The Thrill Is Gone

The last thing she wanted was to be around people. She wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be alright, all she wanted was to retreat to her apartment where she could drink heavily and listen to depressing music. She wanted to indulge her misery and just cry. That’s all she wanted from the night. It wasn’t too much to ask for, just a bit of privacy and alcohol, but despite her ardent desire to be alone, she knew that she couldn’t back out of dinner with her friends. She had promised to celebrate with them as soon as finals ended, and she had to keep her word. Olivia was going to leave Oxford in a week’s time, and Alfred would be spending his weekdays in London, interning at his father’s office. So this was going to be the last time they’d be able to hang out together, until they visited Olivia’s house in late July or early August. She had to be there with her friends, so she sucked it up and did her absolute best to seem alright. She sat at the dinner table with a smile on her face, laughed when she was expected to and even told random stories like she was prone to doing.

There was nothing about her behavior that would’ve made them think something was wrong. They just saw the cheerful smile, and heard the infectious laughter that they were used to. They didn’t see that behind her smile, there was a heart in shambles, and it was better off that way. She didn’t want to drop her problems on them. They’d all had a stressful few weeks, and she didn’t think it fair to unload on them, when they were all meant to be relaxing and just having a good time.

Maybe in a few weeks, she’d tell them that things with Henry hadn’t worked out. That way Paulina would hopefully be over it so that the mere thought of him wouldn’t make her heart clench violently and eyes well with tears. She’d bring it up casually, make it seem like it wasn’t that big of a deal so Olivia wouldn’t fixate on it and Alfred would avoid taking on the older brother role that he was so fond of. Paulina was just going to tell them that it’d been a mutual decision for them to stop seeing each other. That they were at different places in their lives and needed to be with people that would understand where they were at. It was a good lie, a believable one that would keep questions at a minimum, because if Paulina were to say the truth, well, there would certainly be a lot of questions to answer. And she didn’t want to answer questions, not more than were absolutely necessary.

When the time came, she’d tell her friends that lie, but for the present, she’d sit on the couch, drinking wine as she listened to Alfred, whom was telling them an embarrassing story from when he visited Norway. He was tipsy, the goofy grin on his face and the use of facial gestures made that obvious. He was more outgoing when he was drunk, which made him good for a laugh.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed Alfred when he finished telling the story. “I think I’ve got a cramp from laughing too hard.”

“That’s what happens when you’re old,” teased Olivia. “Soon enough, you’ll have an ache in your hips.”

“I reckon I’ve got a few years left in me before that happens,” said Alfred, smiling toothily at her.

“Two years tops.” Olivia leant forwards and filled her glass for the third time, after she finished it, she’d surely be drunk. “Ya know what I can’t believe?”

“What?” Alfred asked.

“That the year’s already over,” replied Olivia. “Feels like just yesterday Michaelmas term was starting and now we’re already done with Trinity. And we’ve only got one more year left of uni.”

“Don’t remind me,” mumbled Paulina. “One more year and then my ass is going back to America.”

“But you’ll come back to visit.” Olivia declared, confidently. “Won’t you?” she added in a soft voice.

“I want to,” answered Paulina, honestly. “But with law school and having to pay for it, I don’t think I’ll be able to come back until I graduate and have been working for a year, maybe two. I don’t know. Who knows maybe you’ll see me around here before that, but just promise I can stay at your places. Don’t feel like paying for hotels.”

“As if we’d let you stay at a bloody hotel!” exclaimed Alfred. “My flat is your flat.”

“You should’ve said it in Spanish like she says it.” Olivia spoke, her words becoming a bit slurred.

Alfred’s nose scrunched slightly as he attempted to remember how to say the phrase in Spanish. “For fucks sake!” he exclaimed after a prolonged silence. “Can’t remember how she says it, but anyways you know that the flat’s always there for ya. It’s always there for both of ya!”

“And so is my house.” Olivia stated. “Though I'm hoping to have a flat of my own in three years, I’ll have been working for two years by then, so it’s a realistic goal.”

“It is,” agreed Paulina, her eyes darting from Olivia to the clock that hung on the wall. “Mmm, I think I'm gonna head out now. It’s getting pretty late.”

“But it’s only – oh bullocks, it’s nearly nine!” exclaimed Alfred. “Could’ve sworn it was earlier,” he said more to himself than to them.

