50
Looking at the glass, I then look at Erica.
I shouldn't do this, but…
There's a long silence that stretches between us as she holds out the glass to me.
She gives me one final nod, as if to make her point. Before she can take the glass away, I grab it from her hand and take a sip of it, but then I down the whole thing.
She looks at me with her eyes wide open in shock. “Jesus, I didn't expect you to fucking chug it,” she exclaims.
Swallowing, I put my arm around my mouth to belch. “You didn't say not to,” I tell her through another silent belch.
“Jesus,” she breathes, her voice stark with shock.
“Please don't take the Lord's name in vain,” I tell her.
She stares at me, then at the empty glass, then finally back at her own. An incredulous chuckle escapes her, as if she hadn't actually expected me to drink it.
What exactly does she want from me?
“Aren't you gonna drink yours?” I ask. My eyes dart between the glass and her face, unable to settle. I wrench myself away, turning my back to her as my hands begin to betray me with a visible tremble.
“Please drink it,” I plead.
“I can't drink it as fast as you,” she murmurs as if this is funny.
“Okay, well, do something with it!” I snap.
I lick my lips, trying to fight down the urge clawing at my throat. “Are you okay?” she whispers.
“ Do something with it, Erica,” I tell her more loudly.
“Okay,” she answers. With my back still turned, I hear the soft patter of her feet across the floor followed by the splash of the liquid hitting the sink.
Really rich of her wanting me to drink it, but she didn't take one sip.
“King,” her voice says behind me.
It’s hard to steady my breathing. “I need you to answer me truthfully,” she says.
I turn around to look at her. “Are you an alcoholic?” she asks.
I just stare at her, because what should I say?
I'm not. Not anymore anyway. I mean, I don't think so.
I can't say that I am, because Jesus healed me.
So me saying that I am is basically telling God I don't accept his healing.
I should be able to have a little bit of wine or such, but I don't want to do things that are secular.
“No,” I tell her. “I'm not, because that's the truth. God healed me. So that is not me. I refuse to take that label after God healed me from it.”
She blinks at me as if she doesn't believe me. “Okay,” Erica says, “because you act like one.”
How could she say that to me? “I didn't want any alcohol,” I tell her through gritted teeth.
“Yes, but you shouldn't have a problem. Like, I don't know, dude.
I'm just remembering the whole Christmas situation with the eggnog and you had like no stop guard or anything.
Why is it all or nothing with you when it comes to things?
Why don't you have some kind of moderation?” She says a little loudly and confused, and I can tell she wants the answer.
“Erica, not—” I start to say. I look towards the fridge. The taste of the cheap whiskey is still on my mouth. I take a breath. “Can I have some water or something?” I ask her.
“Yeah, sure,” she says, bringing me a bottle of water, which I also chug.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says, confused.
Shutting the bathroom door, I force myself to throw up by sticking my finger down my throat, even though I realize it's probably too late to make a difference.
I hate the feeling, but seeing that amber liquid swirling against the white ceramic of the sink makes me feel a little better. It hasn't been that long since I downed it.
A knock sounds at the door.
“King, are you okay?” Erica’s voice bleeds through the wood.
“Yeah,” I yell out, spitting one last time into the basin.
I drank the whiskey, but she didn’t say anything about me having to keep it down. Opening the door, I face her.
“Now, can I talk with you?” I ask. I feel strange. My face is warm, my chest is tight, and I’m slightly dizzy.
“I… I didn’t expect you to—”
“Doesn’t matter. I want to… let’s just talk,” I reply, feeling a sudden wave of exhaustion.
I know I’m not drunk. I wouldn't be able to hold a conversation if I were. It’s only been a few minutes; while some of it definitely hit my bloodstream, most didn't.
At most, I’m buzzed. My stomach is empty, which doesn't help the sensation, but I had to make a point. Leaving here without talking to Erica just wasn't an option.
“Okay, let’s talk,” she states.
Part of me is dying to tell her that she should take a swig of her own medicine, but I’m trying to pull her away from that life. Besides, I just had to save her from a situation caused by her drinking and being around the wrong crowd.
I head for the couch, and she follows, sitting to my right.
“So…” I begin. I hesitate. The words I had ready have vanished completely. “What were we talking about?” I ask, offering an embarrassed smile.
“I don't know what you were talking about. Some Pharisees or Bible stuff. The stuff you always talk about,” she expresses with a hint of sarcasm.
“Yeah, that’s right… um… so…” I start again, but my words trail off.
Why is she looking at me like that?
She’s in her usual spot, tucked into the corner of the sofa. Her legs are folded beneath her, shifted so she's resting on her outer thigh. She has one arm propped up on the back of the couch, her head tilted so the side of her face rests right in her palm.
She’s paying attention to me. She’s beautiful.
“Are you wearing… are you wearing lipstick?” I ask, the fatigue hitting me harder now. This whole day has taken it out of me.
“Ummm… yeah? I mean, technically it’s lip gloss, but yeah, it’s the kind that looks like lipstick.”
My hand moves before I can stop it. My finger reaches out to her mouth, wiping at her bottom lip. I pull back and look at the smudge on my skin.
“Interesting,” I mutter. She looks at me, shocked.
“Wow… you just… King, why are you here?”
“Do you not want me here?” I ask her softly.
“I…” she starts, and my stomach drops. I’m certain she’s about to tell me to get out. “I do want you here. But you’re not supposed to be here.”
“We can’t have an adult conversation without ripping each other’s clothes off?”
The words tumble out of my mouth before I can filter them. God, the humiliation. Why did I say that?
Erica blinks rapidly, then breaks into a wide, wild smile. “Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yes, I’m fine.”
My eyes betray me, drifting down to her thighs.
Her white dress is pulled up over her knees, exposing them.
My mind flashes back to my fingers inside of her.
To how close I was. Then my gaze roams to her chest, where her nipples are prominent through the thin fabric.
My mouth was just there. Her mouth was on me. I came inside—
“King?”
“Hmm?” My eyes snap back to hers.
“My eyes are up here,” she tells me, smiling as she points to her face.
“I’m sorry. Maybe… d-don’t you think you should change into something more appropriate?”
Closing her eyes, she scoffs and puts a hand to her face in annoyance.
“This is my apartment. This is my home. I can wear whatever I want. You’re a guest, so I’m trying to be nice, but don’t start trying to dictate what I should wear in my own house.
You shouldn't even be here, remember? This isn't Afghanistan last time I checked. So, please. If I offend you that much simply by existing—”
“No, you don’t. I just…” I exhale and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I bury my face in my hands, my voice muffled. “I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes off you.”
She says nothing. I immediately regret the honesty.
No idea why I would say that to her.
“I have a hard time keeping my eyes off you, too,” she whispers back.
Why did she say that? My skin feels like it’s on fire. I can feel my pulse thrumming in my pants.
She’s right; why am I here?
“I… I should go,” I tell her, standing up.
“I’ll go change,” she replies, standing with me and placing a hand on my shoulder. “Sit down. Unless you really want to leave.”
Since I don’t, I sit.
When she comes back out, she's wearing those little, tight gray shorts.
The same ones I had peeled the crotch aside to put my fingers inside her. Her shirt is casual with very short sleeves, but it also hugs her body tightly. The way it fits makes her breasts stand out obviously from how they strain against the fabric.
She takes her spot on the couch beside me.
“What do you want to talk about?” she asks, and now I have no idea.