Alcohol—the cure to all my problems.
And, speaking of alcohol…I have some serious drinking time to make up for, considering I’ve never really drank.
You know, with trying to be a responsible adult and a parent to the kid under my care.
You know, the kid who hates me.
He hates me.
A pain pierces my heart.
No more pain!
More alcohol needed ASAP!
I down the last of my—what am I drinking? Honestly, I have no clue. But it tastes good. Well, actually, it tastes like shite. But it makes me feel better.
I let out a giggle.
The bartender glances at me.
Ah, the bartender. The bringer of goodness.
He’s cute, too.
A bit too clean-looking for my liking but still cute.
Not that I’m interested in men.
Men are bastards.
Wanker bastards.
Every single one of them.
Well, all the men I’ve known, which isn’t many. But whatever.
Smiling, I push my empty glass toward the cute bartender. “I’ll have another of whatever that was.”
That actually comes out like, “I’ll s’have ’nother of whatsever tat twas.”
But it’s all good. I’m drunk, and drunk is awesome!
Cute Bartender leans his forearms on the bar. His shirtsleeves are rolled up. He has nice arms.
Not as nice as Kas’s arms though. Kas’s arms are all strong-looking and muscly. And his skin is so lovely. Lickable. I would totally lick Kas’s arms.
And other parts of him.
Um, hold the effing phone. Why am I thinking about Kas in a sexual way?
He’s another wanker-bastard man. The biggest of wanker-bastard men.
And I don’t like him. At all.
“You sure another drink is a good idea?” Cute Bartender asks me.
I rest my elbows on the bar and place my chin on my fists. It slips off.
I snort-giggle.
Then, I put my chin in the palm of my hand. It’s steadier.
Is it just me, or is the room starting to spin?
“’Tis the best idea I’ve had in a long time.” I give him a big smile.
God, my lips feel weird. Numb.
But numb is good!
Numb means no pain.
Cute Bartender smiles at me. “How about I get you a coffee instead?”
“Um…” I screw my face up. “Will the coffee be Irish?”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Then, no siree. I want the alcohol. Lots of alcohol!” I sweep my arms out.
“I think the last thing you need is more alcohol.”
“Alcohol is the only thing I need.”
“Why?” He smiles, bemused.
“Because”—I smile big—“alcohol equals happy.”
“And why aren’t you happy?”
“Who said I wasn’t happy?”
“When a pretty girl like you tells me that alcohol equals happy, then she’s telling me that she’s not happy when she’s sober.”
Oh.
My smiles slips, and then my alcohol-induced loose lips just start yapping, “So, maybe I’m not happy when I’m sober. That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people need alcohol to feel happy. Sure, they’re probably alcoholics, but I’m thinking I should try that out because nothing else is working for me. I try so hard, and I still manage to fuck everything up. My brother hates me. Actually really hates me.” I press my hand to the pain in my chest that’s trying to force its way back. “He wishes I were dead,” I whisper that last part.
“I’m sure he doesn’t wish you were dead.”
I look him in the eye. “Oh, he does. He told me so himself, like an hour ago. But the thing is, I don’t blame him. I kinda hate me. I mean, I let him down. The only person in the world who truly matters to me, and I failed him. He’s right to hate me. I’m a fucking fuckup. I mean, even my boss hates me. And whose boss actually hates them?”
“I’m pretty sure my boss doesn’t like me.” Cute Bartender chuckles.
“Ah, see?” I point at him, like he just told me the cure for cancer. “You said your boss doesn’t like you. My boss effing hates me! I mean, like can’t-stand-the-sight-of-me hates me. And, sure, he’s a massive dickhead. But he does think I’m hot, so there is that. I mean, he thinks I’m hot, but he hates me. How fucking weird is that? And, really, what does that say about me? Hot but annoying as fuck—that’s what that says. Everyone hates me. Well, except for Cece, but she has to like me by default because we’ve known each other forever. Honestly, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her as a friend because I think I deserve to be hated. I’m an idiot. An actual twatting idiot.”
I feel wetness on my cheeks, and I realize I’m crying. I press the heels of my hands to my cheeks.
“Hey now, I don’t think you’re a twatting idiot.” Cute Bartender hands me a napkin.
“You don’t know me.” I sniffle, drying my eyes. “Trust me, if you did, you’d think I was a twatting idiot.”
“Well, how about I get you a coffee? We can sober you up, and then I can get to know the sober you.”
“Okay.” I give him a grateful nod, wiping my eyes because those damn tears keep coming.
“You stay right there, and I’ll be back with that coffee,” Cute Bartender tells me.
I watch him walk away. Taking a deep breath, I wipe my eyes again. Screwing up the napkin, I toss it on the bar.
Ugh, I’m such a fuckup.
I lay my arms on the bar and rest my head on them.
I should call Cece and let her know that Jesse hates me.