Road to Evergreen | #Wattys2016

t h i r t y - t w o

"Would you like another beer?" The bartender asks me. He has intense black eyes that match perfectly with his hair. I take in his uniform: dressed like a mime, white chemise, black tie, with belt braces and a small black hat. On his lip, a silver piercing stands out. And on his right ear, he has an earing. I narrow my eyes on his figure, concluding that he works out daily.

I nod.

His lean muscles flex as he hands me the beer. I snatch it, and gulp it down.

After having 3 more beers, my mouth goes numb. My mind is tipsy so I welcome the feeling that I was missing for a month now: joy.

"You need to slow down," he states.

"I can do the hell I want," I flap my arms in the air as I step down from the bar stool, falling face first on the wooden floor.

"Ouch," I groan as I attempt to sit up. But my hands fail to adjust on the floor, as the world spins again. I let out a laugh.

From behind me, a hand is placed on my back, helping me sit up. I turn around to find the bartender staring at me with wide eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"Damn you!" I pout as I push him away, attempting to stand up.

My mind clicks, realizing that I'm too tipsy or maybe even drunk. I really need to slow down. I adjust my self on the bar stool, and place my face between my hands. My breath sync with my heart beats and after a minute, I feel my mind clear.

But then it comes crashing down like a cascade. Adam. His brother. Jeremy. Megan.

The bracelet.

Now I remember why I came to this bar.

"One beer please," I gesture to him.

He leaves the customer, and heads my way. Placing his elbows on the counter, he leans forward. What the hell is he doing? A smile is plastered on his face as he says, "No."

"Give. Me. A. Beer," I hiss through my teeth.

He laughs, amused with my demand. What's with people finding me funny? No one takes me seriously!

"Give me a fucking beer," I yell as I punch my hand on the counter. My blood is boiling with anger.

I don't feel pain until it jolts up my arm as I cry out.

My hand wont survive if I keep injuring it. It's the second time this week.

I lay back on the stool, as tears escape my eyes while I rub my aching hand. Life is not fair. I'm not getting anything I want. In return to that, I start drinking. My mouth dries as the realisation hits me.

I'm turning into my mother.

I see him running toward me, placing both of his hands on my shoulder. I yank away.

"Don't touch me!"

I see his face widen with hurt. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry," he apologizes.

I'm weeping now.

"Please, don't cry," he begs.

My eyes are red and my lips are swollen. I sniff as I nod, almost saying alright, no more crying. His face turns into a smile, "Let's start over. Hi I'm Spencer," he stretches his hand, and I shake it.

"I'm Lesley," my voice comes out defeated.

Before I know it, he's taking a seat next to me. I eye him, confused.

"What the hell are you doing?" I arch an eyebrow.

"Maybe we can talk a bit, get your mind off of things," he offers.