359 days before
The eight Paralyzers were slid across the bar to the tipsy group of friends laughing and cutting up. The group raise their shots in the air whooping before the 1-inch cups are tilted back. Some of them shake their heads with soured faces while others just let out another holler. I loved seeing people like this: letting go. Seeing them forget about work, problems, whatever shit their going through. People say that drunk persons are annoying or obnoxious, I think it's kinda beautiful in a sense. When they are in that state, they don't have to worry. They can feel free and not tied down by everything going on around them. They can push everything aside and focus on forgetting. As long as they are doing it in moderation. As long as they are not like my father was, is. I wouldn't know, I haven't seen the asshole in... who fucking cares.
Saturday came slower than desired. Over the remaining of the week I continued a usual routine that I have seemed to fall into: wake up. Drink tea. Do nothing. Run. Come home. Shower. Go to work. Come home. Sleep.
The Blue Room was overly crowded. From what I could see from sneaking peeks outside, a line had started and it was getting fairly long.
"Hey, British boy!" I turn my head to the shouting voice. It was a bust-boy calling from the back. He was holding a mop and his shirt was navy, not black. I wanted to be a smart ass and say something but decided against it.
"Yeah?" I yelled back wiping my hands on a white hand towel and strolling toward him. "Yeah?"
"There's a, some hot chick back here," the mop switches hands and his thumb points somewhere behind him, "Says she's been standing in line and she wants in. Claims she knows you." I sigh.
"Uh, fuck, just send her up. I'll tell you if I know 'er or not." But I already know.
"Harry, he said," hiccup, "he said I couldn't come in here because I was drunk, but guess what?"
"What, Grace?" She leans in close and I can smell the booze on her breath. As loud as it is, I can't hear her but can make out most of her lips.
"I'm not,"
"Yes, Grace, you are. I'm calling you a cab. Oh, my god. I swear it's like I'm your babysitter, or something." I grab my phone and quickly type the number. I would be talking to a burly man with a beard by now but I'm listening to her whine.
"No, I wanna dance!" Of course you do. But see the thing is, you can't, because your brother, who also happens to be my roommate, would have my hearts on a stick,over a fire. Also, I would lose my job, which I also can't afford, so no, I can't let you go dance. I want to say.
"You can dance in the cab." The phone rings. And rings. And rings. And ri-
"Yeah, I'd like a cab... The Blue Room... Uh, blonde, drunk, and wants to dance... I'm just a bar tender... Yeah I'll pay over the phone..." I give him my card number, "fifteen minutes? Thanks. Have a good night." I turn to Grace and grab her shoulders, "fifteen minutes, and your gone. Go home. Shower and sober up. Take some aspirin, go to sleep. I already paid for the cab."
I turn to bust-boy. "You, watch her. I don't care, just don't touch her. Her cabs coming in fifteen. I have work, something happens to her, your fired."
"But i-"
"Do I look like I fucking care? I have orders piling up." Then I leave and mix drinks until two a.m.
358 days before
The air conditioning blows on my face, making goosebumps rise on my skin. I rub my hands over my arms and then close the door. I am hoping Grace got here fine. I check her room just in case, she's sleeping with wet hair. It's kind of cute actually. She looks younger, with her face swooshed against the mattress and her breathing strung out in deep breaths. In, out. In, out.
I tip toe back out of the room leaving the door half cracked and put my ear up to Bens door. He's snoring. I just wanted to know if he was home or not. I should talk to him about her. She needs to stop just showing up expecting me to just let her in just because we settled as friends that night. But in reality are we really friends? Or are we just not unfriendly to each other? The world may never know. Don't friends have to talk and hang out? Do I want to talk and hang out with her?
The shower feels good and soothes my back from some of the tension I get from thinking about Grace. Some how I start thinking about Gemma. I cry. Climb out of the shower. Then go to bed.
<Ughhhh it's so short, I'm sorry. It also kinda sucks. Whyyyyy???????>
Vote.
Comment.
