Like The Feeling Of Being In Love

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"So, feeling any better yet?" Chester asked, sipping his orange juice.

I nod, and smile, "I feel much better, thank you."

"I knew you would. I always finish my hangover cure with a cup of black coffee. No sugar. Gives you the edge and energy boost to get through the day until you can get some good sleep." He leaned back in his chair.

"I always chose to day drink as a way to chase the hangover away." I shrugged.

"Oh sure, that will work too, but it also ensures that you'll have another even more miserable hangover when you run out of booze." He looked me in the eyes and smiled.

"You learned the hard way too?" I asked laughing.

He nodded, "And it took trying it a few times to learn my lesson, that it's not the way." He leaned forward, and like a magnet, I leaned forward too.

Our faces were an inch apart, his brown eyes staring into mine.

"So am I your girlfriend?" I asked softly, resisting the urge to bite my lip.

He smiled wide, "If you want to be. And before you ask, I'd like you to be, yes."

"I guess that makes us official, then." I shrugged.

"Not until we get to know each other better. Tell me about your family, the ones you haven't already told me about, that is."
"Well, I have five siblings. Angelo is the oldest, then my sister Gabriella, my brother Christopher, my sister Chauntelle, another brother, Derek, and then me. We're all two years apart. I grew up in Chicago, Illinois, and I moved to California after my engagement fell through, because I thought it would be better to get away. Unfortunately, it hasn't worked out that way, yet." I smiled at him.
He nods, "Wow, five siblings. And I thought growing up with two was a headache."
"The good thing was, there was plenty of us to look after each other, even though I was the only one who really needed looking after, being the youngest, and mom's least favorite." I shrugged."
"Why would someone have six kids, and only love five of them?" He asks, motioning our waitress over.
"Two coffees please." he told her.
"Well," I started, after she'd walked away, "The way I hear it, mom wanted to be done after she had Derek. She told Dad that she didn't want anymore kids, and he agreed, until they both went to one of my dad's shows and got drunk, and she got pregnant with me. Her intention was to have an abortion, because she didn't want another baby, but dad was raised Irish Catholic, so that was absolutely out of the question. He managed to talk her into having me, and giving me up for adoption, and she agreed. That all changed the day I was born. He says the first time he saw me, he was in love, and he couldn't bear the thought of giving me away to someone else, so he immediately decided not to give me up, much to my mother's distaste. She hated me, because she never wanted me to begin with, and because of that, Dad's constant attention was on taking care of me when I was a baby, which made her resent me even more. She would look after and take care of all the other kids, but left me with nannies, and babysitters, pretending I didn't exist.
Her and my father grew apart, and she took to drinking heavily and taking pills to numb the pain, which eventually turned into harder drugs.
When I was three, it was just me and her at home, as all of my siblings were in school. She ignored me most of the time, but when I would interrupt her taking her drugs, she'd get angry and beat the hell out of me, telling everyone that the nanny did it, and promptly firing the nanny, despite the fact that I got closer to most of my nannies than I ever did my mother." I paused and looked up, to see him watching me, listening intently, with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Go ahead sweetheart." he nods.
"But pretty soon, no respectable nanny in the city would work for them, because of all the bogus claims, and she was left having to tote me everywhere she went. That's when the really bad things started happening to me." I paused again, fighting back tears, and stared down at the tabletop.
I sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep it together, but reliving the memories of my fucked up childhood had a tendency to send me into a panic attack.

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