When Beginnings End

I step inside the liquor store and almost find the stench of weed and alcohol soothing. I walk down the isle to the desk, pulling out my wallet on the way. I'm paying cash today.

The clerk looks half asleep so I clear my throat loudly to get his attention. He slowly raises his head and looks up at me. His eyes are blood shot, but I can't tell if it's from drugs, alcohol or fatigue.

“A bottle of Jack,” I say and point at the bottom shelf, as if the clerk wouldn't be able to find it on his own. But then again, in his condition, he might not have. Besides, I'm in a hurry.

The tired clerk nods, reaches out behind him and grabs a bottle from the back of the line of Jack bottles. I guess the one in the front is his own – without knowing for sure, of course.

“28 dollars,” he demands and places it on the counter. I dig the money out of my wallet. The bills are all neat, clean and fresh off the print, it seems. I bet they've been in more hands than I even knew there were people in this world. Perhaps, it's not the first time I hold them.

The clerk takes them out of my hand and drops them in the register. It seems like he doesn't count them, but I think he knows I paid enough since nobody in Jersey trusts anybody.

I walk out of there faster than I entered. As I said; I'm in a hurry.

I walk down the street with the bottle hidden beneath my jacket. The clerk didn't bother bag it, and neither did I. If I get arrested for this, I couldn't care less.

I turn a corner and almost run into someone, but I manage to dance around them and give them a glare before I turn around and walk again.

This time, I do run into someone.

The bottle slips from under my arm, but as I crouch down to catch it, it lands in my lap – perfectly complete and safe.

I mentally sigh in relief.

“I'm sorry,” someone slurs above me and I quickly hide the bottle back under my jacket before I get to my feet. I fake a smile – not hiding that fact – and look up at the dark-haired stranger who's smiling like an idiot and who's obviously incredibly drunk.
“I didn't see you,” he slurs on, then gives me an unsteady, unsexy elevator look.
“Too bad,” he mumbles, but loud enough for me to hear, which I think is a deliberate action.
“I'd like to see more of you,” he whispers – his nicotine and gin breath hitting my nose hard – and tries to give me a sexy stare; emphasis on try.

“Goodnight,” I snarl and walk past him, making sure to “accidentally” bump into his shoulder.

“Hey! Take me home with you. You're gorgeous. Let me fuck you!” He screams the first and the last sentence at me as I quickly walk away. I think he's trying to provoke me, but he's doing anything but. Despite his failed attempt to be sexy, he was – just naturally sexy. His attempts to turn me on didn't work, and yet, he managed to do it.

But I can't afford to take him home. I can't let him fuck me, no matter how much I want him to. Because tonight, I need to be alone.

I slam my front door shut, amazed that I'm already home. I take off my shoes – I'm not sure why – and walk over to the couch to sit down. I automatically turn on the TV, but I don't care what's on.

I open the bottle of Jack. The folio creaks and cracks as it breaks and the smell of whiskey hits my nostrils right away. The smell sets off my gaging reflex, but I will it away as I grab the first bottle from my coffee table.

The content is hard to get down. Even with the help from the burning liquid, it's hard to swallow it all.

The next bottle is a bit easier. The pills are smaller and smoother. They trickle down my throat, one by one, until the bottle is empty.

Then I take the last bottle. There are only 4 pills left, but that's okay; I took enough of the others that these 4 won't really count, and yet, they might be what pushes me over.
I lean back in my couch and sip the whiskey now and then as I flip through the channels.

Eventually, I just turn the TV off.

That guy on the street was pretty hot. He was so perfect. Typical how I'd find what seems to be the perfect match for me on the day where I've given up on finding anyone who'll care for me at all. I just can't be alone anymore.

Eventually, the world turns off.