“Me to, but it’s pretty late and I need to go home,” said Paulina.

“Ya don’t have to. You can stay here if ya like,” offered Olivia. “There’s plenty of space and blankets. And that way you don’t have to go out by yourself.”

“It’s not even dark out.” Paulina sat up and placed her wine glass on the table. “I’ll be fine, really. And if it makes you feel any better, I’ll text you when I get home.”

“If you want I can drive you home.” Alfred chimed in.

Paulina slipped on her jacket. “Fuck that, you’ve been drinking and I'm not about to have you driving me around. Just stay here, I’ll be fine.”

“You’re a stubborn ass. You know that, don’t you?” Alfred said.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” she forced a chuckle. “Alright then, I'm gonna head out.” Paulina walked over to Alfred and hugged him. “Try not to have too much fun without me,” she whispered into Olivia’s ear as she hugged her.

As was expected, Olivia’s eyes widened in horror and her cheeks flooded with color. Olivia might’ve been twenty-three years old, but things like that still had the power to make her blush. Paulina laughed at her friend’s reaction, and after placing a quick kiss on Olivia’s cheek, saw herself out, the whole while holding her head up high and keeping a smile on her face, just in case she had to turn around to talk to her friends.

When she stepped out into the hallway, and the apartment door closed behind her, the forced smile vanished, leaving behind only a look of utter dejection. She stood there motionless, back pressed against the door as wave after wave of emotions crashed upon her. The entire time that she’d sat in that living room, she’d been fighting away the heartbreak, doing her best to keep a cheerful front for her friends, but now that the pair was drunkenly teasing and openly flirting, she was left to feel, and oh how she wished she couldn’t. Her heart had become her enemy, a cruel mistress that was bent on torturing her with memories of happiness and the cruel reality of the end of his affections. It was merciless, causing her knees to grow weak and her dark brown eyes to flood with tears as she struggled to breathe.

How cruel this was, how foreign a sensation. Not even when her relationship with Joaquin ended did she feel so devastated or disillusioned. She’d cried, of course she had, but the tears had not lasted long, and had only been shed once. But this was her second cry of the day, and she had every reason to believe that there would be more in the coming days.

Needing to drown her sorrows, she hastily wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her jacket and began the walk to the stairs. It was time she got herself to a pub. She could’ve gone home to drink. There was beer, as well as bottles of whiskey and vodka, but none of that would do. She needed something different, something that tasted of home. She needed tequila, and the only place in Oxford that sold her favorite brand was a pub that was a few blocks away from her apartment. It wasn’t in an ideal location. The business would’ve been doing better had they been on a main road, but the owners preferred the street they were on. They didn’t feel pressured to turn into a gastropub like most of their competitors were doing. Their pub was a place where people went to drink heavily. That was the sort of clientele that went there, and they were fine by it. Drunks were good for business. They might start a fight every once in awhile, but that’s nothing they can’t manage. After being in the business for nearly thirty years, they knew when to break a fight up and when to let it go undisturbed.

In fact, when Paulina arrived at the pub, there was a fight going on right on its doorsteps. There was a burly fellow, looked around 6’1” and easily weighed around 240 lbs, exchanging punches with a guy that, although shorter, seemed to be his equal in weight. Their faces were all bloodied up, and they looked just about ready to call it a draw. Whatever it was that they were fighting about must’ve been serious. They looked like they’d been going at it for awhile, and even drunks don’t spend loads of energy on a pointless fight. With curious eyes, Paulina stood off to the side and watched as they fought. She grimaced when the shorter one was knocked onto the ground, where he was then dealt several kicks, but when he managed to stand up, he landed a well positioned punch and sent the taller man hurling towards the ground.

“Ya betta’ stay the fook away from ‘er!” bellowed the shorter man.

Her gaze immediately hardened at the sight of the man on the sidewalk. He’d gotten mixed up with that other guy’s girlfriend, did something shady, and in her present mindset, she was pleased to see that he’d been taught a lesson. She’d scold herself later on for thinking that way, but at the present her heart had her siding with the other man, and so she walked into the pub without even bothering to ask if she should call an ambulance or get him some water.

Despite the fact that it was a Friday night, the pub wasn’t packed. It was strange for there to be empty booths and stools. Whenever she walked in there on a weekend, the seats were always taken by drunken young adults who were busy laughing, but the end of term had impacted the number of pub patrons. It had made it so there were empty seats at the bar, and Paulina took full advantage of the vacancy, and sat herself down.

