3. Simon
Idon’t get drunk often.
But when I do, I get fucking sauced.
Which is what I am now. Sauced. Hammered. Shit faced. Four sheets to the rain. Or is it six sheets to the wind?
I don’t know the saying. I don’t know a lot of things right now. Including how much alcohol I’ve consumed. Or why the hotel bar kicked me out. It wasn’t time to close. I know because I can still kind of see the time on my watch. Wait, I bet it was because I called them liars for saying that they ran out of Johnny Walker. They didn’t. They just didn’t want me there because I fell off the barstool.
That’s why they kicked me out. Victory! I do know one thing.
I’m so smart.
Actually I’m not smart. Because I don’t know why I was so mean to Charlie.
Wait! I do. It’s because she didn’t say goodbye to me after we kissed and I missed her so I did the adult version of pulling on her pigtails.
In my defense, her pigtails are so fun to pull.
I stumble into the elevator and push the button for every floor because I can’t see straight. The only thing keeping me upright is this wall and the sound of my stomach growling for food.
“Did I eat tonight?” I say to no one. I didn’t. I forgot. I was too busy drinking because I made Charlie cry. As soon as I left the tasting I parted ways with Shane then went immediately to the hotel bar. I was supposed to have dinner with my buddy Emmett, but I canceled. I had more pressing matters to take care of, like drinking myself stupid to punish myself for how I acted today.
The elevator door opens and closes one by one. It’s going to take forever to get to the sixteenth floor. Oh well, gives me time to think about what food I’m going to order.
A burger. No, pizza. No! Tacos.
Wait…I got it…burger-pizza-tacos.
Why has no one invented that? I should.
You know who could invent that? Charlie. She always came up with these delicious and fucking weird food combinations when we studied for tests. I bet that’s why she’s a chef now.
“What are you doing?”
Bug turns over her shoulder, a smile covering her gorgeous face as she dances in my kitchen to some pop star I know by name only. The song is catchy though.
“Dancing.”
“I thought you were making us snacks,” I say as I go stand next to her, my back to the counter so I can look at her better. She looks free. Happy. I don’t always see that when we study. She usually looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders. Though she’ll never admit she does or tell me why.
“You can do two things at once,” she says. “Plus, kitchens are made for dancing.”
“Really?” I say. “I’ve never heard that.”
“They are,” she says as she bops her way to me as she carries some sort of food in her hand.
“What’s this?”
“Rice cake pizza.”
I blink my eyes a few times. “Excuse me, what?”
“You heard me. Rice cake pizza. Try it.”
I shake my head. “Charlie. I’ll buy us real pizza.”
“Nonsense. Why buy pizza when you can have these?”
“Because real pizza is the best pizza.”
“Just try.”
She hands me her weird pizza thing and I take a bite. It’s good. Really good. Surprisingly light.
But I’m not about to tell her that.
“It’s all right,” I say, but take another bite to finish it off. Bug sees the smile I’m trying to hide, which brings a blush to her cheeks.
It’s fucking adorable.
The song changes, and this one I know. It’s a song that actually reminds me of Charlie. Independent. Her own woman. Plus, it’s a slower RB song, which gives me the excuse to do what I’m about to do.
I push myself off the counter and grab her hand, pulling her away from the snack making and into my body.
“What are you doing?” she asks as we start dancing in the middle of my kitchen. My hand is around the small of her back and her hand is perfectly fitted into mine as I hold it against my chest.
“You said kitchens were for dancing. So let’s dance, Bug.”
The elevator jerking to a stop snaps me from my memory.
Finally. Because I need to get to my room. And order food. Then eat the food. Then pass out.
Maybe then I’ll finally stop thinking about her.
She was so sad today. I made her sad. I don’t like that I made her sad.
And she’s so pretty. She’s always been so pretty. I don’t know if she knows how pretty she is, but she’s the prettiest.
I somehow get myself into my hotel room and immediately fall to the bed. Before I pass out on accident, I make sure to bring up the food delivery app and order God knows what from who knows where.
