49. Bailey
forty-nine
Bailey
Saturday finally rolls around and I find myself having coffee with my whiskey in the kitchen of Peyton’s apartment.
“Hey, babe,” she says as she rounds the corner from her office.
The term has begun to get under my skin.
Festering.
Fucking babe. I shudder.
“How are you feeling?” She probes. “Did you get all of your work done already or will you have more to do this weekend?”
Her eyes are filled with pity.
I appreciate her trying to pretend things are normal, but it’s irrational and patronizing. I fight the desire to push her away most days, wanting to drink at home alone. No one around to pretend I give a fuck about school or anything else for that matter.
“No homework this weekend,” I mutter as I roll onto my back. “Are you and Carissa still going out tonight?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.
I need space.
Time alone.
I’m sick of having a babysitter.
“Yeah, she’s really excited and I don’t want to cancel on her if I don’t have to. It’s been months since we’ve seen each other,” she replies. “But if you need me to stay here with you I can, I promise she’ll understand.”
“No,” I say too quickly. “No. I want you to go. You need a fun night out. I’ll be fine, I promise.
I’m exhausted from all the exams this past week and just want to couch rot and watch some movies.
” Another lie, but what’s one more at this point?
I want to fucking drink myself stupid and maybe rub one out.
Find that fleshlight and the pack of cigarettes I stashed somewhere.
I might even walk around naked, who knows.
I put on my most convincing face, a small smile of assurance to put icing on my lie cake.
I must’ve been successful because she squeals and jumps to hug me.
“Oh thank you! I’m so ready for a night out with my girl! Mark is keeping the kids for her, thank god,” she says. “I wish you could come but I understand how tired you must be. Maybe it will be good for both of us.”
Yeah, good for me because you’ll leave me the fuck alone.
“Absolutely. I’m glad you’re going. I’ll probably order in and just hang out here if that’s okay with you?” I say. There’s a local Instacart type app that allows liquor deliveries to the front door and they’ll even stop by your restaurant of choice for a few extra bucks.
I’m about to get absolutely shit-faced and play video games, watch some fucking porn, and hopefully pass out before she gets back home. Please for the love of all that is holy do not ask me to go with you two, I beg silently.
“That sounds relaxing, babe. I think you should do it. Maybe even invite Liam if he isn’t busy?” she adds.
My stomach touches my asshole for a second at the thought. Things between Liam and I have been tense at best since that night. He threw himself into his studies and I did a swan-dive into a bottle.
So far we’ve managed to trudge through each passing day, finding our own paths through the darkness. The brightest light in our lives now snuffed out completely.
Her absence is so great it feels like we’re too insignificant. It feels wrong. Incomplete and void of all things bright and beautiful. All the things she brought to the friendship that I took for granted. All things Nat.
“Nah, he’s busy with school. I don’t want to bother him,” I say, trying to convince both of us. I force a small smile. “Go with Carissa and have fun. You can text me all night if you’re worried you’re going to miss me that much,” I say. She slugs me lightly on the shoulder and rolls her eyes.
“Fine. I’ll go. But keep your phone on you and answer my texts, okay?”
“I will,” I say. Thank you, Carissa. My girl, my homie, my bestie. Thank you. “Sorry I puked on your rug,” I whisper, the memory making my cheeks warm.
“It’s okay, babe. Don’t worry about it. It’s been a rough few months, but it sounds like you’re ready to cut down on the drinking so we can leave all of that behind us and move forward,” she smiles.
The look of hope in her eyes is nauseating. I don’t have a choice anymore, sobriety isn’t an option. It’s drink to live and live to drink. I can’t function without alcohol in my system and I know for a fact that alcohol withdrawal delirium is no fucking joke.
I’d sooner throw myself off a cliff than risk experiencing that shit. I tried to detox on my own last week, a few hours into the experiment, and I found three women from the Victorian era standing in Peyton’s kitchen. Hell to the no. That shit was terrifying.
I understand the disease of alcoholism and addiction to the extent that I understand it has chosen yours truly as its next victim.
I’m no fool, but the thought of living the rest of my life without alcohol is more frightening than dying as a result of living with it.
I’ll take my chances of needing to be added to the liver transplant list.
Peyton finally leaves about an hour later. I shower and throw on my favorite sweat pants and Modest Mouse shirt and flop onto the couch, bottle in hand. I regret not grabbing the lube and fleshlight on my way back to the living room, but here we are.
I’m not getting back up.
Maybe I can piss in this thing once I finish it. I stare at the bottle, wondering if I could line that bitch up just right and not pee all over the floor. A laugh escapes me. Jesus, dude. You’ve really lost it, haven’t you?
I log on to her account and find Boondock Saints. Fucking love this film. Cinematic masterpiece. “Let’s fucking go,” I bellow as I reach for the whiskey. The full bottle feels heavy in my hand as I bring it to my lips. The sweet kiss of spirits, a promise of oblivion on my tongue.
A guarantee of sanctuary.
As I swallow, a warm assurance envelops me, a grounding blanket of indifference that quells my racing thoughts and soothes my aching heart.
I miss him too.
Lolly.
We’ve exchanged a few texts since the funeral, usually just him checking on me.
The two of us catch up when we can, but never with a phone call. I can’t. It hurts too much.
This seems safe for both of us right now.
He’d be disappointed if he saw me like this.
The other day he fucking told me to try an AA meeting. I ignored him, but it bothered the fuck out of me—festering under my skin.
I push thoughts of him away, and bring the bottle to my lips again.
I check my cell for any missed messages from Peyton. Liam’s name is visible from an old thread and I decide that now’s the perfect time to drunk text.
Me: This blows.
Liam: No shit.
Me: I miss her.
Liam: Me too.
Liam: She wouldn’t want this for you. You know that, right? Drinking yourself to death isn’t the answer, Bays. I don’t think I can bury two best friends.
My eyes sting, the pressure building behind them almost more than I can take. His words scroll across my mind in an endless barrage. I shake my head, clearing my mind. That’s a problem for Tomorrow Bailey.
I sigh as I put the phone down on the coffee table and turn my attention back to Connor and Murphy. These bastards never disappoint. “Oh shit,” I slur when II Duce is released from the penitentiary. I take a few more pulls, the bottle lighter now, but I don’t take my eyes away from the screen.
Knowledge isn’t always power, kids.
I blink forcefully to clear my vision. Two Willem Dafoes merge back into one.
Ah, better.
Another swig.
I wish I had a cigarette.
Peyton would fucking kill me.
I hiccup.
Liam’s right. I can’t keep going like this.
A few more sips is all I need. Maybe I’ll finally sleep without revisiting that night. Those smells. That sight. The pain. Flashing lights, smoke, copper, vomit, screaming, Liam.