Page 91 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
6:00 p.m.
Still at the clinic an hour after closing. An hour before my meeting. No reason to go home. Nothing there for me except to be reminded of Jessica everywhere. I’d logged more hours working these days, if I wasn’t flinging myself off buildings like I had a death wish.
Punishing myself, but I didn’t need to because I’d hurt enough already.
I hurt. I really hurt.
At home, I’d been a mess, not eating or sleeping. I’d get in her bed with the cat and the dog and wish she was there, scrolling through her pictures on my phone.
Pathetic. That’s what I was. And in so much psychic pain, it was physical.
I locked up the front door to leave, not having any other excuses to stay, when I saw the soup kitchen next door. Jessica stood at the doorway, smiling and welcoming people. She gave off kindness and warmth that radiated all the way over here.
She was safe. Good.
I looked up again, and she caught my eye.
She was better off without me. She could do so much better than me. I should just stay away from her. There’s no atonement for what I did.
I murdered an innocent because of my stupidity.
I’d just leave her alone.
For good.
Fuck it.
Squealing out of the parking lot, I drove to T&P Saloon. My old alma mater. I’d graduated from there to being a full-fledged alcoholic.
When I walked in, a new bartender—a college kid—wiped the counter. The place smelled of peanuts on the ground, stale beer, and broken dreams. Green Day played quietly.
God, I was miserable.
My phone lit up. Hoping it was Jessica, my heart sunk when I saw it was Cherry. I thought I’d deleted her number.I heard you’re between women. Need me?
No, I texted.Please don’t text me again.
Have it your way.
I didn’t need her. If I wasn’t going to have Jessica, I wasn’t going to have anyone.
I sat down at the barstool.
It felt familiar. The swivel, the height, the way my shoe caught in the lower ring. Just right for me. Like I was back home.
The kid came up. “What’ll it be?”
“Three shots of Bulleit bourbon. For starters.”
He set out three shot glasses, lining them up, then filling them, the amber liquid tantalizing. Calling to me. I knew the warmth that would come from them. The fire in my belly, the good burn down my throat.
After those three, I’d just keep ordering them until I was out of my mind. Until there was nothing but whiskey, and I could forget all the pain.
I leaned over and smelled them, not caring what people thought of me.
Heaven.
They smelled like heaven.
