Intent [Wattys 2017]

Chapter 92

Emma

I haven't slept in three days.

That's probably why I'm acting like a batshit crazy bitch.

There hasn't been a wink of sleep and the goodness that comes with it.

It's fucking agonizing to reach the space so past the point of exhaustion that it's too hard to sit yourself down and actually fall asleep.

It's like I have no energy left.

And yet I found the energy to sneak out like a rebellious teenager while my boyfriend and mum were in the kitchen. It's probably more accurate to say I had the delusional inclination that putting on a pair of leggings, my hat, jacket, and boots would make me feel better.

It hasn't helped yet. I've been walking around for an hour, maybe more and I'm in exactly the same frame of mind.

I'm going crazy. I'm tired and sad and in a real need for some liquid courage. Well not liquid courage... more like liquid distraction.

A lot of it.

I have no direction, no idea where I'm going, and the constant vibration of my phone receiving messages from Harry, Steve, and my mum. I want nothing more than to sit in some dark corner and drink.

Reverting to my old ways...hmmmmmm, what a wonderful idea.

Okay, okay I know that it's probably not the best plan but I can't think of anything else to do.

Then like a beckon of light I see a sign perched right over the top of is very quaint looking and most importantly clean looking pub, "Horan's Pub & Irish Ale".

I take a deep breath and walk inside. It's dimly lit and thankfully not overflowing with people. The last thing I want is to talk to some random stranger right now, however it's pretty well packed for a Tuesday night.

Fuck I shouldn't be here.

But it is what it is.

My heart may be racing and I have this really bad taste in my mouth but I'm already here...why not continue.

I'm reverting to my old ways and while I don't want to hurt Harry, one solitary tequila filled night won't kill him.

I know I shouldn't. I'm all alone and just like I did years ago I'm seeking comfort in a nice bottle of tequila but for some reason it seems like the best course of action right now.

"Ummm," I direct to the back of the bartenders head as I sit down. He's tall and has dark hair. "Shot of tequila please."

At first I don't know if he's heard me but moments later I'm introduced by my old friend–a nice little shot of tequila.

One won't hurt... in fact it'll help.

Without another thought I completely obliterate the shot. And another and another.

My head slightly fuzzy and my mind going on frantic overdrive trying to figure my shit out, I go with the first thing that comes to mind.

Let the drunken rambling commence.

"You're the tall, quiet, mysterious type aren't you?" I quip to the still silent bartender.

I'm never really one to start a conversation with strangers but I'm feeling rather confident at the moment.

"Don't say much do you?" I eye him as he pours me another.

Honestly don't care about him talking back to me, it's the first time in three days when I've actually felt a little alright.