Page 100 of Beyond the Bright Lights

The more I drank, the more thoughts of disappointing Lana plagued my body. But the problem with addiction is it doesn’t give a shit about guilt or regret.

Fuck, why am I like this?

I take a red plastic cup from the stack on the liquor table and pour some whiskey into it.

I swish the brown liquid around, contemplating if I need it. I don’t. I want it. In one fast gulp, the drink is gone. I pour another and down that one just as fast.

By the time people are filing in, I have a good buzz. I’m relaxed. I’m ready for whatever Lana has for me. I mentally prepare myself to tell her I slipped, that I’ve been drinking. I’ll tell her everything is fine. I can stop. She can trust me. She has to. If she’s ready to begin a life with me, she has to trust I’ll always be honest. That I’ll always be around.

Except, I haven’t been honest. I should have told her the moment I had the first drink two months ago.

This is a minor setback.

I’m finishing my fifth cup when Bruno and Ginger arrive. I greet them, managing to keep myself from swaying on my feet.

Shit. I went too far this time. I had one too many.

I lost control.

Bruno and Ginger are so wrapped up in each other, saying their final goodbyes because their hot summer fling will be ending after tonight, they don’t notice I'm tipsy and on my way to drunk.

“Lana says she’ll be here in ten minutes,” Ginger says and giggles as Bruno smooches along her neck.

I respond by holding up my cup (as far as they know, it’s water), and the two head off to a corner for privacy.

Panic nips at my nerves. I’m going to be drunk by the time Lana gets here. The minute she sees me, she’ll know. It doesn’t matter how many pieces of gum I shove into my mouth; she’ll taste it on my kisses.

A chorus of chirps and dings fill the air of the small room. People take out their phones to check whatever alert was pushed from whatever news organization they subscribe to. My own phone buzzes, and that’s when I know the alert is about me. Because the only alerts I subscribe to are ones mentioning my name—and my addiction. I take my phone out of my pocket and glance at the screen.

Confession number two.

The room goes silent, chatter coming to a stop. The band is still setting up, oblivious to what’s happening. All eyes turn on me, full of horror and pity.

I back up, slowly, until the backs of my legs hit the table holding the booze. A wave of déjà vu washes over me. Except, this time, Lana isn’t here to walk me into a picnic table, and I’m certainly not backing her up to her bed.

This is me returning to rock bottom.

I turn and storm out of the room, dizzy from the booze and adrenaline coursing through my body. Once outside, I search for my driver, who parked the SUV in the first row. He’s in the car, taking a nap when I open his door.

“Get out.”

My booming voice jerks him awake. He’s confused but he gets out. I drop down into the seat and slam the door shut. By the time the driver realizes I’m stealing his car, it’s too late.

I’m gone.

I’m heading to Lana’s.

Chapter 25 - Lana

I’m buckling the strap of my sandal when I hear a muffled boom followed by a faint rumble.

What the hell?

Did a transformer go out? It’s happened before in the summer but it’s not that hot out tonight. I walk over to the window facing the street in front of my bar and pause.

Mylan’s driver’s car.

No.

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