Choices We Make

23.

I fucking ruined it...

Those words flashed for the millionth time since Isabella drove back to her apartment, slammed her bedroom doors and buried face into the pillow, screaming — it was three days ago. She's been in the angry state for a few days, and it was easy to say things didn't look bright.

She was back to burying feelings under the layers of alcohol. It obviously wasn't healthy, but who cares, anyway? Isabella fucked up — big time.

When Cassie stared at her down, eyes pleading for the clarification, deny — anything. Literally any word, the excuse would've been great enough to calm down her. But no, fuck, Isabella had stayed silent. She let the hanging weight of insecurities swallow the dying truth.

She stared at tears burning rivers down the freckled cheeks, grasping of the air what never came. It seemed like an ability to speak was lost. Why? Why did she haven't said anything?

Pathetic.

Isabella bitterly threw a nasty jab to herself.

Downing another glass of liquid down her throat, acting unbothered by the stinging sensation. She hoped it would force feel in some type of way. Pain. Raw, uncensored, piercing pain of the slashes being carved in a map of scars.

Nothing.

Numbness.

She was numb from feeling. Maybe that's for the best? Not to feel anything? Why anyone would torment themselves with years of pent up heartbreak when you could stop feeling at all?

"Slow down, tiger. Alcohol won't ruin away if you take a breath... or two,-" a muffled British accent reached Isabella's ears, erasing the volcano of thoughts. She caught sight of pink hair. Bartenders eyes widened. "-wait, I remember you... you're that girl, damn... I called you to get your very drunk friend."

Isabella felt like throwing up.

When she left work, she hasn't noticed calling an Uber and stating this exact address. It was swirling on top of her mind. Irony. The same bat she fished drunk Olivia. The same bar Isabella realised that she would do anything to save Olivia.

Isabella's lips wobbled into a lazy smirk, raising a glass of old fashioned drink. "That's me."

The pink-haired bartender shook her head, chuckling.

"Jack must be nuts serve you in this state. I'm cutting you off."

Isabella's eyes went wide and she started panicking. Without a free flow of alcohol, she won't be able to forget. She can't do that...

"I'm paying money," Isabella slurred, visibly frowning. "You can't cut off customers."

"I can when I am the owner. You're off, darling. Like it or not."

Isabella groaned, slumping her shoulders. She was only getting started. How could she be this cruel?

The bartender pushed a tall glass of clear water, encouraging with her chin. "Drink some water, you'll thank me later."

"I want alcohol, not water."

"And I'm not selling you any more." She shot back to Isabella with an equal sass in the tone.

Not having any other solution, Isabella stated her up from the chair, fishing out a wallet out of her jacket pocket.

Isabella mused sarcastically to the nameless bartender. "I'll just leave them and find another one. Seattle is huge, you know?"

"Nuh-uh,-" she placed a heavy hand on Isabella's shoulder, shaking a threatening finger. Isabella felt five years old again. "You're not leaving this bar till you're sobered up. Drink up, doll."