Page 21 of Vicious Sentiments

“What just happened there?” Julian’s eyes are narrowed.

I shake my head, and he sets his jaw, but I can see the wheels turning in his mind. There’s no way I’m telling him about that. If I don’t say it out loud, it never happened.

I drink the cold water, feeling it chill my chest and spread through me, calming me.

“I assume you have a prejudice against alcohol,” Julian says after a moment. “In which case I urge you to drink it anyway. A family friend used to drink and when he did, it was ugly. I swore I would never drink, never embarrass myself like that, until I realized that by not drinking I was giving that fear power over me.” He takes a sniff of his glass and then drinks.

I want to tell him that it has nothing to do with what I’ve witnessed in other people when they drink. Like my dad. The alcohol didn’tmakehim cruel and I don’t believe it would makemecruel. It only brings out who you already are. But I don’t want to tell him what actually caused me to refrain.

“Whoever, or whatever, has painted it in a poor light is doing you a disservice,” he says. “Alcohol, in moderation, can be cathartic. And this particular red is full of heart-healthy catechins,” he chuckles and takes another sip.

I picture my heart—hollow and gray. It could use something heart-healthy. And the power Julian mentioned, something about it is niggling at me. Everyone has always had more power than me. Stronger, louder, bigger, and smarter. I want my own power.

I pull the glass closer to me, bending my head to take a whiff. It smells like chocolate but flowers at the same time. Nothing like the harsh sting of my dad’s breath, and nothing like the yeast of my only beer.

I take a sip.

* * *

The dress has fallen away from my thigh, revealing whatever it’s going to reveal. I’m in a dream as Julian cuts another piece off of what I learned is a tomahawk steak, and puts it on my plate. He ordered me a second side of mashed potatoes after I finished the first and just poured me a third glass of wine.

I’m light. I can’t feel my shoulders, which are normally bunched up, and my movements are slow, relaxed, hazy in my own vision. Whatever lady-like appearance I thought I needed to keep up is gone. My elbows are resting on the table and I may have licked one of my fingers but in my defense the drippings from the steak are so savory that my actions could be much worse.

The candles have melted down as I tell Julian about the piano in the music room back at Bridgerock. A secret that I’ve never told anyone.

“Every day after school, I would spend as much time playing as I could before the janitor came to lock the doors.”

“Did you grow up with a piano in your home?” Julian asks.

I shake my head and snort.

“Then how did you learn to play?”

I shrug. It just kind of happened. One day during freshman year I wandered in and fiddled with the keys and after that, I couldn’t stop. I never had any outlets, no places or people I could go to, but the piano promised a melody I could pour my sorrows into.

“I think that’s the only thing I miss from Bridgerock,” I muse as I take another sip of my wine. “I mean, graduating kind of cut me off anyways, but at least I knew it was there. That piano is probably the only thing that—”

I catch myself before I go any further. I may be intoxicated, but Iknow I don’t want Julian to see me in that light. I make a note to not speak about the piano again. It’s actually a sore spot anyway.

In my mind I lock up all the music and the feelings of my fingers on the keys. It hurts too much to think about when I know I’m never going to play again.

Julian doesn’t press me and instead tells me about Marney and Dillon. Their parents were friends of Margo and passed away seven years ago, that’s when Margo took them in. He explains that Marney is resilient, but Dillon took it very hard. It’s only recently that Dillons been doing better, something that Julian chalks up to Dillon taking on running. Which explains the gear he was wearing earlier. Apparently, Dillon is training for an ultra marathon, which spans days and hundreds of miles.

When I asked about college for Dillon, Julian laughed and said, “College isn’t necessary in our family.” Which makes me more curious what they do to be as rich as they are.

“Margo goes a little overboard with Marney,” Julian says now. “I guess from never having a daughter and wanting to make up for Marney’s loss. She has her doing ballet, piano, soccer, and acting classes. And you should have seen her thirteenth birthday party.”

“What was it?” I ask.

“Hawaii. For eight girls. With a private luau, but add mermaid makeup artists and EDM.”

“That sounds like so much fun,” I sigh.

“A thirteen-year-old’s birthday party?” He quirks a brow.

I start to laugh and then stop abruptly. “I’ve never had a birthday party.”

The girls at school would throw parties all the time, and while anyone could show up, that was somewhere I wouldn’t want to be. Not when I knew Kyle would be there, and if I didn’t go then that meant I got a free night from him.

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