Don't Drop Your Mask

Once I was safely back in my apartment, I hit the bottle. Not just the bottle. Every bottle I had left in my house.

I had a little bit of vodka left, a little bit of rum left, and about a glass full of whiskey.

I polished off all three bottles. I laid out on my back deck, my head lolling slightly due to my inability to support myself anymore. Even if I wanted to go back inside and get out of the cold, I can’t move. I’m pretty sure my voice is broken, I’m so drunk. I’m not going to try though.

I heard them upstairs again. Talking about me. Asking about me. Trying to get information out of each other.

Charlie wants to know where I am.
Travis doesn’t know.
Charlie wants to know what Travis could have done to piss me off.
Travis wants to know why I was up there in the first place.
Charlie tells him it’s because I’m sick.
Travis wants to know how sick.
Charlie won’t tell him.
Travis gets angry and yells something that my drunken brain can’t decipher.
Charlie does the same.
Travis says he’s worried about me…
Charlie concurs…
Travis says he needs to sit down for a minute…

The conversation stops.

After hearing them talk and yell and whisper and talk, I decided it was time to test out my own voice.

I tried to scream, but nothing more than a low mumble came out. Between the depression and the alcohol, I was in poor shape.

I heard Charlie’s deck door slide open.

Everything is so much better when it slides. When it’s smooth. Why can’t my life be smooth.

“Smoooooth,” I managed to say. Pleased with myself that I could actually make a coherent word, I smiled, dumbly.

I heard pacing upstairs. Whoever was up there obviously couldn’t hear me. “Smooooth,” I said again. “Tar,” I said roughly.

I looked out at all the spinning lights. I tried to think of a word. Any word. A word to describe how I felt, or how I should feel, or how drunk I am. A word for how beautiful Baltimore looks when you can’t focus on one area. When you just see the lights. A word for how warm I felt even though I was sitting outside in the cold. Alcohol?

“Travis,” I said. I clapped a hand over my mouth as I started regaining a bit of my composure. The pacing stopped. This can’t be good.

“Hello?” A voice came from upstairs.

“Stupid,” I whispered, still just pleased that I could speak. “Travis?”

I heard the footsteps moving again, and then they stopped. He must have gone inside. I hope he doesn’t come down here. I’m pretty sure I locked the door, but I don’t think I stand to go make sure. I peered in the house at my front door and barely made out the chain on the door being on. I smiled, contently, then screamed.

I didn’t scream for no reason. I don’t just scream for no reason.

Something hit me.

Some… bird.

“Layla? Are you drunk?” Oh. He hit me.

“Tar,” I said. Dumb. That’s wrong. “Nooo.”

He took a step closer to me. “You shouldn’t be outside. It’s too cold.”

I took a deep breath, and the mental block I had started to disappear. I was still a little drunk, but whatever else had been clouding my mind just left. “I could say the same about you,” I said, slowly. I was cold and drunk, it took me some time to process and articulate.

“I’m fine.”

“Then me too.”

He stood there and I could read his mind. His face was contorted as he thought about how difficult and stubborn I was being. “Well then we can both go inside together.”

“But how will you get back up?” I asked him, looking at the short distance to the floor above like it was ten stories away. If I weren’t drunk right now, I’d be able to realize he could probably climb up there in no time. But I was drunk. Very, very drunk.

“Well… I was going to go inside with you.”

“That can’t happen,” I said, trying to stand up. I sat right back down.

“Then you go inside and I’ll stay here.”

“No! You need to leave.”

“Only way to go is down,” he said.

He helped me up and opened the door for me. Once I was up, it was much easier to walk. Sort of.

I stumbled into the apartment. “Look, you need to get back up to your room.”

“I’ll stay out here until you let me in.”

I rolled my eyes and started to tilt backwards. Well, I started falling. And what person who is falling doesn’t scream?

Of course, Casanova over there had to rush in and catch me.

“Falling for me?” he asked, jokingly. It reminded me of when I still didn’t know who he was.

My face fell from angry and drunk to sad and drunk, and he helped me back to my feet and led me to the couch.

“Let me stay with you tonight,” he said.

“No.”

“You’re going to be very sick in the morning, Layla.”

“Travis, no. I don’t think I could…”

“Could what?”

“I’m tired,” I said, starting to remember how drunk I am.

“Layla, just tell me how you feel!” he said, a little frustrated.

I leaned down and cuddled into his lap. Right before I drifted off into dreamland, I heard him mutter, “not fair.”