by L. M. Reid
I don’t need her well intentioned reminders. Okay, maybe I need them, but I sure as hell don’t want them. I know my schedule and I know what I should be doing, I just don’t give a damn about any of it right now.
“I’m worried about you, Chloe.”
I know she is. I can hear it in her voice every time we talk. I can see it in her eyes every time she looks at me. Sympathy, pity, concern. And I’m so fucking sick of it. I’m so sick of the way people look at me and try to coddle me.
“Well, stop. I’m fine.”
I’m not fine. I tried to be, but I’m not. I haven’t been and I’m pretty sure I will never be again. I just lost my sister, my best friend. I’m doing what I can to get by. What the hell do people want from me?
“You skip class, you’re always going out…”
“I know what I’m doing, Nat. Why do you feel the need to reiterate it to me?”
“Because I care. I know you’re hurting…”
“You don’t know anything,” I tell her. “I’m living life. You should try it.”
“No, what you’re doing is acting completely out of control.”
The kid gloves she typically uses with me have come off. There’s a harshness to her tone that she’s never used with me before, especially not since Sierra died. She really must be sick of my shit, otherwise she would have just told me to fuck off and left it at that. There’s no sense in arguing with her, so I save my breath and don’t further aggravate the situation by responding. Let’s face it, she is going to think what she wants no matter what I say.
“Stay in with me. We can watch movies, or…”
“I’m going out,” I repeat. “You can come with or you can stay here. Your choice.”
“I can’t. I will not just sit by and watch you self-destruct anymore,” she tells me. “If you want to go – go. Don’t expect me to pick up the pieces though.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I tell her as I grab my bag. Standing at the door I turn around to look at her one last time. There are tears in her eyes. I hate that I’m the one that put them there, but right now I hate how alone and sad I feel more. I know she doesn’t understand, I just need to not feel. “I’m sorry.”
I close the door behind me and make my way to the bar.
***
I’m not really sure how much I’ve had, but it’s enough that I am now officially unsteady on my feet as I twirl around the dance floor. Alcohol strong enough to dull the pain, music loud enough to drown out the voices in my head - including Nat’s - which are telling me that maybe she is right. Maybe I am out of control.
What does it matter though? Life is too short to worry and study and do things that you don’t enjoy. Just like Sierra, it can all be gone in a minute, then what? What are you left with?
Nothing.
I was left with nothing. No sister, just a big empty void in my heart. It’s a void that I fully intend on filling with alcohol to dull the ache it leaves me with, especially after a day like today. From the moment I woke up, everything reminded me of Sierra: the sun, the grass, the damn coffee I drank. Every step I took – hurt. Every thought I had was overtaken by memories of her. Like a damn freight train, I was hit with her loss and the feeling of emptiness, sadness. I could barely catch my breath thanks to the lump that formed in my throat and the tightness in my chest.
That’s when I got dressed. I put on the short black dress and my red heels and decided to live a little and come to the bar. That is why I am standing at the bar on unsteady feet needing another drink.
No amount seems to be helping today. The alcohol is affecting my sobriety but not an ounce of the pain.
Standing at the bar, I smile at the bartender and try desperately not to slur my words. “Whiskey,” I tell him, keeping it short and sweet.
He nods and turns to get my drink.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” a deep voice says next to me.
I look in the direction of the voice, the man standing there strikingly handsome. I lose myself in his chocolate brown eyes, the ones that are filled with a mixture of amusement and concern. Hot or not, he’s interfering in my life, and I have had it with people doing that.
“I don’t really give a damn what you think,” I reply.
The bartender sets it in front of me, but before I can reach it, the man next to me snatches it away.
“Hey,” I exclaim in protest.
“I think you’ve had enough, Sweetheart.” His voice is deep, his tone calm and even but it still it sends a chill down my spine. I’m not sure if I should be scared of him or turned on by him. I’m drunk enough to not put too much thought into it. Instead, I focus on the one thing that I do know I want – my drink.
I poke my finger into his hard chest as I stumble forward. “I am not your Sweetheart. And that is not your drink. It’s mine. Hand it over.”
“This drink?” he says dangling it in front of me like a carrot before a horse. As I reach for it, he retracts his hand and brings the glass to his lips, downing every last drop.
“You asshole,” I shout at him.
His lips turn up in a smirk that sets my body on fire despite the fact that he just made himself my enemy. I can’t help but notice his lips. How very kissable they are. Not to mention how they just drank my whiskey. Overcome with temptation, I decide that if he wants to take what’s mine, then I’ll just take what’s his.
Moving onto my toes, I reach my arms around his neck and press my lips to his. I was right, his lips are amazing. And so is the whiskey that I can taste on them. One of his hands comes to rest on my waist, his other moves behind my neck. For a moment he kisses me back, but then just as quickly, his hand pulls my head back tearing my lips from his.
“Why don’t you let me take you home,” the man says.
After that kiss, I’m admittedly tempted. But he stole my drink. So the answer is most certainly no. His hand is still on my waist, holding me steady. “There is no amount of alcohol in the world that would get me to go home with you,” I say, though I’m not sure that my body would agree.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you would go willingly, even without alcohol, but that’s not what I’m suggesting.”
