrong. Maybe the darkness that I can’t escape just follows me everywhere. Like a looming reminder.

  I close my eyes inhaling a deep breath—the faintest scent of rain infiltrates my senses. I tip my head back and stare up at the dark gray storm clouds hovering overhead, alerting of rain. The mist from the ocean breeze kisses every inch of exposed skin causing goosebumps to pebble over me. Looking around, I now feel like the only person left on earth. The beach is vacant—not a soul in sight. The lack of sun and the gray sky give off a somber look. I guess I was wrong about lifeguards after all. Who knew?

  Turning my head back around I focus on the endless body of water before me. From afar the water looked turquoise with gold shinning off the waves from the sun, but now it looks black with looming gray clouds hovering overhead. A shiver wracks my body from head to toe, the wind bites against my skin, like dry ice now that the alcohol has left my system. My heart freezes mid beat in my chest when I swear I hear something akin to a giggle. The sound is familiar—too familiar. That precious laugh that I’ve missed so much, rings loudly in my ears the harder I strain to hear it. My breath comes out in short bursts and my body feels weak with the need to see her. My heart collapses in my chest as pain washes over me.

  I frantically swivel my head around in every direction seeing no one. My legs take shaky, un-sturdy steps closer to the sound of the laugh, trying to hear it more clearly. Just when I think I’m getting closer, I hear it whispered somewhere behind me, tailing off in the breeze. I spin around with a heaving chest looking for the source only to come up empty handed. The deserted beach and my lonely soul are all that’s here, instead. I run a frustrated hand through my hair and tug on it relishing in the pain shooting throughout my scalp. Tears well in my eyes and a helpless sob lodges in my throat.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Squeezing my eyes shut tightly I will the taunting laughter to fade but it only gets closer—like an echo in my ear that gets louder and louder. The dull pain in my chest roars to life and cool sweat seeps out of my pores.

  I need to find her.

  My unsteady legs move further down the boardwalk, knocking all the air out of me when I hear it again, loud and clear—no mistaking it. I stumble, picking up my pace, heart thrashing in my chest, adrenaline pumping through my body the closer I get to the railing. My sandals slap against the concrete with each pound of my feet; panting out short breaths I swallow the tears, and ignore the stabbing in my heart.

  As I get to the very edge her precious laugh ceases, halting me in my tracks. Huffing, trying to catch my breath, I’m doused in silence. I glance behind me toward the shore line—a good fifteen feet away, the ocean water drowns the sand without apology. Slowly turning back around, my eyes train on the large body of water laid out in front of me. The ocean waves remind me of little sculptures. Each wave crashes against the other forming a new sculpture. It’s riveting just watching nature do what it does best. My silent reprieve is broken when laughter suddenly rings loudly in my ears again, causing me to press my hands tightly over my ears to block it out. I shake my head back and forth trying to shake it away–willing her laughter to fade.

  It’s not real.

  Please, be quiet.

  Just stop. Please, stop!

  I battle with myself and the loud mocking laughter in my head. With no other escape, I swiftly kick off my sandals and grip the sturdy cement post, I swing my legs over the railing effectively climbing onto the other side. With my heart lodged in my throat, one hand tightens on the post and the other grips the railing. Without giving it a second thought, I push off the balls of my feet and let go of the railing diving into the cool ocean water.

  Upon impact, the cold water is like an electric shock travelling through my otherwise warm body. Gliding further under the water, I continue blowing air out through my nose, the heavy pressure above me has me begging to come up for air, but I tamp it down. I’m not used to swimming of any kind, so staying underwater for a long period is out of the question. I kick my legs and stroke my arms as fast and as hard as I can, fleeing the sound of her giggling that keeps circling through my head on repeat—haunting me. Just putting a face to the laughter is enough to make me want to rip my aching heart out of my chest.

  I’m reminded of a sweet little blonde girl, and everyone else I’ve lost, the never-ending pain rears its ugly head threatening to drag me down. I push my legs and arms to pump even faster trying to fight against the darkness that always consumes me. I just want the pain to stop.

  Make it stop, Aliza, just make it stop.

  A searing ache in my chest thrives with the need to breathe in fresh air. I force my now tired limbs to swim toward the surface. It takes me longer than it should to tread through the water but I eventually get there gasping for much needed fresh air. Shivers vigorously wrack my body, and my mouth quivers from the ice-cold water. Taking a deep breath of air into my lungs, I cough and wheeze whilst scanning my surroundings.

  My stomach drops.

  The boardwalk is now a distant figure. In my attempt to swim past her laughter, I’ve drifted too far out. The shore is so far away now that I can barely see it without squinting my hazy eyes. Which means no one can see me; I probably look like a small ant to someone on shore.

  Fuck me.

  It’s then I realize just how strong waves are. Not used to dealing with waves and undercurrents, I’m feeling way out of my element. My heartbeat picks up, like the frantic thrumming wings of a caged bird, and I begin to panic. I’m struggling to stay afloat as each wave jostles me further and further away from where I need to be. My now heavy limbs are screaming at me with exhaustion, begging for a break.

  A fat droplet of water splashes on the side of my cheek, startling me, then another, until
it’s pouring down rain on me. The thick sheet of rain obscures my vision, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The pelting of rain, my heavy breaths and arms wading through the water are all that can be heard. I urge my limbs to wade back to the safe sand on the beach where I should’ve just stayed. I debate swimming to the boardwalk but know deep down there’s no way I’ll be able to climb up. Jumping off is one thing, but climbing up with next to no strength at all is impossible. The shoreline will just have to do.

  I tread through the water as best as I can, staving the cold off, making good progress until suddenly, a large wave crashes down over me stealing all the breath from my lungs on impact. My body is violently jostled like a rag doll under water, the force so strong I’m momentarily dazed, suspended in the water. The muted sound of movement in the ocean, and the pelting rain above the surface brings me no comfort. Coming to, I mistakenly gasp sucking in a gulp of salt water. My throat and lungs scream in pain as if they are on fire.

  The once cute sun dress feels like it weighs over a hundred pounds under the water, hindering my ability to swim back to the surface. I try in vain to resurface for another settling breath but another wave crashes over me, effectively knocking me under. I thrash my legs and arms wildly, hoping to resurface; my lack of oxygen intensifying my panicked flailing limbs. Peeling my eyes open under the water, all I can make out is hazy darkness. I squeeze my eyes closed against the burning sensation of the salt water. My panic starts taking over my rational sense to survive.

  Survive, Aliza. You must fight if you’re going to survive.

  The need to come up for air is excruciating. It feels like there’s a heavy blanket draped over me, hindering my ability to breathe—the weight is crushing. My heart races furiously in my chest, all the while I struggle to make my way up to the surface for a breath. Completely out of air, I unwillingly take a deep breath and icy, cold water floods in filling my lungs. My throat burns like thousands of needles are being plunged into it. They scream for fresh air. An unexplainable pressure begins to form in my chest, almost like it’s about to burst from the pressure. I desperately claw at the water, praying I’ll reach the surface, but don’t feel like I’m going anywhere. Every time I think I can resurface a wave crashes down on me, hurtling me further and further down into the water.