Page 3 of Arden and the Girl Downstairs

“Maybe I’ll have an elbiabalo instead,” he slurs again. Pretty sure he means an El Diablo. Turns out, after two months of listening to him, I’m getting pretty good at understanding his drunk talk.

“I have a better idea, why don’t you tell me why you’ve been writing yourself off every night for the better part of two months?” I ask this question almost every night and never get a response. I turn away to start the clean-up of the bar since he won’t answer me, but he surprises me.

“I fucked up,” he whispers. I almost miss it.

“What did you do?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“I wasn’t there when she needed me.” His tone is sombre, and it makes me a little sad.

It’s clear he is hurting, but I don’t think he’ll find the answers at the bottom of a bottle.

“Who needed you?” I pry a little further. If he’s talking, he may give me the story.

“Do you know what it’s like to look after everyone in your life? Provide everything they could possibly need? Help them get the girl they love? Make sure they are safe and happy?” he asks. These feel more like rhetorical questions, though.

I don’t get a chance to answer before he’s talking again. “It’s a lot. I love them all and I would do anything for them. I’ll continue to do everything they need. But I’m drowning and I don’t know how to find the surface.” I’m not sure how to respond to that, but I try anyway.

“Have you considered talking to a profession—”

“Nope, no way, not happening. I’m not talking to a shrink. Dad made me go years ago and my shrink was an absolute nut job. No pun intended.” I can’t help but giggle at his choice of words. I really shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to help myself.

Arden gives me a strange look I can’t decipher. So, I change the topic.

“Why do you come here every night? You never speak to me at home, and you strongly dislike the fact that I live on the property, so why not take your drunken ass to one of the many other bars in town?” I put a glass of water in front of him and continue to pack the dishwasher.

Ralph makes his way behind the bar and helps me close. I’ve never asked him to help, but given Arden is the reason I’m usually here until 2 a.m., I think he feels obligated.

“Why do you wear those unicorn slippers?” he asks instead of answering.

“Why do you wear those ugly bow ties?” I fire back. Two can play this game. I honestly don’t care at this point if I upset him. I’m tired, cranky, and in pain. I want pain meds, PJs, and bed.

“Why do you always have a heat pack thingy?” I’m surprised he noticed, but I’m not answering him until he answers one of my questions.

“Why don’t you acknowledge me during the day?”

“Why do you wear those stupid ugly tees?” I look down and smirk at my “Ew, People” shirt. There’s nothing wrong with it. In fact, it’s one of my favourites.

“Why do we have security on the front gate? Who are you keeping out? Or in? Wait, you don’t have someone locked in the basement, right?”

Arden chuckles. “We don’t have a basement.” Thanks, Captain Obvious.

“You didn’t say no to having a person locked up. Are they in the garage behind that wall? Oh God, why did I never think to snoop? What if I’m an accessory to a crime and I didn’t even realise?” Ralph’s laughter cuts through my thoughts.

Wait. I just said all that out loud. Whoops.

Arden has a glint in his eye and the start of a smile. It’s the most expressive I’ve ever seen him. If he wasn’t rude and didn’t wear that stupid bow tie—and maybe tried wearing some casual clothes—he might be a little cute.

“There’s nobody locked up anywhere,” he emphasises with an eye roll to set me straight, before he continues on. “But, the security is for extra protection. We had some stalker issues last year and Yasmin has some past problems, so I’m protecting my family. I couldn’t protect my sister when she needed it, so I’m doing what I can now.”

“That sounds exhausting. Thanks for being honest. I wear the unicorn slippers because they are comfortable and I like them, and I have the heat pack because I’m in constant pain, but I can’t have the surgery that will help with the problem because my ‘future fictional partner’ may want kids. Which is complete and utter crap! Why should some guy who comes into my life sometime in the future have any impact on the decisions I make right now to better my quality of life?” I’m ranting, I know, but I can’t help it. Besides Chad, who owns Grumpy’s, I don’t have anyone else to talk to. “Wait, if you look after all your friends, who looks after you?” My curiosity overrides the fact that I just shared some personal information with Arden.

“I look after myself,” he replies while hiccupping.

“I think your friends need to check you into a facility to get you some help. I’m sure they would love to be able to look afteryoufor once.” I’ve met some of them in passing, but I haven’t officially met them all, yet. I know who is who, though, I think.

“Not going to happen. I don’t need help. But you do. I’ll pay for your surgery.”

“Umm, no thank you, and like I said, although money is a factor, they still won’t agree to do it. I’m too young.”

---