“You are such an arrogant bastard. I wouldn’t go anywhere with you.”
“That kiss says otherwise.”
I turn back to the bar and flag down the bartender to order another drink. His eyes glance past me before meeting mine. “Sorry, you’re done for tonight.”
The man next to me, the one who stole my drink, stands there looking a little too pleased with himself. Fuck him. Fuck the bartender too. I’ll just get my own drink. Leaning over the bar I reach for the closest bottle to me and grab it. The moment it nears my lips, a strong hand wraps around my wrist to stop me while another hand takes the bottle from me. My hands reach for the bottle as I struggle with him for it. He’s too big and too powerful, so when I realize that I won’t win this fight, I start to pound on his chest. I’m yelling and screaming, but even I don’t know about what anymore. Finally, the stranger manages to capture my wrists in his hands.
“Stop,” he tells me. His voice is still calm and even, despite the utter chaos in mine.
I don’t owe this man anything. So rather than listen to him, I continue to struggle against him, fighting him for my freedom and for my drink. My eyes fixate on the man and the fact that he’s moving. He seems to be squatting down, bending maybe? What the…
His arms wrap around my legs as he throws me over his shoulder. My hands are still fisted as I hit his back. He ignores the beating, making his way through the bar and out the exit. Walking a few more feet he deposits me on a grassy area.
“You can’t do that. You can’t just grab me like that,” I yell at him.
“I can and I did. You need to calm down,” he says.
“You need to mind your own business,” I say as I attempt to stand. The fresh air making the alcohol hit me even harder than it had before, I fall and land on my as
s again. The world starts to spin and this unknown man, the one that I’ve taken every bit of anger I’ve ever felt on, squats down next to me. For a second time I find myself lost in his eyes again. Where I expect to find anger, I see concern. And for whatever reason, the concern from him doesn’t nearly feel as intrusive as it does from everyone else.
“It’s going to be okay,” he tells me.
“No, it isn’t.” I shake my head, tears falling down my cheeks.
His arms wrap around me and he just sits there, holding me.
“I know it feels like that, but I promise you, it will.” His voice is soft and comforting.
“Griff,” a shrill and demanding voice rings out. The man turns his head to the woman standing just a few feet from us. Her hands are on her hips, and she looks impatient. And gorgeous. She’s the complete opposite of the utter fucking mess I am at the moment. For that alone, I hate her. And because he’s with her? I hate him.
“Go,” I tell him.
“I can…” he begins, but I cut him off.
“You can get lost, that’s what you can do.”
He shakes his head and stands. “I called an Uber for you. They’ll be here in a minute.”
As he walks away, I want nothing more to call him back, to feel the solace that his embrace was giving me. When I look up though, his arm is around her despite the fact that his eyes are glued on me. Luckily, the Uber he mentioned pulls up. I take a deep breath before forcing myself to my feet. I steady myself and walk slowly to the car.
“Dayton University, Jensen Hall,” I say before everything goes black.
4
Chloe
There is a persistent ache through my entire head as I attempt to open my eyes. The further I open them, the more intense the pain is making me instantly regret whatever decisions I made last night. Namely the one to drink. I think I’m going to be sick, but I’m not sure and frankly, I hurt too much to move.
“Morning, Sunshine.” Nat’s voice is loud, and I’m not sure if it’s due to the pounding in my head, or because she’s doing it purposely.
I pull the pillow over my aching head and bury myself into the bed.
“Your exam started thirty minutes ago,” she informs me.
Fuck. I meant to go to that. Why didn’t she wake me up? And why is she still yelling at me?
My mind is foggy thanks to the amount of alcohol I consumed. I don’t remember much, just a few tidbits here and there: the bar, the whiskey. A man? Chocolate brown eyes?
I look behind me to ensure that I didn’t bring anyone home with me, and I’m grateful to find my bed empty. I push myself to sit up, and I feel more pain. I look down at the bruised flesh, my ass is stinging as well.
“What the hell happened last night?” I ask Nat, even though I recall that she wasn’t with me.
“You seriously don’t remember? Of course, you wouldn’t, you were obliterated last night. I’m surprised you’re still alive,” she shouts the last sentence.
She’s pissed, I get it. Does she have to keep yelling at me though? It’s not helping matters any.
“Just tell me,” I say flatly. I lie back down, the room spinning around me.
“You drank, too much. Luckily some guy got you a ride home.”
My drink. The guy took my drink. He was an arrogant douche. Pieces of the night slowly seep in. He’s the one with chocolate brown eyes. He’s the one that picked me up and dropped me outside. Then he held me. At least for a moment; until his perfect date showed up.
“I met this guy…”
“Your parents are on their way.”
Her words sober me. My current condition aside, I jolt up in the bed.
“What did you do Nat?”
She looks at me incredulously. “What did I do? I did the only thing I could think to do. I called your parents.”
How could she have done this? They have enough to deal with. They don’t need to deal with this too.
