Downhill

1

DAY 1 - Friday

I hate flying. There is nothing worse besides country music and Dr Pepper. Yea, I said it.

"Charlie, how many shots is that?" My best friend and current tormenter asked as I finished up my second shot of Jack Daniel's.

"Second," I said holding up two fingers. "But the Valium is starting to work..."

"What?! Bruh, my dad is going to kill me," she said, shaking her head and grabbing at the third mini airline-sized bottle of Jack on my seat back tray. "You know he hates me or my friends drinking."

"We are twenty-three, Liz. Adult women that can drink their pain away...legally," I rolled my eyes at her. "Plus, we are going to his ski cabin. Not meeting him there! For Pete's sake...!"

"Charlotte, you dumbass! Remember me telling you that he changed his plans and meeting us there?! And that I have to come back Monday morning?" Liz was looking at me like I a complete idiot.

"Wait, what?" I don't recall any of this. "When did this happen? And I'm still staying the week?!"

I had never met her dad, but I had no desire to spend a week with him in the mountains. I had met Liz's mom several times while in college with her and she was nearly impossible to handle. I knew they divorced about ten years ago, but any man to marry that blonde nightmare must be a douche. A capital 'D' douche. Like the leader of the Douches.

"I told you last night while I was helping you pack," she said, tipping back my whiskey.

"Hey! That's my coping mechanism! And you know I couldn't focus while thinking about traveling," I whined as I twisted my dark hair around my finger and tugged - another coping mechanism. I don't recall her saying anything last night besides how the airport may have snow on the runway and they never plow her dad's driveway. Between my fear of flying and Liz's driving, I was a mess.

"I have work Monday evening that I can't do remotely. So I'm flying out Monday morning - early," she explained. "You know this, Chuck."

Liz and I had been immersed in our careers for the past two years. Both of us had planned this trip to get away, feeling we needed to take a break and regroup. Evidently, I was the only one actually taking our own advice.

"You suck," I huffed to my best friend and roommate of six years. "I'm pretty sure I'm breaking up with you."

"Fuck off, slut. You know you won't get better head," she said sticking out her tongue.

"Do girls get head? Do they call it that?" I slurred as I tipped my head to the side in thought.

"You poor thing. You forget about what getting fucked is like," she laughed at my self-imposed celibacy. Two years of career building left me sexless, while Liz was banging anything with a cock. She keeps trying to set me up with men, but either the date is a dud or I refuse. Mostly it's the latter. Especially since my type is older men and Liz doesn't know any older men besides her supervisor at work - and he's gay and married.

"I just forget the terminology," I said flicking her off. "Bitch."

"Whore," she said and pulled out her magazine from her carry on. "Oh, and dad flew in last night. He will be there all week. So no worries about being alone. I just hope he doesn't bring home any of his dates."

Liz always complained about the women her dad dated. She said they were just like her mother. Blonde, bitchy, and bought boobs. Her words. Liz also said they were often older than her dad because he hated immature women.

"How does he have time to date running that company and being bi-coastal?" I asked. From everything Liz said, her dad was a workaholic. I guess the apple does fall far, huh?