Before I put my phone away, I go to the contacts and scroll to a name I don’t think I’ve looked at in years.
Bug.
I never deleted it. I tried. Many times. My fingers were always right there, ready to pull the trigger. But every time something stopped me. Just like something is stopping me right now.
I should delete it. After today, she’ll never want to see me again. And I don’t blame her. I was a dick. A straight up Richard.
But I miss her. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed her. Even with her hating me, I still miss her.
Why? Is this because I want what I can’t have? The woman has made it clear she wants nothing to do with me. I might be a man who knows what he wants, but I’m also a man who knows when no means no.
Consent, motherfuckers.
But I’m also a man who can’t not have the last word. It’s just not in my DNA. Especially when it comes to Charlie.
And especially when I’m all sorts of fucked up.
So even though I know I’m probably still blocked, and even though I know she’s never going to listen to it even if I’m not, I call her. It rings before going to voicemail. Which I figured.
And that’s good. Because now I can say everything I want.
“Bug! It’s me. Simon. And I can call you Bug because you aren’t here to yell at me so I can call you it all I want. Plus, Bug is cute. Like you.
“Wait. No. You’re not cute. Well, you are. You’re beautiful. You still are. I know you never believed me when I told you that, but I was telling the truth then and I’m telling it now. You’re beautiful.
“But that’s not why I’m calling. I need to yell at you. And apologize. But mostly yell. So buckle up buttercup, this is about to be a journey. Also if I say hold on it’s because my drunk food is here. I think I ordered tacos.
“Until then, what the fuck, Bug! Why did you leave me? Why didn’t you say goodbye? Why did you disappear? Do you know how much that hurt me? I called. And texted. I even went to the coffee shop to see if you were there. No one knew anything. It was just like you vanished into thin air. Poof.
“Why didn’t you say goodbye? I know I asked that but you haven’t answered. Oh wait, I’m not really talking to you. I’m talking to me. Sorry. I don’t know if you could tell, but I’m drunk.
“But the question remains, why didn’t you say goodbye? Who does that? Especially after we kissed. I thought it was a good kiss. A great kiss. Wasn’t it a good kiss? I’m a good kisser, dammit. And so are you. We kissed good. I wanted to kiss you the night of the wedding even though I yelled at you. And today. I wanted to kiss you today. Even though you hurt me. I still wanted to kiss you and hold you and do all the things that we never had a chance to do because you left.
“Do you know I went to the coffee shop every day to see if you came back? You were gone all summer but I tried. Also, I’m not allowed back at Perks. They said I was loitering. Whatever. I don’t even like coffee.
“Oh yeah, did you know I don’t like coffee? Nope. Never did. I went in every day to that fucking coffee shop and bought coffee I didn’t like because I wanted to see you. Yes, you. No other reason.
“So maybe I am a psycho stalker—wait! I’m not. Because I stopped looking. I stopped calling and texting. So I’m not a bad person, thank you very much!
“Until today. What I said was mean and cruel and not very nice. Because I saw you, Bug, and it brought up fifteen years of hurt and pain and sadness, and I fucking miss you. I stopped dancing in the kitchen, even though kitchens were made for dancing. And you want to know the worst thing? I haven’t been able to watch wrestling since you left. The Rock is back, and I can’t watch it, and it’s all your fault! Or so I’ve been told.
“So, Bug, this is it. This is the end. You clearly don’t want to see me, and you know what? I don’t want to see you, either.
“That’s a lie. I do. I want to see you really bad. I’m in Nashville tonight. The Omni. Room 1614. If you’re in Nashville, I want to see you. I want to say I’m sorry for being mean today. And to see your pretty face. But you probably don’t want to see me, which I understand. But not really. I miss you, Bug. Okay, I’m going to hang?—”
The voice mail cuts me off. Oops. I probably said too much.
Oh well, I said it. My piece. Now I can move on.
Or pass out. Or eat my burger tacos. Whatever happens first.