“Damn it, Nat,” I scold as I scramble out of bed. “How could you be so thoughtless?”
“Thoughtless? Are you fucking kidding me, Chloe? I have been doing nothing but being thoughtful and trying to be a good friend to you the past month. But last night was the last straw. You’re self-destructing. I can’t just stand by and let that happen.”
I pull on a pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt trying to make myself look remotely presentable. “When are they going to be here?”
“They’re twenty minutes away,” she says softly.
Twenty minutes?
I glance around the dorm room. Nat’s side is pristine as always, though thanks to me and my mess, it smells like a liquor bottle in here. My clothes are scattered everywhere, my textbooks lie in the corner looking very unopened, because they are. Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror I see the mascara streaked across my face, bloodshot eyes, and exhaustion.
Shit, shit, shit.
This is the last thing my parents need to deal with. Thanks to Nat though, they don’t have much choice now.
“I hate you.” I spew out the vile words at her. I only half mean them. I hate that she called my parents, and I hate that she’s right – I am out of control. But I don’t hate her. It’s just easier to focus my anger on her than the person who actually deserves it – me. Or at least it is until I look at her and see the tears in her eyes.
What the hell have I done? Who have I become?
I sink to the floor as my whole world spins around me. Any attempts to make myself presentable are long forgotten. I’m a mess and I can’t even attempt to hide it anymore. Nat sits next to me on the floor and I rest my head on her shoulder.
My parents arrive minutes later with unwavering love in their eyes.
The walls finally give way and cave in on me. A floodgate opens and I can’t stop it anymore. My parents wrap their arms around me as Nat stands off to the side.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for everything,” I manage to say between sobs.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” my mom tells me, but I know that’s not true. She’s giving me a pass, one that I don’t deserve. “We’re the ones that are sorry. We should have seen how much you were hurting, that you weren’t ready to be back yet.”
Why are they apologizing to me when I’m the one that screwed everything up? I’m the one that is falling apart. Now here they are, having to help me when I should be the one helping them.
After my hangover subsided slightly, my parents and I went to lunch. I’m sitting at the table next to my mother who is intent on coddling me despite the fact that I don’t deserve it. My father is across from me. And while he looks concerned, there is also a sternness in the look he’s giving me.
“I think it’s best if you come home,” he tells me.
I already knew the words were coming, but I hate hearing them. The thing is, I don’t want to go back home. I don’t want to wallow in the memories of Sierra. It’s exactly what I’ve been trying to escape. And if I’m having a hard time doing it here, trying to do it at home will only make it that much worse.
“I don’t want to go home,” I say. “I want to be here, I just…” Just what Chloe? Acted like an ass? Almost threw everything away? I did all that. But I would be doing the same thing if I were home.
“Then what Chloe? What’s the solution here? Because I can’t let you continue on this path,” he says matter-of-factly.
Seeing what I’ve done to myself, how I’ve hurt the people I love, I completely agree with him. I can’t keep going like this. I just don’t think going home is going to make a difference. No, more than anything I feel like it’s giving me an out. I don’t want that. I want to get better.
For the first time in weeks I have some clarity. Thing is, I don’t know what the right course of action is to get back on track.
“What if I… go to counseling? Get a job? I think keeping busy might help.”
“I don’t want you working and having it interfere with your schoolwork,” my mother says.
> As if my schoolwork hasn’t tanked so far this semester as it is. I’ll be lucky if I can pull myself out of it.
“It won’t,” I promise. “I just don’t think that taking responsibility away from me is going to help me, well, act more responsible. Please let me try. I want to do better; I want to get better.”
My parents share a look. It’s long enough that I feel like they are actually able to converse through it.
“Nat is going to have to keep tabs on you,” my father says. I scoff. She’ll love that. “And you’re going to have to check in everyday.”
“You got it,” I say.
“And you can’t hold these things in,” my mother tells me. “I know you’re trying to protect us, but honey, no matter what we’re going through, we’re always here for you.”
“I know, Mom,” I tell her taking her hand in mine and squeezing it.
For the first time since Sierra died, I feel a sense of peace. Or at least, the beginnings of it.
5
Chloe
“What’s on the agenda for today?” my mom asks.
It’s ten in the morning. Time for our daily check in.
“I’m on my way to class now. Then I have a session with my therapist. And then there is an open call for bartenders at this club. I thought it would be a fun job. Not too many hours, fast paced, and good money,” I tell her.
I’m really excited about the job, and it’s not just the money. I had loved tending bar at my dad’s place last summer. And this club? Lust? It brings bartending to a whole new level. High volume, high class, rich and sexy clientele. It’s a far cry from my dad’s corner bar which is simultaneously a good thing and a bad thing.
“Sounds like a busy day,” she comments.
“It is.” Busy enough that I need to get off the phone and get to class. I have plenty of work I need to make up and being late to class isn’t going to win me any favors with the professor. “I need to go, Mom. But I promise, I’m doing much better.”
“I’m glad. And I’m here if you need me.” It’s the same reminder she gives me every day.
