Closing Time

50. (End of Part 1)

That drink felt good. My first drink in a year was technically a tequila shot. But I honestly, wouldn't have it any other way. However, that slow drink I had after with Lou and Mike? That was good. Really hit the spot.

Mike gave me his jacket to cover the wound and the blood on my dress before dropping me a few blocks away. I walked past Onoda and the receptionist with no hesitation. Though I'm sure they wrinkled their noses in disgust at the strong smell of alcohol on me. Didn't help that my breath stank of it too. The dried blood was already starting to itch by the time I got to my apartment. My outfit went straight in the shower with me.

I was dripping rusty water for the entire time I was under the water. It formed it's familiar rusty puddle when I peeled it off and dropped it on the floor. Then I picked it up, and flung it in the washer for it to have it's own cycles. It's navy blue, it should be reusable afterwards. Might have to get the sleeves removed. The hole's a bit hard to explain away.

I pulled on my robe after my shower. Body barely dried and my hair stilll dripping water as I strolled over to the bar in my living room. My arm was killing me. I need a drink.

I used have quite a high tolerance when I was still drinking a year ago. The demon and angel essence just seemed to have made it higher. I think I finally passed out from the alcohol at the brink of dawn. I wasn't an alcoholic before, but I would certainly turn into one now if it was the only reprieve I would ever get from my thoughts.

Dottie woke me up the next day. Her scolding me about being late for work in the crucially busy days before Christmas made me realised I couldn't take a day off. I didn't have a choice. Leaving those two at the restaurant alone during the busiest weeks would be an absolute shit move on my part. No matter how grieving, depressed, or hungover I am.

So, I dragged my deadbeat, hurting body to work. And then I dragged it right back home at eleven. I don't want to see a single one of them. And I don't want any of them to see me like this. I just want a few days of peace, preferably with just alcohol.

I got two days of reprieve from them. Work, and then drink- that's all I did. A painkiller would probably be useful, but I wasn't just dealing with physical grievances at the moment. I felt... drained. Constantly. No matter what time or hour of the day, or what I was doing, or who I was with. The bullet wound didn't make matters any easier. The pain was at its highest during the end of my shift each night. And I was not looking forward to the all-night Christmas party. The wound wasn't healing fast enough for me. It's probably fast by human standards, but not fast enough to make it to Christmas day.

I groaned with the combination of shoulder pain and my massive hangover. The sound echoed in the silent changing room. The tight red number with the fur I was being forced to wear for tonight was giving me trouble. I'd had to buy a poncho for it to cover my shoulders because this was strapless. It would be really hard to explain away the bandages on my arm to Dottie and Sasha.

The latter of my co-workers threw me a worried look as I stepped out of the backroom, tightening the poncho at my neck. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Sasha."

"You look like shit."

"I feel like shit." I paused at the sink as a bout of dizziness and nausea hit me. "You got any lemons and honey?"

"It's in the same place you left it yesterday... and the day before that."

"Thanks."

"Is something going on?"

"Nothing." I pushed away from the sink and pushed away the question. It had become an annoying part of his vocabulary over the last three days. "It's nothing."