Status: Writing.
Trembling Memory
C h a p t e r T w o
Part of my everyday routine now consisted of alcohol. The quantity was different as well. It could be just a few bottles of beer to a whole bottle of vodka mixed with cranberry juice, my personal favorite.
Tonight, I chose my poison of choice, Vodka.
Everyone was away, which gave me the right to do whatever the hell I wanted. I was waiting for a night like this for a very long time, and now that it was here I'm not sure that I wanted it. No one was around to watch me, or keep me safe from wandering the streets. No one was around to hold my hair over the toilet the next morning or rub my back and tell me to 'just let it out' and put a cool, moist rag on my heated forehead. I lost that person exactly three months ago today.
So, I sat around the house crying, holding onto my red solo cup for dear life as I drowned myself in the sweet solitude the liquor brought me, and as well as the cheesiness of the old romance movies from the 1990's. I didn't wanna be alone today.
Almost as if God heard my prayers, a knock sounded on my door. I didn't even bother to whipe my eyes as I got up and slid across the kitchen floor in my slippers.
I turned the door knob robot-like and swung it open, seeing a tall, lanky shadow in the doorway peering down at me.
I didn't need a name to know exactly who it was, either.
"Hi, John." I said solemnly with a hiccup.
"Erm, hi. Can I come in?"
I nodded my head and stepped aside, allowing his entrance into the house. I closed the door behind him once his other leg was in and leaned against the doorway, facing him.
"You have mascara all over your face." One of his fingers motioned to various places all over his face, but I merely shrugged.
"Oh, well."
John looked almost sympathetic, sad even. I didn't meet his stare, though, and instead looked at the ground at my painted toenails.
"So, what'd you come over for?"
I walked us into the kitchen in search of a paper towel. I whiped at the stains on my cheeks, the texture of the napkin feeling like sand paper against my skin.
"I saw your Facebook status and I got worried."
"Which one?"
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, pressing the little blue icon and pulled up my name. "Although we loved you dearly, we could not make you stay."
I nodded my head. I posted that literally less than 15 minutes ago, and so far no one had commented or liked it. It was good that John cared.
It was good that someone still did.
I picked up my red cup and downed the last half of it in one gulp, shaking my head and squinting my eyes. That cup was by far the strongest and left my knees shaking but it certainly didn't stop me from making another one.
I put the cup back down on the table and reached around to the island. I unscrewed the top of the cranberry juice with a shaky hand and poured it in, feeling John's stare burning into me the whole time. I met his gaze and noticed his lips pressed into a tight, worrysome line.
"Do you really think you should be drinking?" He walked around to my side of the counter, grabbing the neck of the liquor bottle and taking it away from me.
Anger consumed my every being and I tried closing my eyes to calm down, saying "John, please give me the bottle."
He shook his head. It was obvious neither of us was going to give up, so one of us was going to have to fight.
"Give. Me. The. Fucking. Bottle." I sneered through my teeth.
He shook his head. Again.
I went over to him, grabbing his arm that was now hovering the bottle in the air and pulled it down, or tried my very best. I underestimated how strong he was.
I tried tugging a little bit more before I eventually just started pounding his chest with my fist. It hurt the sides of my hands probably more than it did him in anyway, but still he wouldn't let up, and neither would I.
He placed the bottle on top of the fridge and grabbed both of my wrists in his hands, pushing me lightly over to where the countertop was. I felt my back press into it as his face got in mine, and tears started to soak my cheeks again.
"Stop it, Nevada. Do you hear me? Quit. I'm not going to be the one to let you drink yourself to death now, or ever."
I closed my eyes and looked down, feeling the wetness on my cheeks soak through the torso of my shirt and leak down my body, stopping at my stomach. My body shook vigorously with the violent sobs.
"It helps me forget."
One of his hands unclenched itself from around my wrist and made its way up to my cheeks, his calloused thumb whiping away the clumps of mascara and the tears. I leaned my head into his palm and he cradled it there, looking at me with the same sad, sympathetic twinkle in his eye from a few minutes prior.
I pulled John into a hug and he gripped me tightly. It was almost as if he were expecting it more than I was, but his embrace was comforting and warm, reminding me of a blanket. I sniffled into his chest and whiped the last of my tears on his shirt, earning a sigh from his parted lips.
"Wow, asshole."
Giggling, I pulled away from him and reached for a napkin. He took my free hand and held it in his, saying "Sometimes, we don't know someone to give us advice, or try to console us. All we really need is someone to listen."
I heeded his advice. We sat on my couch, eating nonsense and talking of nothing of importance. He sat there and listened to my problems like someone hadn't done in a long time, offering little head nods and lttle noises of interest to prove to me he was still listening.
And for the first time in a very long time, I felt wanted and not so alone.
