Page 17 of Chaos

15

Drex

Night 24

I considered not drinking tonight,afraid I might drunkenly wander back to her. Who was I kidding? Of course, I would drink. I had drunk so much for so long, my body ached when I didn’t have alcohol in it. After I walked up the broken sidewalk and into the liquor store, Homer put one bottle of whiskey onto the counter, and I simply shook my head. He put another green bottle beside the first, because even without words, he spoke my language. I needed an intervention before my liver was completely gone, but I wouldn’t find it here.

The money I had sunk into Homer’s store in the short time I had been here easily ran into the thousands. I didn’t care. Some people had multiple reasons to drink. Lies they uttered to help themselves accept their self-abuse. I only had one. One solitary thought every time I took a breath. I hated myself for that reason.

“Thanks,” I mumbled and watched Homer run my card.

He simply nodded in response as he handed the card back to me.

I tucked both bottles under my arm and headed down the hill behind the store, remembering to miss the hole that had caused me to fall the last time I came to the lake. I was far enough away from the restaurant and had enough alcohol to knock a bull on its ass, so I knew I wouldn’t go look for her. At least not tonight. I’d probably be comatose soon. That was the goal, anyhow.

Once the moon reflected off the lake, I thought to be deep enough into the woods that I was safe not to do something stupid after I was drunk. Other than maybe piss on my shoe. It wouldn’t be the first time, and honestly, probably not the last. The bottles clanked together as I set them down against a tree, and I was quick to find a seat next to them.

My fingertips followed the rim of the bottle, and I traced its smooth edge as I pulled my phone and earbuds from my pocket. I found the music that allowed me to relax and put it on shuffle, taking a swig and allowing my eyes to close as the burn coated my throat. I had no clue what the singer was saying, but that was the beauty of listening to rap in Spanish. I used it to drown out the noise of the world, and combined with alcohol, it was a welcomed distraction.

About halfway into the first bottle, I was a little numb and could finally breathe. Resting my head against the bark, I closed my eyes and toed my boots off. The socks followed. The current song had great bass, and it really drew me into the rhythm, but for all I knew they were singing about a loaf of bread. I promised myself at that point if I ever decided to do anything else with my life, I’d learn Spanish. On the other hand, I’d probably hate what I was listening to because I usually didn’t enjoy rap. I loved the music, but didn’t care for most of the lyrics.

The list completed, but it didn’t matter. There wasn’t anything here to escape. The only sound that was floating across the air was the crickets and frogs. A huge splash forced my eyes to open, and I jumped to my feet. Looking across the lake, I saw nothing that could have been responsible for the splash.

Great. I was crazy. I’d developed auditory hallucinations. I yanked my earbuds out of my ears, wrapped them around my phone, and tucked them into the toe of my boot.

Waves rippled across my bare toes, and I breathed a sigh of relief before stepping backward, out of the water’s reach. I thought I had lost what little sanity I had clung to for some time now. A dark figure popping out of the water caught my attention. There was no question it was a woman or a tiny man with long hair, but I couldn’t make out their face. Their hands wandered up their face and then combed through their long hair.

I cocked my head to the side, setting my bottle down, and against everything I believed, walked into the water. Other than drinking, rudeness, and cussing, curiosity was one of my biggest downfalls. I guess those were some huge imperfections, but I wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

The sound pierced my ears before I could cover them. The person was definitely female. A fucking crazy woman, wading water, and screaming at what I was certain the top of her lungs. There was only one thing to do, so I did it.

“What the shit, woman?” I yelled in her general direction, my voice echoing across the lake, anxiety getting the best of me as the waves splashed against my waist.

She jumped at the sound of my voice, and I chuckled as I turned and quickly got out of the water. One second in this lake was too long; I’d made my point, so there was no reason to stay in this deathtrap.

She covered her body with her hands, and it was then the moon found her. It was her. Eris. There she stood in perfection. Crazy perfection. She wore a white bra, and below her stomach was still submerged in the water. She shook her head, and her shoulders rose and fell as I could only imagine her rolling her eyes and calling me a “dick”.

“Woman?” she yelled to me while walking out of the water, not stopping there. She was headed around the bank, and I knew she was coming here, so I saved her the trouble of walking the entire way and met her.

Her blonde hair was plastered to her forehead that had a scowl painted onto it. Her ice-blue eyes burned with hate, and I knew I was the igniter to it. The closer she drew to me, the more her bottom lip twitched with anger.

“Are you stalking me?” she spat out and poked me in the chest, but I couldn’t answer her. My eyes followed the water dripping down her beautiful frame that was barely covered. I was staring, but I couldn’t help it. In thirty-two years, I’d never seen anything more beautiful. From her milky white skin to her blue eyes, she was everything I wasn’t. Everything I wanted.

“Are you stalking me?” After a few seconds, I repeated what she had asked as hateful as she had, trying to sound convincing, and poked her in the sternum.

Her eyes followed my finger as it lingered there, and I flattened my palm against her chest. I couldn’t move. My skin against hers, despite how little, stopped my world. Each beat of my heart pounded in pain and begged me to give in to the ache. Her heart fluttered beneath my fingertips, and I knew by its quickness, she wanted me as much as I needed her, but I knew I would fail her. Each beat screamed louder and louder, and there was no doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t stop myself. If I were sober, that was. Usually, when sober, I held back because the world was one big colossal fuck up, and I was the number one reason. I wasn’t sober, though. I was a selfish bastard. I had to feel her.

My fingertips traced her collarbone and circled her shoulder. She kept her eyes on my hand as she held her breath, and then only allowed small, shallow breaths. I swore I’d let her go, but soon my left hand mirrored the path the right had taken seconds before. I told myself to stop when both of my hands found her neck and then slithered their wicked way up to cup her face. Her eyes found mine and told me not to stop. She was flawless, and I knew I’d only bring imperfection. I shook my head and the stupid ideas trying to surface away before they had a chance to set into place and take us to a place neither of us could return from.

I broke our gaze and turned from her, finding my bottle and pressing it to my lips. I took a long drink, longer than I should have, but I needed to touch anything other than her. I took a few steps to put some distance between us.

I couldn’t think when I was near her, let alone when I touched her. That was a lie. I couldn’t stop thinking, actually. I’d breathed her into my body and was addicted. I knew it, but like any other good addict, I denied I had a problem. Addiction was very similar to the stages of grief. At least for me it was. Although they came and went very quickly right now. I was pissed at myself, because the longer I watched her, the closer my feet took me to her. I knew we were both stubborn, and the sexual tension was growing with each inch that disappeared behind my feet. She pulled the bottle from my lips and brought it to hers, taking a long drink similar to mine, and then her fingers lingered around the neck. I didn’t know what else to do, but do the same to her. I took a quick swig as she watched me and reached for the bottle. I wanted to give it back to her, but couldn’t. I had to keep my hands busy, so I put both of them around the bottle and took another step backward.

“You’re an asshole,” she said and looked beyond me to the other bottle against the tree. She walked over, opened the whiskey, took a drink, and glared at me over her shoulder.

She was right. I was an asshole. Ironically, I was trying to do the right thing, though. I knew us being together was an extremely bad idea. Despite how amazing the sex would clearly be, it was obvious from the constant arguing I was no better for her than she was for me.

After setting down the bottle, I rubbed my fingers across my beard. I knew I was losing control. I wanted to be what she needed. I needed her to be what I needed. Maybe we could have each other once and get it out of our systems, and then I could move on with my miserable life. Bargaining. I knew what I was doing, and I was lying to myself. At this point, though, being sensible no longer mattered.

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