Page 70 of Your Echo
19I Wish I Was Sober || Frightened Rabbit
ACE
I’msorry if I moved too fast last night. I know it was a lot, you meeting my mom and then me telling you all that, but I’m kind of pissed, Ace. It took a lot for me to say that. I needed you there with me and you bailed. I’m not going to try calling again. Get back to me. Soon.
Stéphanie’s texts all blur into one fuzzy black line of guilt, pain, and regret. I drop my phone down next to the empty bottle of Jack beside me on my balcony.
“Fuck!” I yell, so loud the man sitting on a balcony across the street looks up from his newspaper. “FUCK!”
“Fuck toi, conne!” he yells back.
“FUCK. YOU.”
The sound echoes up and down the street. I push myself to my feet and stumble back into my apartment before he has time to reply. There are two beds inside.
I only have one bed...
I aim for the one on the right and end up on the floor.
“Fuck.”
I just lay there. The room spins. My vision drifts in and out of focus until my eyes land on a marbled guitar pick under my bed.
“Been wondering where that was.”
I reach for the piece of plastic and bring it closer to my eyes. There are two guitar picks. For some reason, this is fucking hilarious. I laugh so hard my stomach hurts and I have to press my palm to my ribs. Then, as quickly as the laughter came, it disappears.
I’m hollow again.
Not enough booze in here...
I was up past three in the morning last night, wandering the streets and torturing myself by keeping Stéphanie’s words on a loop in my head, her voice dull and monotone as she recounted the worst moment of her life to me.
She had no idea it was the worst moment of my life too.
When I finally made my way back to my apartment, I dug up all the alcohol I could find and drank enough to lull myself to sleep. I woke up at one this afternoon, stared at all the blinking notifications on my phone, and then started drinking again.
It’s now almost eight at night.
I get up, bracing myself on the mattress until my head no longer feels like a tilt-a-whirl, then chug down a glass of water and jump in the shower. I let the water run as hot as it will go before I switch it to freezing cold, shouting out curse words as the shock to my system helps to clear the fog in my head. After I towel off, I brush my teeth and pull some clean clothes on.
The liquor store won’t sell me alcohol if I seem drunk.
I make my way over to an SAQ and browse the bottles, squinting at their labels. The shower helped, but I’m still hazy, and it’s hard to read the small letters. I consider getting another bottle of Jack, but then I pass by the wine section and spot a display of champagne.
Gorgeous. Fucking perfect. What better way to celebrate my life going up in flames?
I grab the biggest bottle I can see and pay for it. Somehow, all the cashier asks is to see my ID. I have to keep myself from sprinting out the door with my brown paper bag, snickering at how easy it is to dupe the system.
Instead of walking back to my apartment, I find myself heading up to Parc Lafontaine. My grip on the bottle’s neck grows tighter as Stéphanie’s voice starts bouncing around in my head again.
I’ll never forget the sound her body made when she fell.
I screamed and screamed, but nobody came out of the house.
I heard her screaming. Istillhear her screaming, those nights when I wake up clutching my sheets with sweat pouring down my back. That little blonde girl with her snowball. I didn’t know human beings could make those kinds of sounds. She was like an animal caught in a trap, all blind fear and panic. Then she glanced at my bedroom window.
I looked right at him and I screamed for him to help me, but he just ran away. Maybe if he’d sent someone outside...
