Page 38 of At My Worst

He smiles and leans in, giving me a quick kiss. He pulls back and walks around me, heading back to the bedrooms.

I should have known that he would be tired. It was stupid of me to think that after a long day at work, he would have the energy to have sex with me. Maybe watching a movie is a better idea, and one of these days, when he is not tired, we can have sex.

“Hey,” Alexander says, pulling me away from yet another memory I wish I could forget.

I open my eyes and look at Alexander. He is placing eggs and bacon on my plate. His eyes watch me closely as I sit back and give him a small smile.

“Hey,” I whisper back.

He sets down the pans and comes around the bar. He stops at my side and grabs my face, forcing me to turn and look up at him. He leans down, smashing his lips to mine.

Fuck. I think it will always make my head spin and my stomach fill with butterflies with how he shows affection without thinking about it. He just does it.

He pulls back and releases my face, taking the seat beside me. “Did you sleep good?” He asks as he grabs his coffee cup.

“I think so.”

I hear the doorbell go off, taking my attention away from Alexander. I turn and look and see a man walking towards us. He looks a little rough and is an older man. He runs his hands through his hair as he makes his way behind the bar. I sit back in my chair and watch him as he grabs a bottle of whisky and turns around, removing the cap. He takes a big gulp and looks at me, then at Alexander.

“Pop, what are you doing?” Alexander asks.

Pop?

“Having a drink,” he says as he takes another big gulp from the bottle.

I can feel his pain radiating off of him in waves. No judgments here, man. That was me last night. The bottle makes promises it can’t keep, but we continue to go back to it anyway—a never-ending cycle.

“It is seven in the morning,” Alexander says, exasperated.

“I know what time it is, boy. I am not stupid,” he snaps. His eyes are bloodshot, and from the way he is downing that booze, I can tell he has a pretty big tolerance to alcohol.

“I never said you were,” Alexander says softly.

“Who is this?” He asks, motioning towards me. Alexander wraps his arm around me and takes a deep breath.

“Pop, this is Bianca.”

“Nice to meet you, Bianca. I am Alex’s father,” he says, looking me over.

“Nice to meet you.”

He eyes me for a moment, then takes the bottle and pushes off the counter. He walks around the bar and slowly walks back out the way he just came in.

“I will be back for happy hour,” he says as he pushes open the doors and walks out.

“I’m sorry about that,” Alexander says in a low voice.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” I reply, trying my best to reassure him.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “He wasn’t always like this. After my mother died, he kinda lost it,” he explains.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“She was sick for a long time. We all tried to help, but in the end, it was her time to go,” he says softly.

I stay quiet because I don’t know what to say. My family and I are no longer close. They chose a life that I am not a part of anymore, and even though I stay in contact with a few of them, I keep my distance for the most part.

Alexander leans in and gently kisses the side of my head. I take another sip of coffee, and my stomach makes noises, begging me to dive into the eggs and bacon.

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