Running Into Figure Six

“I’m going out to get a drink”

“A drink? With who?”

“Alone”, she was about to say something, when I quickly added, “How’s Stephan?”

“I sent him to the store, to get some eggs and spice”

“Oh. Stephan goes to the store now?” I laughed, hoping she would just laugh too instead of bashing me.

“I didn’t really need anything. I just needed some alone time with my spiky-hair dude” she said, chuckling a bit, and that stopped me in my tracks.

“Wha.. What dude?” I knew who she was referring to, but for some reason, i wanted her answer.

” You forgot your brother, Courtney? How can you forget him so quick? You haven’t even been gone two months”, she ranted on, pausing for a short time,

“He visited earlier today and he’s been asking about you. If you were around here, he would have asked you to our dinner tonight.”

“I.. I don’t..” I stuttered before gaining my composure. “Bye for now, Mom. Please tell Stephan I said hi. I have to go” I said, and hanged up. I could hear her saying something about saying hello to Courtney because he..

And I wished i had waited to hear the rest of her words .

Then I flagged down a taxi and sitting in there, I let myself imagine Courtney sitting confidently in our dining room back in California, with his spiky brown hair and stupid hairy chest, having a chat with my mom as if they’ve lived together for a long time, and stopping by to give her a quick peck on the cheek, and then mouthing, “You did not deserve this ten years ago”

I imagined him asking for my whereabouts for the umpteenth time, and I imagined mom telling him I ran away because I thought she was a bad mother.

I imagined him laughing at her statement, and asking her for my address so he could visit me one of these days.

I imagined him ordering Stephan around, to the store, to the gas station, everywhere, just so he could be alone with mom, as if trying to bond with her would take all the pressure between them away.

It was too much to imagine.

I didn’t know whether it was for the fact that Courtney came into her life again, after many years of abandoning him, and without us knowing about him until a few years ago, or because mom expected Stephan and I to accept him as our real brother, or because she gave him too much affection, more than she’ll ever show me or Stephan in a lifetime.

I held my head and shut my eyes tight, trying hard to shake off the memory of four years ago.

“Are you okay?” The man at the wheel turned to face me, his eyes darting forward and backwards like a switch. “You just groaned”

“The- new – bar -downtown, – please” I clipped, willing him to keep quiet or I’d have to dump my frustration on a totally innocent man. He caught the hint and drove quietly for the rest of the way.

Thank goodness I was on my way to a bar anyway. I was really going to drown myself in vintage wine or vodka or whatever fucking alcohol they had.

Coffee or fuzzy drinks would never take this memory away.

When he stopped at the bar, I slammed the door shut and flung a dollar note at him. He must have understood that I was not in a good mood, because he just drove away without uttering another word.

Grateful there was no queue at that moment, I walked my way to the alcohol section and whispered, “Three bottles of vodka please”

“Excuse me? Can you be more vocal please?” The middle-aged man at the counter said, looking very clueless.

“Three- fucking- bottles- of- vodka, goddammit!” I cussed, above my breath. A pair of eyes turned to look at me, and I could swear that If there wasn’t music playing in here, I’d probably be thrown out by these people.

That means, only a few of them heard my cussing.

“We don’t have any vodka, sorry”

“Give me any alcohol you’ve got, goddammit!” I cussed again, nonchalantly. I just wanted to forget this memory because every movement I made brought Courtney closer to me. I saw his face on the middle-aged man’s face and everywhere else. So i collapsed on an empty seat and laid my head on the table.

Most people here were too engrossed in their drinking and drivels to care about a crazy, vulgar girl in unbelievably tight jeans that shot her ass backwards, two times more than it was natural.

This would be my second time drinking and If i were to consider how my first time went, I’d rather be in my room crying my eyes out than be here, doing it again.

The first time I drank was two days after dad died. Mom was force-sending me to her sister’s in Miami because she thought I was crying too much, and relocation would help me. Gerald was away on a work assignment and Stephan was not helping my grief.

So I had decided to visit Jessie’s , but going there had earned me more pity than I had thought of receiving. So much that I had to excuse myself from them, found a bar close to school, and in one sitting downed three bottles of vodka.

I was a few days away from my eighteenth birthday but I did not care.

Then I ate four bags of my favorite potato chips, hoping I’d feel better, but I did not. Instead, I felt my stomach churn from nausea, and I was so so wasted that night. I had stayed there until 9pm because I didn’t want to be home or at Jessie’s.

Or anywhere.

Except with dad. But he was gone. Gone forever.

