Taste (Scomiche)

Blurry

I knew I'd regret drinking.
I went through a heavy drinking phase in my early twenties. I wasn't an alcoholic, I just liked to party. So, every Friday and Saturday night everyone would count on me getting drunk.
But when I turned twenty-five, I finally found a job that made me take life seriously. One that I could use my economics degree for. A busy secretary for Mr. Jones, the most stereotypical name on this Earth. He also put me in charge of some revenue. In some ways I was more of an accountant. It was a pretty good gig with weekends off unless there was an emergency.
In other words, I hadn't had more than a couple drinks in a while, but I was dying to get blasted.

The place I decided to go to was a decent drive from my office, and one I had only been to twice before. It was fairly popular. I knew the noise would help me forget.
When I arrived there, it was around 6:30. Too early for a party. I planned to stay at the bar until my brain was so hazy, my body would pull me out to the dance floor before any common sense could interject. For now, though, I just needed dinner. I ordered the only salad that was even offered, and ate it as slow as I could to waste time. Word of advice: never order salad at a bar. Bars are made for burgers. Trust me.

Anyway, by the time I was done eating, it was late enough to begin my drinking adventure. I started with a gin and tonic.
When eight rolled around, I was feeling the effects of the three drinks I'd slammed down. People were slowly joining me at the counter as I made small talk with the bartender. Eventually, I got into a deep conversation with the guy next to me about the awful traffic around that we both had to face. He only had a drink or two and then left, leaving me with a forty-something year old woman who sagged a bit. I had a nice chat with her as well, but all I really wanted to do was to feel the music pound within my chest. To grind and sway and sweat until I lost myself.

Eventually everyone I had been talking to headed home to see their families after a long day. People came and went, but finally I had two fairly stationary people by my side. I had slowed down my drinking as well so I could last longer before probably, at some point, I would be passing out. Maybe I'd even stay till close. I couldn't get too drunk before it was even ten. The people next to me didn't seem to care, though- they were practically chugging their drinks.

My vision was slightly blurred, but I think it was more a mind-over-matter thing. I hadn't had an obscene amount of drinks (yet), so I may have been trying to convince my brain to act drunk. My words weren't to the point of slurring yet, I was just a bit confused.
The lady to the left of me asked if I knew where the bathroom was, so I directed her, pointing across the bar, across the dance floor, to the sign with the block letters 'WOMEN'.
"I'll be right back," she told me, walking off. The click of her heels was the only sound I focused on for a moment before snapping out of it and staring at my glass instead. Minutes passed of me just gazing at the beverage set in front of me and the millions of bottles of scotch stretching in both directions before me.
Finally, after ten minutes or so, I got curious as to what was taking her so long. This was a bar after all, and even though it wasn't incredibly crowded, creepy men were sure to be lurking.
I scanned around, dodging the tall figure to my right. Forcing my vision to work correctly, I saw her making out with some guy on the edge of the dance floor.

"Well that was fast," I murmured, amused, swiveling back to face the bottle-lined wall. I could barely get a date, but she just tries to go to the bathroom and some man attacks her face.
"What?" The guy beside me asked. The tall one I had been peeking around. I hadn't realized he could hear me, but I probably should have. The music wasn't too loud because apparently, according to the bartender, they don't turn it up until a flood of people arrive. There were quite a few people, but mainly on the bar side. Only a few were near the dance floor, including that girl and her new lover.

"Oh," I laughed, waving it off with my hand, saying it was nothing. "That girl was just sitting next to me and now she's making out with someone." I slipped back out of focus. It was hurting my brain to concentrate. Sipping at the smooth, intoxicating liquid, I let the alcohol take over my brain again. I only paid enough attention to listen to any words the guy replied with and maybe, hopefully, the drink specials.

His sentences filtered through the fog seeming to smother my senses. I couldn't think correctly so I just focused on the individual words, letting his voice fade. "So what? A lot of people kiss in bars." He was completely turned towards me at this point, staring at the profile of my face. Even through my state of mind, I could tell he was well on his way to being drunk.
My body twisted towards him so we were facing one another, knees bumping and resting against each other's.
"I know." The words came out more seductive than I had meant for them to be. But of course, kissing would help me forget. How had I overlooked the possibility of a one night stand?
My eyes locked with his icy irises and I knew something was about to happen between me and that blurry, tall man.