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21:42 PM
WEDNESDAY
SANTA CARLA
YOU'RE A LOST GIRL
My eyes stare over at the ruby red embellished wine bottle that is treasured in David's chalky white hands; I look over towards Michael. He's standing with his head up to the roof of the crypt, eyes closed and tongue lapping up the remaining juices from around his plump lips. He looks as if he's in pure ecstasy, like he's experiencing something euphoric for the first time and despite him appearing this way, I can't shake the nauseating bundle growing in the pit of my abdomen. The chopsticks between my fingers is abandoned as I look back down to the anonymous substance; I can't make out it's colour. It's dressed with mesh glass that obscures my view and limits my knowledge of its contents.
"Come on, Sarah." David says, as if he's luring me into the dark, "Be one of us."
The music coming from the portable boom box is louder now and my mind whirls, "I don"t drink."
I look up to the man towering over me. A light smile begins to form on his lips but he doesn't pull the bottle away, "It's not alcohol."
"Then what is it?" I question him and he holds his gaze over me.
"Why don't ya find out?"
Again, my eyes drop to the bottle; it's mystery begins to make unwanted memories swell in my head. It makes me think of my father, his habit and the words he's cast over my childish mind. I'd often watch over him as he'd sip his life away, though there are those words that stick out to me, just like always.
You chose the bottle over me, Dad.
It's the least of my worries at the moment. I had left New York to get away from mother, though I can't blame her for the trauma she'd received after his death. I try to shrug off the unnecessary flashbacks, but as usual, my father had to have the last word.
I care about it more.
My vision begins to blur and as if I am no longer in control of my body, I reach out and take the bottle from David's grip. Standing to my feet, I dismiss the box of noodles on the chair and stare down at the bottle behind the chipped black polish on my fingers.
"Sarah."
"Sarah."
The boy's chime from every corner of the cave but I am unable to identify them; it's as if it's just both the bottle and I.
"Be one of us."
My ears perk and my breathing hitches. One of them?
My brows knit together and I stare down at the black leather on the leaders feet, "And what exactly is one of you?"
