CHOICES (Completed)

VAGUE FACES

“Hardin I’m not gonna repeat this okay, we have to go, come on.” I pull his arm once again and he just gets dragged a bit, with an irritated face.

“Okay, listen. Listen. Take this.” He hands me over a glass and I roll my eyes.

“I don’t drink alcohol. Usually.”

“No, no, no. Just one drink, with me. Then I’ll do whatever you say. A toast. To us.”

It’s really difficult to refuse when he’s being so childishly stubborn and playful. He looks at me with puppy eyes, and I consider the bargains. If one drink gets us out of here, maybe it can be done after all.

“Just one. And then we leave.”

He reaches forward and kisses my cheek lightly. God, he is reeking of alcohol. Yet, his touch is unchanged. How much has he had to drink?

“Drink up. Right now.”

He breathes, near my ear lobe and then pulls back to look at me. I shake off his voice, which was so hushed it almost sounded normal hot Hardin and not drunk kiddy Hardin.

I look at him once and then without further thought, down the whole glass in one go. My throat burns and I hold my breath for a few seconds so I don’t get the taste. But I do feel some aftertaste of rotten grape and fire and steam and everything bad.

Gross.

I shake funnily and cough hard. It’s bad. It’s too bad. Hardin laughs like a kid looking at my face and I smack his arm. Jerk.

“Come on. Time to go now.” He takes another glass and downs it.

“Nope.” He shakes his head like an annoying little kid, popping the p in his nope. God, I hate kids. And right now he is being one.

“Hardin that’s not how a deal works.” He widens his eyes in excitement, clearing his throat and looks at me, smiling before speaking.

“CONGRATULATIONS TE- TESH-TESLA CHOCOCHIP YOUNG, YOU HAVE BEEN PUNKED!”He mimics talking into a mic, dramatically loud and I face palm, while still fighting the sensation of the liquid. Fudge, he bloody called me Tesla.

“Hardin I-“

A sudden dizziness overtakes me and I stumble against the counter.

“In today’s special episode of ‘Destroyed in seconds’, we have my sweetheart, chubby cheeks rosy lips, chocolate fairy, Adolicious. Give her a round, people!”

Hardin laughs playfully in the background and I struggle to keep my eyes open. What the hell is happening?

“Hardin, I don’t feel good.”

I clutch his arm, holding on for support and he stands up.

“Hold on, I think you’re in trauma. Don’t worry sweetheart. I’ll get them to take the episode off air.” Everything blurs and spins as I hear Hardin’s muffled voice, which sounds concerned and childish and he holds my face affectionately.

He walks me somewhere and I stumble my way along with him. He sits me on a couch and I hold my head in my hands.

“Are you falling into PTSD? Damn, Young, you shouldn’t have played the wife. I hate people telling me what to do.”

I hear him speaking in irritation which is suddenly too- normal? Is he even-

Wha- Hardin? Music fades away and I open my eyes to see everything blurry.

I have to keep my eyes open. Hardin.

He’s not here. He hasn’t returned.

My head pounds and I sway. Minutes pass and I get restless, nervous. Scared.