“What can I get ya, love?” asked the middle aged bartender when he noticed her presence.

“I’d like a bottle of 1921, please.” Paulina replied. “Blanco,” she hastily added, “But if you’re out of that, then the rested one’s fine.”

“We’ve got a few bottles of the Blanco left,” he told her. “Let me just go get one for ya. Would ya like it wrapped up or are ya gonna open it up round these parts?”

“Uh, I’ll take it to a booth.”

“Right then,” the man disappeared for a few minutes and then returned with her bottle. “Here ya are, love.” He slid it across the counter to her. “That’ll be €56.29.”

Paulina reached into her bag, fishing around the mess that she always carried around with her, and when she finally grabbed her wallet, she pulled out three €20 banknotes and handed them over to the bartender.

“Would ya like a shot glass then, for your drink?” he asked as he got her change.

“No thank you, but I would like a whiskey glass.”

“A whiskey glass?” he repeated, surprised. “Look love, I don’t reckon it’d be the best idea for ya to be drinking that excessively in here. There’s too many lads in here and they’re all on their way to being proper smashed. Some might get a bit handsy, in fact, some blokes just got in a fight because one of them grabbed the other’s girlfriend.”

“That’s awful.”

“It is,” he agreed. “But Lord knows some of these lads don’t know how to control themselves.” He paused before asking, “Still want that glass?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Be careful,” he said as he handed her the glass.

She shot him a tight lipped smile and then grabbed her bottle, as well as the glass, and walked off in direction of an empty booth. Her umbrella was lain down on the seat, and after shimmying out of her jacket, she placed it on top. The bottle was set down on the table, the glass placed beside it, and once she sat herself down, she poured herself a drink. She stared at it in silence, her fingers grazing the glass as she silently contemplated the liquid that would soon be numbing her heartache.

“Con una copa de vino voy empezar el camino (with a glass of alcohol, I’ll start my journey). . .” she sang softly to herself.

In one swift movement, she lifted the glass to her lips and drank its entire contents. There was a mild burning sensation that briefly afflicted her throat, but it was gone soon enough and she filled the glass again, this time halfway so that she could sip the tequila. Shots were too nice for what she wanted. They were fun and called to mind drunken evenings with friends. She’d done one shot to get thing started, to wet her mouth, but from there on out, she was going to sip it as if it were a mixed drink.

She went unnoticed for the better part of an hour. Her oversized shirt and lack of make up made it so she was easily overlooked by the opposite sex, something which she was completely fine with. She was glad to be left alone, to drink and sulk, to mutter to herself in Spanish as others laughed and went about their business. She was comfortable in the booth, in the privacy which it afforded her. It was strange how alone she felt in a room filled with people. Their laughter didn’t register with her. All she heard was her own voice, the soft words she whispered and tunes that she sung. She was all alone in that pub; free to brood over her failed romance with Harry.

For quite sometime, she had genuinely believed that he cared for her, that his smiles had been sincere and he enjoyed spending time with her, but now she was realizing how stupid she’d been to think that he could truly care for her. He was a prince. The women he was meant to date were from his own socioeconomic class. There was no way he could sustain a serious relationship with a woman that had a credit card with a $1,500 limit, and whose father barely finished paying off her childhood home.

They were from different worlds. She should’ve known it’d never work out. In fact, at the start of their little affair, she’d made it perfectly clear to herself that it probably wouldn’t last more than a week or that if it did, it was very likely to end at any moment, but his smiles had disarmed her. His look and words had given her false hope and now she was attempting to numb the pain of her broken heart with a bottle of tequila. Each drink she took brought her ever closer to blacking out and having a dreamless slumber. That was all she wanted. She was terrified of what cruel images her mind would play as she slept. It was best to pass out, even if it meant she’d have a headache in the morning.

And so she drank without measure, stopping only when she could no longer ignore the fact that she had to use the restroom. She mumbled angrily to herself, annoyed at the break from drinking, and carelessly threw her bottle into the bag, not wanting to leave it unattended out of fear that someone might slip it a drug. As soon as the bottle was in the bag, she took off towards the restroom. She didn’t walk all that well. Her body had begun to sway and her steps were slow, despite the fact that she was under the impression that she was power walking.