John had become someone in two seconds my family couldn't be in their whole lives for me.
A voice of reason.
Tonight, I chose my poison of choice, Vodka.
Everyone was away, which gave me the right to do whatever the hell I wanted. I was waiting for a night like this for a very long time, and now that it was here I'm not sure that I wanted it. No one was around to watch me, or keep me safe from wandering the streets. No one was around to hold my hair over the toilet the next morning or rub my back and tell me to 'just let it out' and put a cool, moist rag on my heated forehead. I lost that person exactly three months ago today.
So, I sat around the house crying, holding onto my red solo cup for dear life as I drowned myself in the sweet solitude the liquor brought me, and as well as the cheesiness of the old romance movies from the 1990's. I didn't wanna be alone today.
Almost as if God heard my prayers, a knock sounded on my door. I didn't even bother to whipe my eyes as I got up and slid across the kitchen floor in my slippers.
I turned the door knob robot-like and swung it open, seeing a tall, lanky shadow in the doorway peering down at me.
I didn't need a name to know exactly who it was, either.
"Hi, John." I said solemnly with a hiccup.
"Erm, hi. Can I come in?"
I nodded my head and stepped aside, allowing his entrance into the house. I closed the door behind him once his other leg was in and leaned against the doorway, facing him.
"You have mascara all over your face." One of his fingers motioned to various places all over his face, but I merely shrugged.
"Oh, well."
John looked almost sympathetic, sad even. I didn't meet his stare, though, and instead looked at the ground at my painted toenails.
"So, what'd you come over for?"
I walked us into the kitchen in search of a paper towel. I whiped at the stains on my cheeks, the texture of the napkin feeling like sand paper against my skin.
"I saw your Facebook status and I got worried."
"Which one?"
He pulled his phone out of his pocket, pressing the little blue icon and pulled up my name. "Although we loved you dearly, we could not make you stay."
I nodded my head. I posted that literally less than 15 minutes ago, and so far no one had commented or liked it. It was good that John cared.
It was good that someone still did.
I picked up my red cup and downed the last half of it in one gulp, shaking my head and squinting my eyes. That cup was by far the strongest and left my knees shaking but it certainly didn't stop me from making another one.
I put the cup back down on the table and reached around to the island. I unscrewed the top of the cranberry juice with a shaky hand and poured it in, feeling John's stare burning into me the whole time. I met his gaze and noticed his lips pressed into a tight, worrysome line.
"Do you really think you should be drinking?" He walked around to my side of the counter, grabbing the neck of the liquor bottle and taking it away from me.
Anger consumed my every being and I tried closing my eyes to calm down, saying "John, please give me the bottle."
He shook his head. It was obvious neither of us was going to give up, so one of us was going to have to fight.
"Give. Me. The. Fucking. Bottle." I sneered through my teeth.
He shook his head. Again.
I went over to him, grabbing his arm that was now hovering the bottle in the air and pulled it down, or tried my very best. I underestimated how strong he was.
I tried tugging a little bit more before I eventually just started pounding his chest with my fist. It hurt the sides of my hands probably more than it did him in anyway, but still he wouldn't let up, and neither would I.
He placed the bottle on top of the fridge and grabbed both of my wrists in his hands, pushing me lightly over to where the countertop was. I felt my back press into it as his face got in mine, and tears started to soak my cheeks again.
"Stop it, Nevada. Do you hear me? Quit. I'm not going to be the one to let you drink yourself to death now, or ever."
I closed my eyes and looked down, feeling the wetness on my cheeks soak through the torso of my shirt and leak down my body, stopping at my stomach. My body shook vigorously with the violent sobs.
"It helps me forget."
One of his hands unclenched itself from around my wrist and made its way up to my cheeks, his calloused thumb whiping away the clumps of mascara and the tears. I leaned my head into his palm and he cradled it there, looking at me with the same sad, sympathetic twinkle in his eye from a few minutes prior.
I pulled John into a hug and he gripped me tightly. It was almost as if he were expecting it more than I was, but his embrace was comforting and warm, reminding me of a blanket. I sniffled into his chest and whiped the last of my tears on his shirt, earning a sigh from his parted lips.
"Wow, asshole."
Giggling, I pulled away from him and reached for a napkin. He took my free hand and held it in his, saying "Sometimes, we don't know someone to give us advice, or try to console us. All we really need is someone to listen."
I heeded his advice. We sat on my couch, eating nonsense and talking of nothing of importance. He sat there and listened to my problems like someone hadn't done in a long time, offering little head nods and lttle noises of interest to prove to me he was still listening.
And for the first time in a very long time, I felt wanted and not so alone.
John had become someone in two seconds my family couldn't be in their whole lives for me.
A voice of reason.