Elegantly Wasted | ✓

𝐈𝐈.

Demetrius was used to the constant pulsations on the right side of his head. It commonly spurred when he hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before, or he'd been drinking too much.

It was a Tuesday evening, he had meetings throughout the whole day for the financial business he was working for in Canary Wharf. When working in the same occupational field for four years and becoming exceptionally experienced, he expected that promotions would be essentially handed to him; though he knew that his boss despised him.

He wasn't sure if it was because of his incredible ingenuity, or the fact that he was seemingly better at being a manager more than his own manager. Demetrius accepted the discrimination. He needed the money that the job was simply providing.

Though, whenever he wanted to complain about it to his colleagues, even just to clear his mind of stress, he would be silenced. So it wasn't much help either that his lady "friend" that he had met at that very bar that he was at, in the very seat beside his, hadn't shown up. He couldn't expect that she would show up whenever he did, they had separate lives, he couldn't expect much from a stranger.

But he had really hoped that she would be there.

Although drunken and slightly slurring lousy advice to him past her wine glass, Demetrius wanted to have someone to talk to. And she seemed willing to listen.

Henny on the rocks, he sipped it. He never really liked anything else, Hennessy was intense but moving. It worked well like it was a manic drug, it was something that Demetrius felt he needed, and now he couldn't deny that he was addicted.

It had this effect. He always felt like he could see his surroundings differently, as if his vision was clearer and his hearing was sharper. It was a great feeling, to feel aware of everything around him, but it also was the cause of the overbearing pain on the right side of his head.

He sighed, sipped his Hennessy.

He'd lost count of how many he'd drank at that point. He was just drinking so that he could pass out when he got home. He didn't want to complete his tasks for work, or have to worry about his ex-girlfriend that wouldn't give him a second to loosen his collar before she would strangle him with apologies.

He was tired. So tired, he was. He had the right to request for change.

If only his lady "friend" was here.

He sat there and wondered if he should've come the next day. He had met her the week prior on a Wednesday; possibly she showed every Wednesday. He ran his hand down his face, drained, why hadn't he thought of that?

He just needed some time to think, to rant, to cry. He swallowed his last sip whole. He was an emotional, unemotional wreck and he didn't know how to fix it.

His eyes lifted to the neon sign behind the bartender that was trying to gain his attention, "Bruv, you good? You look like you've had enough." Franklin, the bartender, leaned forward, trying to pry the glass from Demetrius's grip.

"I think I might need another." Demetrius muttered back. "How about you pour me some more Henny, on the rocks, boss." He was barely speaking clearly. Franklin watched him in what almost seemed like raw pity, Demetrius's eyes were too crossed to notice.

"I think you should go home, man, you've had enough. It's coming from a friend. I'm sure you have work in the morning, it won't be good if you've got a banging headache." he continued softly to the drunken man that was trying to ignore the rings of his sharper hearing.

Demetrius simply whined, gently resting his head on the bar. Franklin stroked his cornrows, then quickly fetched a glass of tap water for him. Demetrius needed comforting, it was nice to know that Franklin could see that, even if Demetrius was way too drunk to.

"How about I get one of my guys to drive your drunk self home?" he asked.

Demetrius lifted his head ever-so-slowly. "I'm bothering you, you've still got people to serve, man. I can't take your staff."

"You haven't even realised that you're the only one left." Franklin stated. He looked around, and to his genuine surprise, he was in fact the last one sitting at the bar amidst the empty pub. Demetrius read the clock on the opposite side of the room.

"It's six a.m?" he squinted.

"It's half past twelve, g." Franklin corrected. Demetrius groaned and pulled himself off of the bar stool, falling inevitably due to his numb-feeling legs. "Fuck's sake." Franklin muttered with an eye roll.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, bruv. Don't stress, I'm aight." He appallingly got back onto his feet. Franklin pushed the glass of water towards him, Demetrius ignored it.

"Warren! Do me a favour and drive Demetrius back to his apartment. He can hardly lift his head." he called. A young man, ranging in his mid-twenties, stepped out from the staff room and caught the keys that Franklin threw to him.

The two helped Demetrius into Franklin's Skoda parked on a side street near the pub and buckled him into the passenger seat.

"I'll raise this month's pay, Warren, for your help, don't worry. Thanks." Franklin drew his eyes to Demetrius who was dozing in his seat. "Better not see you here anytime soon. We can't have you poisoning yourself." Demetrius ignored him, as he fell sound asleep against his palm.