Tripping Down 12 Steps Into Malibu

Ryan Ross

Ryan was jittery. Even more so than usual. He could already feel the rush of the drugs in his system. Increased heart rate. Sped up breathing. And the paranoia. He hated the paranoia.

He was usually smart enough to stay in the house when he was on a high. But this time was different. The high wasn't enough by itself. He needed a drink. A hard one. So he was walking down a crowded, unfamiliar street, looking for a liquor store.

It wasn't hard to find one. There was one on every corner of this godforsaken town. Which ever town this was.

He pushed his sunglasses up on his face and placed the hoodie over the hair he hadn't combed in weeks. He didn't want to go into the store looking like a tweaker. He wouldn't be able to get the drink then.

He tried to make himself look as presentable as possible. He pushed at the glass door but it didn't move. He tried pushing a little harder and it still didn't budge.

The neon open sign was flashing a bright red in the window. Mocking Ryan with the fact that the door was still locked. Maybe he just wasn't pushing hard enough. He pressed both of his palms on the cool glass and pushed again. Still, no movement from the door.

Was this some kind of sick fucking joke? Was he on one of those prank shows where they tried to make people look insane? He had to be. This shit wasn't funny. It wasn't funny at all.

His eyes darted nervously around the street, expecting to find the camera that was sure to be hidden behind one of the cars. But he didn't see anything like that. No one was paying any attention to him at all. Everyone was going about their day as usual.

Then why did he feel like he was being watched?!

He slammed his hands against the glass a little harder. Causing the doorframe to shake under the blow. When even that didn't work, his slaps became more frantic.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." He mumbled after each hit. "Open Open. Why won't you fucking open."

"Excuse me?"

He looked over his shoulder at the old man who was standing a safe distance behind him. Waiting to get into the same liquor store Ryan was trying to get into. Boy was that man going to be mad when he realized it was closed.

Instead of telling the man, Ryan decided it was best that he saw for himself. So he stepped out of his way to let the man try the door. His old wrinkled hand circled around the handle before he pulled it open towards him. He threw one more weird look at Ryan and then hurried into the store.

Embarrassment flushed his cheeks red. He stared down at the gum covered cemented ground. His bony fingers scratching at the dry skin of his neck. Why the fuck was he itchy?

Why didn't he try pulling the door instead of knocking on it like a maniac? Now he knew people were watching him. He didn't have to turn around to look, he could feel their judgmental gazes burning into his back.

He didn't have to stand there and take that. He yanked the door open and rushed into the air-conditioned store.

The lights were too bright. Way too bright. Even through the stolen fifty dollar shades he was wearing. He squinted his eyes and continued on down the aisles towards the freezer area.

He didn't bother reading the labels on any of the drinks. He opened the door and pulled out the first two bottles his fingers rubbed against. The chilled bottles sent shivers down his overly heated body.

He kept his gaze down as he walked towards the counter. He placed the bottles in front of the man at the cash register. Maybe a little harder than he should have.

"Do you have ID?" He heard him ask.

"No."

"I'm sorry." He began pulling the drinks towards himself. "I can't sell you-"

"Look man." Ryan's hands flashed up to grab the neck of the bottles. Pulling them away from the man's reach. "Can't you just let me go this time? I-I'm clearly not some sixteen year old kid trying to swindle booze."

"Sorry, sir. I can't do that." He grabbed the bottom of the bottles. Trying to tug them away from Ryan's iron grip.

"Let go of them!" Ryan pulled at them.

"Sir, I can't let you have these."

"Let them fucking go!" He snapped, seeing red.

He let go of one of the bottles to snatch the other with both hands. It slipped from the man's hand easily. Ryan hugged it protectively to his chest.

"That's not yours!"

"Yes it is!" Ryan hissed.

His anger got the best of him in that moment. He wasn't even aware of what he was doing when he swung the bottle into the man's face. It shattered on impact. Sending pieces of glass and brown alcohol everywhere.

"I'm calling the police!" The old man from the door screamed towards Ryan. Holding his old flip phone up in his hands as proof. "I'm calling the police."

"Call them." Ryan screamed back, lifting the other beer from the counter.

He brought the top to his mouth. His teeth popped it open effortlessly. He took a swig of the bitter drink and laughed.

Refreshing.