When she exited the bathroom, she fully expected to resume her solitary drinking, but as luck would have it, a familiar face was making his way into the pub.

“Paulin?” called Callum. “Is that you?”

She turned slowly in direction of the voice, her eyes widening ever so slightly when they landed on him. “Callum, hey, how’s it goin’?”

“S’alright. You?” he asked, walking towards her.

“Me? I'm doing alright. You know, just having some drinks.” Her cheeks were an alarming shade of pink and her eyes were beginning to have the faraway look they got whenever she drank too much.

“Olivia and Alfred here with you then?” he inquired.

“It’s just me tonight. How about you? Here with anyone?”

“I am, actually, except they’re not here yet.” He told her. “I got a text saying she was running late so.”

“You’re on a date?” her voice was laden with disbelief.

“Why ya so surprised about that?”

“Well, it’s just . . . you don’t date.”

“I date.”

“No, you shag,” she pointed out.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Not all the time.”

“Since I’ve met you, you haven’t been on a date.”

“That’s not true. I tried to give dating a go once,” he reminded, averting her gaze momentarily.

Her features softened at the memory of that. He’d asked her to go out, but she’d turned him down because they played rugby together and she knew his reputation.

“That bird wouldn’t have been that much of a date,” she joked. “I think Imma head over to my booth now. Have fun with her, and if you say you’re gonna call, you better fucking call.”

“I’ll remember that.”

He watched her stumble towards a booth in the back, and wondered whether or not he ought to put her in a cab home. It was obvious she was drunk, the look in her eyes and smell of her breath made that obvious. She wasn’t rambling, which was a sign that meant she was still in control of her actions, and he wondered how much longer she’d be alright. Most days she was good about handling her alcohol. She drank, she swore, she was able to get home on her own, and he just hoped that she’d have a quiet time at the bar and then see herself home, so his date would go unspoiled. But a half hour after his date arrived, an incident occurred towards the back of the pub, and when her voice rang out, he knew the quiet night had reached its end.

“Who told you, you could fuckin’ touch me?” she bellowed, eyes darkening in rage.

“Awe, come on darlin’, with an ass like that it’d be a crime if I didn’t give it a pinch,” responded the dark haired man with olive green eyes.

“A crime?” she repeated, outrage at the ease with which he spoke.

“An absolute crime,” he said, smirking to himself.

In a fit of rage, she lifted her right arm and slapped him hard across the face. “With a face that fucked up, it’d be a crime if I didn’t try to fix it!” she spat.

The young man groaned in pain, clutching his cheek as he glared at her. “Ya daft cow!” he spat. “Just you wait!”

“You want to throw down? Let’s throw down!” she handed her bottle off to a nearby guy. “Teach you not to go around grabbing people just cuz you fucking feel like it!”

“Ya won’t be running your mouth once I'm done with you.”

“Oi!” bellowed Callum, running towards them. “You’ve got some nerve talking to her like that.”

“Mind your own fucking business!” snapped the young man.

“Why don’t you mind your manners, you twat,” spat Callum.

“Who you calling a twat, you wanker?” hissed the light haired man.

“Don’t call me a wanker.”

“Why? You offended? Or maybe you’re not a wanker, maybe you’re a poof. That’s why you’re defending that bird, because you’re so in touch with your feelings. And when ya go home tonight, you’re gonna have a cry because I was mean to you.”

“That’s it!” interjected Paulina. “Outside, you and me,” she demanded.

The guy scoffed. “Don’t reckon that’s a good idea on account of I’ll wipe the ground with your face.”

“See I don’t think that’s how it’s gonna go down.”

“I reckon you’re wrong.”

“Then let’s go outside and see who’s right.”

His mates protested against it, urging him to reconsider. There was no point in fighting a bird. It wasn’t right, and he’d be embarrassed when he got his wits about him again. But there was no reasoning with him. She’d called him out, and now he had to fight. That was just the way things were. So he followed her out the pub, rolling his sleeves up as he walked, and when the night’s breeze grazed his face, he took in a deep breath and prepared himself.

“Don’t do this. You’re not thinking straight and that bloke’s massive.” Callum spoke hurriedly. “Paulin, just stop!” he grabbed her arm. “You’re gonna get yourself hurt.”

“Fuck that,” she pulled her arm away from him. “I’ll be alright. He’s not that big.”

