Pirate Smile

I didn’t stumble down the steps in front of Holly’s apartment. This was no melancholy mood, this was straight up rage and it was taking from Point A to Point B as quickly as it could.
In ten minutes, I was sitting inside of some dimly lit dive bar. If I wasn’t about to scream out in frustration, I would have enjoyed the freedom of not being recognized.

Signaling the bartender, I slid open my cell phone. Delilah had been so amused with the camera that she’d taken several Facebook-esque photos of herself the day we spent at the aquarium. Most of them were of her stubby little fingers, but I didn’t have the heart to delete them. They were really all I had of her. She seemed to like me that day, but that was before I made an ass of myself and ruined a nice afternoon for her. When I went back to the hotel that night, I flipped through the pictures for hours, finally settling on one that I wanted to see as often as I could. Delilah was grinning, giggling as Holly tickled her stomach. A small portion of Holly’s profile had been captured as well, just enough to see her smile.

They were so beautiful that it hurt my insides.

I polished off three shots of whiskey, my God I was as dry as a fucking desert. The mediocre music blasting from the speakers made it all more surreal as I sat hunched over the counter in my own cloud of smoke. Holly may have invited me back into her world, but she sure as hell hadn’t planned on me staying there. She was sending me mixed signals, throwing curveballs. She had no idea what the fuck she wanted.

Without a second thought, I hit the delete button and found refuge in a bottle.

…

I dialed Holly’s cell.
“Holly?” I sang into the phone, stumbling over my own feet. “Holly, girl.”
I was leaving a voicemail, yet didn’t seem to realize it.
“I need you,” I hiccupped. “To do me…ha-ha…a favor.”
She didn’t answer, so I continued to call.

I’m pretty sure by that point I was 100% alcohol, numb and cold. This had been a monstrous mistake—and I’d made my fair share of them to know. What had I been thinking? If I didn’t drink myself to death, I would be on a plane headed for home the next afternoon. I’d just be some vague memory to Delilah and someday nothing at all. Holly would find someone, as if she hadn’t moved on already. She couldn’t even kiss me on the lips, that’s all I was to her now.

When I thought my wallowing in self-pity couldn’t get any worse, a girl sat down beside me. Her obvious interest would have been a real turn on if I hadn’t seen the act a thousand and one times. She was cute though, and I was out of my mind.
When she stumbled after me out the back door I remember thinking it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t pull myself out of it until her lips pressed against mine.

“Hey,” I whispered harshly, pulling some sense out of my ass. “I can’t.”
I thought about Delilah. She would need therapy with someone like me as her father.
"Hm?” The girl leaned into me, kissing me again. Her hair clouded my face. It was too red.
“I can’t do this.” I held her at arm’s length, watching her eyes narrow.
“You’re kidding right?” She looked offended and her tone stung.
I shook my head, feeling a steady pounding between my eyes. I rested against the brick siding, trying to keep myself from passing out.
“Whatever,” she shook her head. I saw the glow of neon sign paint the back of her white tank top as she started to walk down the sidewalk. “Thanks for wasting my time.”

I slammed my palm against the back door and went inside.

…

When I woke up, I was on a couch.
It was a miracle.
All the blinds had been drawn, the sun bouncing off every reflective surface—I didn’t even need to open my eyes to see it. Groaning, I slid my head under a pillow.
I could vaguely remember insulting a number of people sitting beside me at the bar, and from the tenderness in my face I assumed someone had taken an accurate swing at me.

My insides twisted and I turned over to the side before I threw up on the couch. There was a large popcorn bowl sitting beside my feet. Amazing.

“What the fuck?” I rolled over, grimacing as I smelled stomach acid in the air.
I thought about laying still and holding my breath, thinking that I could just take the easy way out of all this.
Holly had other plans.
“Get up.” She plugged my nose.
“Jesus!” I sputtered and swatted her hands away, becoming increasingly aware of the jackhammer in my brain.
“Get up.” She turned sharply and left the room. “Don’t step in your vomit.”
I collapsed into the cushions, rubbing my head.

She had come to get me from the bar.

As I wobbled feebly into the kitchen, waves of nausea rolling back and forth in my stomach. I clutched my forehead as it throbbed. I stuck my head under the faucet and took a gulp of cold water before spitting it back out into the sink.

At least there would coffee. Strong coffee.

Alas, when I grasped for the pot I noticed it was awfully light. Holly bustled back through the living room, sweeping her hair behind her neck and over her shoulder.
“Here.” She tossed me a bottle of pills, getting some satisfaction from the way I cringed as they bounced against the plastic. When she saw me holding the empty coffee pot, she raised her eyebrows feigning sympathy.
Uncapping the bottle, I finally spotted Delilah sitting at the table eyeing me over her Eggo. After popping several Aspirin into my mouth, I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to wake myself up from this nightmare.

“Don’t forget to clean up the living room.” Holly raised her eyebrows.

Delilah looked over her shoulder, scrunching up her little, freckled nose, and then looked back at me. Holly’s lips parted like she was going to say something else, but she just shook her head. I figured I’d better say something.

“Thanks,” I swallowed and looked at the magnets on the fridge. “For, uh, last night.”

Holly nodded curtly, but her eyes were soft. Maybe Nathan was right—I had always taken advantage of her big heart, even if I never realized I was doing it.

“Ready, babe?” Holly turned away from me, straightening out her shirt. Delilah hopped off the chair and loped quietly to the door.
As they left the apartment, Holly called over her shoulder.
“Coffee is in the fridge, filters are with the mugs in the cupboard.”

The door slammed shut.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

…

I worked slowly and meticulously as I cleaned a spot or two on the living room carpet, giving myself plenty of time to wallow in my hung-over state. The night before had been a big fucking disaster. Holly had come to my rescue—again, I might add.

As I bundled up the sheets I’d slept on—yes, I did laundry—I looked around Holly’s living room for the first time. It was pretty basic, as it had been the last time I’d seen it. A hand-me-down leather couch that was so broken in it felt sitting on a cloud, a black coffee table adorned with the battle scars of lugging it up the stairs and through the door, a matching bookshelf equally as battered—but everything fit, down to the patterned curtains hanging above the sliding door. She had painted the room, to the dismay of her landlord, teal. It reminded me of the ocean.

There were pictures spread out across the shelves, wedged in between stacks of books. Delilah was the subject of most of them. Her eyes crossed as she blew out a birthday candle on top of an oversized cupcake. She looked downright pissed off as a minor wave knocked down her sand castle on the shoreline. Holly propped her up against a wooden railing just high enough for a giraffe to lick the food out of her hand—Delilah’s expression bewildered and pleased all at once.

All of these were moments I’d missed, and I felt a really strong urge to make up for them.