My phone had been in my pockets blowing with calls and buzzing with numerous texts from Jessie’s mother, Jessie, Gerald, Stephan and mom too.

Even Brad left me a text. Everyone of them were worried for me but I had not answered their calls or texts.

Around 10pm that night, I had been helped by someone whose face I could not really figure until much later, because I was stoned.

He pulled me up and led me out of the bar. I remember tripping twice but he helped me up again. I was too high to argue with him. I also remembered puking on his jacket and he took it off and held it out for me for more.

Then I passed out after.

When I opened my eyes, I was on the said man’s bed, and he was wiping my face with a cloth. He had a wicked grin on his face and I remembered asking him if anything was funny, before asking him how I got into his house.

“You willingly followed me, Clarissa. I’m sorry about your dad’s death. You can trust that I’ll fill in the vacuum, if only you let me”, He had said and I lifted my hand to slap him, but he took it.

And that was when I remembered his face.

He was barely eight years older, plus he was a totally miserable and jobless college drop-out, and he WANTED to be my stepfather.

All shades of wrong.

Such audacity.

“Be a real man before thinking of being a father, goddamn son of a bitch” I had spat.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

I was already sober but he did not let me go, even after I hit him and asked him to give me back my phone because I could not find it.

Instead, he made me agree to make him feel better, by stroking his dick, because according to him, I had turned him on with my fits and drunkenness, and with the way my butt jiggled when I turned in my sleep. That’s me quoting his exact words.

And that man was no other person but Courtney Michaelson.

“Your order, ma’am ” the waiter jerking me out of my reverie looked so peaceful I chose to respond appropriately, or I’d have thrown five blows his way and removed two of his teeth, give or take, three.

No one dared to interrupt m e.

“Thank you” I said as he placed a tray which contained three bottles of vintage on my table.

The blissful aroma of delicious meals filled my nostrils when I faced the window close to me.

It reminded me of Rooney, my neighbour and it only strengthened my determination to get wasted that night, because Rooney might never come back to me.

The restaurant must surely have some nice meal courses, and I was definitely going to try some when I am in a lighter mood. Jessie would want this.

The music was not so loud now, but it was still getting in my head. I didn’t want to hear anything.

Voices in my head were getting loud. They were counting numbers, and I had no idea why.

One..

Two..

“Oh my goodness!” I covered my ears with my hands and tried to drown out the noise. But the ones in my head started to get louder

Three..

Four..

“Quiet!” I bawled, bringing the whole bar to a brief standstill. I knew because everyone fell quiet and glanced my way.

Four hundred and ten or a million eyes. There must be at least six bad guys here. I thought.

If I wasn’t in a daze, I’d be drowning in embarrassment and helping myself out of the bar in long, swift strides already, and I was certain that if I ever remembered this scenario, I was never visiting this bar.

Ever again.

I should drink myself to stupor now, but I first looked around the bar as if Courtney was hiding somewhere there, and was waiting for me to get high again.

Five…

“Fuck you, Courtney Michaelson. Fuck you!” I bawled, throwing my middle fingers in the air. “Get your ass down here and stop hiding already!”

Six..

The voices were done counting now, so I started to sip my vintage slowly, relishing the sour taste that went straight into my head and cut my tongue each time.

I suddenly felt like a novice at getting wasted. Well, I kinda was, seeing that I had only been drunk once in my whole life.

I was there until 9pm like the first time I drank like this, back in California. The bar attendants did not ask me to excuse the seat for another customer. They must have decided to just leave me the fuck alone, excusing my crazy, cussing ass- At least that must have been their conclusion about me.

Being high makes you forget stuff temporarily but it really is not a good thing. I was totally disillusioned and my vision was very blur.

I could see that it was already dark and I needed to be home, but I was scared I would fall, so I just remained in the bar throwing up on myself and fiddling with the empty bottles of vintage.

Throwing up did not help me one bit, because the more I threw up, the more I wanted to throw up.

So, I just laid there, crying, even though I did not remember what brought me to this bar in the first place. All i knew was that I was really going to pass out, and so, my next statement was wrong in every way.

“One bottle of vintage please!” I drawled, drunkenly and the waiter acknowledged my order almost immediately.

When he brought the bottle to me, I felt a touch on my shoulder, and I instinctively wobbled up on my feet to slap whoever it was. My hands landed on a solid thing instead, and opening my eyes, I realized it was the guy’s chest.

As hard as a rock.

“Courtney, it’s you, isn’t it?” I mumbled in a drunken haze.

“Clarissa, let’s get you home. You’re drunk” the guy with the solid chest said, and I mindlessly followed him, because again, I was too stoned to argue.