“Paulin –”

“Just shut up and hold my stuff, yeah? Thank you.” she pushed her purse and jacket into his arms and then tied her hair with a rubber band that had been gracing her wrist. “Rules?” she asked the young man standing across from her.

“No kicking,” he said.

Paulina nodded. “No pulling hair either. That’s shit.”

“Sounds fair enough, let’s have a go then.”

Her drunken mind was overconfident, thinking she could take down anyone that crossed paths with her, but despite her unwavering belief in her abilities, she wasn’t successful in the alcohol fueled brawl. She landed a few choice punches, one to the right eye that would surely bruise, another to his chin, and a few to the gut, but he was taller than her, more muscular, and by the time the fight ended, she’d gotten her own black eye, along with a busted lip. Her injuries would’ve been worse, but when she was sent hurling towards the ground, the owner ran out and demanded the fight stop.

“ENOUGH!” he bellowed. “You lot are acting like bloody animals!”

Callum took the opportunity to run towards her, he grabbed her by the arm, forced her onto her feet and then dragger her away, completely forgetting about the young woman he’d gone out on a date with. He was too focused on getting Paulina the hell out of there. Dragging her off would’ve been easier had he had help, but since there was no one around, he gritted his teeth and kept a tight hold on her as they moved through the dimly lit streets.

“Have ya lost your bloody mind?” he yelled when they reached her apartment complex.

She glared at him. “Don’t yell at me!”

“I'm asking you a question. Have ya lost your bloody mind? Because you’re going round getting into fights with blokes you’ve got no business goin’ up against!”

“What do you mean, no business? He pinched my ASS! Do you not get that? And it wasn’t even like a small pinch, he grabbed a handful and then pinch, pinch, pinch!”

“Look, I understand he was disrespectful, but you should’ve known better than to go against a bloke that size. What if the owner hadn’t run out? You would’ve been in the hospital tonight.”

“Quit exaggerating,” she mumbled.

“Stop that! Stop acting like you don’t care!”

“Oh, I'm not acting! I don’t give a fuck about anything right now. I just want to be stupid and drink and not care. I'm tired of caring, fucking exhausted. So just go away.”

It was then that Callum noticed the hurt in her eyes, the expression of misery that he’d failed to notice when they’d had the conversation earlier.

“What happened to you?” he whispered.

“I just got punched in the face, that’s what happened.”

“Not talking about that. I'm asking what happened to you, cuz you’re not like this. Sure you’ll get into a fight on the rugby pitch, but you’re not like this outside of it. What happened?”

“Nothing you’d want to hear about, so I won’t tell you.”

“Paulina,” he said her name softly, pleadingly.

She let out a shaky breath. “It’s Henry.”

“What about him? Did he get into an accident or something?”

“Nah, he’s fine. In fact, he’s more than fine. He’s fucking fantastic and he’s probably fucking around with other people, right now.” The familiar tears started to fall and she was left to cry in front of her friend. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I should’ve just shut up and . . . but I'm just . . . I’ve been drinking and uh – You know what? I'm just gonna go away now. I ruined your date with whoever that was, and I'm sorry. I'm just not me right now, so I'm gonna go.”

“Well hold on a moment,” he told her. “You look like you could use a drinking partner.”

“I'm not gonna be fun.” She warned. “I'm just gonna drink and listen to rancheras, and . . . I might start singing. And you know how bad I am at singing.”

“If you’re gonna start singing, then I have to be there.” He smiled reassuringly. “Come on then, let’s go drink these sorrows away.”

“You’re sad to? What’s wrong with you?”

He chuckled softly. “I’ve missed out on shagging Mellissa, that’s what’s wrong,” he joked. “But s’alright, I’ll get proper smashed with a mate and that’s nearly as fun.”

“You can still shag her. Just call her and say you brought me home. She’ll be all wet over you cuz you helped a friend.”

“I don’t want to shag her. I want to be here.”

“You’re a good friend. You know that?”

“Yeah, I do, but enough with this good friend emotional nonsense, I feel like a drink.”

They ended up killing a few bottles, some of them were already open, but their drinking knew no bounds. They drank and swore, and listened to music. It was a friend sulking, and another friend being there for her, topping off her drinks and making sure that when she ended up clinging to the toiler as she slept, he was sleeping in the tub just in case she needed anything in the middle of the night.