It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 64: Chapter IX (Cont'd)

Coarse and Offensive Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

The time in the booth was a taxing one for Bud. The dullard, egged on by his devoted woman, resolved to show that he was as interesting as some spoon player and dominated the conversation. The other occupants ignored Bud and talked amongst themselves, while Ed and The Woman, when they could, engaged only with each other. He knew he shouldn't be the center of anyone's attention here, but still...Bud found the lack of any interest irksome.

Someday they'll think back and only remember Us.

Me!

Don't engage with traces and scars. Just smile through. You're doing the right thing, Bud.

But smiling was hurting his face, and that nagging worry of any potential future relation between Ed and The Woman had turned into a full-blown and somber certainty. The more depressed he felt himself—

And you let it happen! You and your stupidity! Always the Second!

—becoming, the more he found those traces, ever staunch, of Alan, wheedling their way into his own thought, until he was unsure of what was truthful and what was spiteful reaction. The people around didn't help—God, he couldn't stand those people! The way they held their cigarettes, pinned daintily between their well-fed finger, the way they took little, coy sips of their drinks, scrunching their faces and saying things like, 'ahh! That's strong!' The way they talked—boasted!—as if their intellect and opinions were warranted, as if anyone cared, as if they were actually knowledgeable and not some bunch of brainlessly, vacuous cretins!

The Alanisms. There they were!

And Bud hated himself for allowing more than traces of his Creature to flair. He hated that he found himself so seduced by the sentiments. It was jealousy, and he knew it.

It's good to admit—

The Woman! Thieving coon!

Leave me alone!

Just traces!

Then why won't they go?!

Objectively, Liza Johnson seemed the most interesting of the group, and if it were not for the reasons of her presence, Bud might have been more inclined to listen to what she was telling Ed.

It's okay to be jealous. It's natural! You're doing a good thing.

Then why doesn't it feel fucking good?! Why do I have to sit here and pretend?!

Then don't!

'Where you goin'?' asked Ed, not really caring for any answer, but noticing, as did the table, at his friend's abrupt stance.

'To get a drink.'

'Get me one too, yeah?'

And before Bud could ask what he wanted, Ed turned his back and was lost again to The Woman.

The journey through the crowd was fraught with danger as everyone he moved passed had the same, punchable faces and objectionable tones as those he'd left in the booth. Alfonso Ignatius (the Second), was skittish and brimming with near hysterical bursts of bitter envy that came in the form of clutched fists and ground teeth as he shouldered his way through the crowds. Every fiber of his being commanded him to lash out, every instinct wanted to tear face from head—

'What can I get you?' queried the bartender, too alive and attractive to be a proper publican.

'Whiskey,' said Bud, proud of himself for having not committed any prosecutable offenses.