Give Me a Break

I don’t remember deciding to get drunk but I guess that means it was the type of night I was hoping for. It comes in pieces when I wake, the night flashes of this movement, those words. Blending together to make up the evening, but nothing set, nothing certain. The type of night where you know you won’t remember this in the morning.

The type of night where you’ve downed three shots in five minutes and your head’s buzzing with the crashing notions of what the socially responsible decisions are. The type of night where Jon and Brendon and me are all too close to each other, but our inner gays are popping out and we all want to cuddle with something, it just ends up being the pillows on our beds rather than each other.

Brendon scrounging through his bag looking for an Aladdin costume he swears he brought. Jon huffing something about going back to his own hotel before guzzling down the last of his beer and listening to our pleads to not leave. Me spreading eye liner smears along the mirror until I can’t see my reflection anymore and then laughing until my sides crush under the pressure and I fall into the dry bathtub, still laughing because it’s so fucking funny.

Jon singing with Brendon on the balcony. Me hunting for my guitar and remembering I didn’t bring it. Not able to remember why. Remembering later and burying the thought under more tequila, forgetting to think about how I’ll feel in the morning. Long, slurred, pointless arguments over if the sun will rise on our side of the island, if we’ll see the sunrise. None of us able to recall if we watched the sunset earlier, minds too fuzzy and disconnected from what we should have been doing.

Us at the beach. Jon suggesting we go down to the water. The memories blurring together because one moment we were talking about it and the next we were on the sand and anything between those blips of time didn’t matter, wasn’t important. Brendon getting halfway down the smooth sand before he trips over a rock only he sees and then he’s on his stomach, a mouth full of sand and full lunged laughter. Jon finding it hilarious. Jon’s warm laugh filling the air, a little higher than before, overwhelmed with darkness and too much vodka.

A breeze that hardly ruffles the trees sending me falling towards the water, rolling into the foam and feeling it’s warmth cascade over me in a rhythm I sense but can’t predict. My legs sinking deeper and deeper as the waves bend around me, pull the sand out from under me until half of me is in the ground and the water’s licking at the corners of my mouth, my eyes, the deep inhaling nostrils on my nose. The alcohol rising up in my throat and causing me to rise, turn my head, release it into the ocean where I can’t see it in the black waves.

Jon coming to my side to lift me up and call me a mess. Like he’s that perfect himself, like his clothes aren’t ruffled and stained with beer. He’s warm against my skin just as he always is, but he’s smelling like alcohol and the scent of coffee, I’m missing it. Me not telling him so because it’s not worth the inhale I’d need to say it. Brendon digging holes into the sand and grasping at my jeans when we pass, clutching at the fabric like a lost child who thinks he’s found his mother. Brendon getting up and still hugging at me up to the hotel room, still whimpering and smiling under his breath and the hair in his eyes.

Jon leading me into a warm shower, his eyes showing his debate about whether to undress me or just let me wash off in my jeans and shirt. Jon asking me to peel it off and me standing there naked and shivering, unabashed and unafraid as his blurred eyes wander along my skin, hooking on the rise of my collar bone, sinking into the sharp lines of my hips. His hand warming on my arms. His lips inching towards my own.

Me standing lonely in the hot shower, my flesh steaming under the heat. Jon hurrying from the room, his eyes carrying a burning look I haven’t given before but recognize. Brendon singing and screaming and pouting as Jon ruffles about, puts him to bed. Jon, more sober than the rest of us. Jon handing me a towel once he hears the water stop. My long fingers wrapping it around my waist, subtly hoping it leaves enough skin to drive Jon crazy. I’m craving the touch of someone. Brendon. Jon. A Stranger. I don’t care so long as it’s sturdy and firm and someone telling me I’m not the shattered remains of a friends shattered neck.

Jon handing me a t-shirt and pajamas pants. Turning away when I strip off the towel. Turning back when he hears me stumbling. His strong hands guiding me into the clothes, guiding me into the bed, tucking me under the sheets, and keeping his hands above anything that could be considered hopeful. Jon setting up his own bed in a one person sofa by the balcony, wrapping himself up in a sheet stolen from one of the beds. The heater buzzing in my ears. Brendons snoring loud and comforting, matching the roll of the waves. My head swirling like water sinking down a drain. Spencers image burning into the retina of my eyes as I watch Jon, as my thoughts travel to places I’ve blocked off, buried away.

Didn’t mean it I didn’t think Wasn’t my fault Maybe he What if I Do they know Didn’t mean to It was just a suitcase I wasn’t running Spencer and me He didn’t see it I didn’t mean to He tripped He Just like Brendon It happens I didn’t mean it Shut Up Ry I Don’t Want To Hear It didn’t mean it It’s The Same Excuse Every Time You Can’t Keep Blaming Her didn’t mean it God Damnit You Need To Get Over It didn’t mean it She’s Good For You didn’t mean Talk To Her You’re So Fucking Stubborn didn’t mean Fine Whatever Be An Idiot didn’t mean it

No

I didn’t mean it

The type of night where I wish alcohol didn’t make me dream.