I'd Kiss You Goodbye If I Thought It Would Make You Stay

“You’re so cute when you’re slurring your speech, but they’re closing the bar, and they want us to leave.”- Death Cab for Cutie

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We’re hanging out in William’s apartment, having a few drinks to welcome Butcher back. It’s been almost a week or so since we had breakfast with Michael, and I’m not exactly thrilled to repeat the experience tonight.

Butcher and most of the guys’ friends have already arrived, but Michael is running late. Not that I have a problem with it.

“Mike, I want another one,” I tell him.

“Thirsty?” he teases, pouring some more vodka and mixing it with some kind of fruit juice I don’t pay attention to before handing it to me. I quickly down it and have him pour me another, ignoring the dull burning of my throat as I swallow it too fast. I’m immensely relieved that Suzie and Seb aren’t here to prevent me from drinking as much as Ican want.

If I drink enough before Michael comes, then I won’t have to deal with him.

It’s as simple as that, really.

But William catches on to my plan after my fifth drink, which is technically not my fifth, but Suzie’s not here to count, so I can lie if he asks.

“You really shouldn’t have any more, Rae,” he sighs, trying to take mysixth drink away just as Mike hands it to me.

“No,” I say, shifting away from his outreaching hands. “One more. Just one.” I manage to take a gulp before it’s literally pried away from me. “Whatthefuck, Bill?” I complain, starting to slur my words together terribly.

“No more,” he instructs Mike sternly, who gives me a small shrug and mouths a ‘sorry.’ I don’t reply, stalking off sulkily. I drop onto the couch, deciding whose drink would be easiest to steal. I’m about to get up to trick Sisky out of his when a certain accented voice catches me off guard.

“Rae,” he says from next to me, and I wish I was sitting somewhere else, like on the other couch with Jack and Tony, but I’m not. I turn to see Michael sitting beside me, and I wonder when he arrived. Rather, what number drink I was on that I didn’t notice.

“Rae, listen, can we-” he begins, seeing his rare chance to get me to talk to him.

“Wait, I need to get something to drink,” I say, trying and failing to stand up, but I have to get out of here, because I can’t talk to him. He grabs hold of my wrist and I struggle against his grip, but he’s not so easily swayed. “Michael, let go,” I command, unsure if he can even understand what I’m saying as I slur my speech. “Ineeda…I need…”

“We need to talk,” he interrupts softly, standing up and gently but firmly pulling me off the couch.

“N-no,” I stammer, still trying to twist out of his grip.

“Please,” he insists quietly, leading me off by my tattooed wrist. I stumble over myself, but he catches me around the waist and we continue down the hall. “How drunk are you, Rae?” he asks, in disbelief, after I almost trip for the tenth time.

“No. I'm not…” I lie terribly, leaning against him for support. My knees aren't functioning correctly.

“You never even liked to drink,” he says, now sounding frustrated as he tries to support my clumsy self down the hall. He pushes my bedroom door open.

“Not…not…” I hiccup, praying I won’t throw up or anything. “Not till you left,” I manage to say clearly, and I wonder if I’m saying too much, but I now I don’t even remember what I said, and I just want more alcohol, hold the fruit juice please.

He freezes for a second, then recovers and sits me on my bed after closing the door behind us. I sway uneasily and he kneels in front of me, gently holding my shoulders and looking me in the eyes. I glance away, because I can’t bring myself to look into his gorgeous eyes, or else I might say more things I’ll regret tomorrow. But at the same time, I’m stealing glances; still trying to decide whether his irises are more green or blue.

“Rae. Are…are you okay?” he asks unsurely. I suddenly feel overwhelmed as a wave of exhaustion takes over my senses. I slump forward. He catches me and I lean against him, now pathetically crying into his chest. He doesn’t say anything, just helps me back onto the bed, this time sitting next to me and stroking my hair while I continue to cry on his shoulder.

“I’m so tired, Michael,” I sob. “Everything’s…different now.”

“Ssh…” he murmurs, pulling me onto his lap. I struggle against him, because my brain is telling me that I shouldn’t be this close to him, but my drunken efforts are useless; he’s only holding me tighter, and I stop trying and allow his arms to encircle my body.

“I’m not the same anymore,” I blurt without thinking. “Everything’s wrong, Michael. Why can’t I be happy? I need…I need…”

“What do you need?” he asks soothingly. I mean to say a drink, but what comes out is completely different.

“I need you.” I feel him freeze against me again and I feel like I’m about to pass out, which I most likely am. “I don’t care what you do, as long as I’m with you.,” I slur quietly, because I’m drunk and I’m just verbalizing my own lyrics now.

“Rae,” he says, and I faintly hear him continue, but I don’t know what he’s saying, and I don’t really care either, so long I can hear his pretty accent.

And then everything is black, and I can finally stop thinking, which isn’t so bad, either.