The Bitter Tears Of Bobby Blue

Chapter Two

I could hear the music pulsing in my ears as I stared at Summer's face. She looked at me with such lust, her dark blonde hair messy, her mouth agape with desire, her gaze blurred. Lipstick smeared, mascara crumbling, eyeliner smudged. Drunk. She was very very drunk. And she smelled like it.

Both her hands on either of my cheeks, her nails slightly pressing in, as if to say 'don't'. Don't go, don't resist, don't leave me, don't look away.

I was seeing her.

But I wasn't looking at her. I was trying not to. Because if I focused on her, I'd see Vanessa making out with Jack in the background. I would've rather just kept my gaze unfocused and pretend it wasn't happening just a few feet from me.

So I opted to stare at Summer blankly. In my intoxicated state it felt okay that at least someone wanted me, noticed me. I'm sure a lot of people did.

But not the one I wanted.

She neared my face. I could feel myself panicking. Maybe I should've just gone with it, but I knew it was wrong.

Before I knew it, something knocked summer down.

I could've sworn I saw something, but there was nothing there. I began to sober up immediately as she turned over her shoulder and looked for the source. Her drunken self couldn't be bothered and just continued sitting on the floor. But me, on the other hand, my thoughts were starting to catch up with me.

You might be wondering about what happened with my 'seeing people that are probably dead/might not be there/probably just figments of my deteriorating mind' situation.

My 'hallucinations' had practically disappeared after those two incidents. I was given medications to control them, via dopamine blockers but I opted out of taking them, considering their side effects were worse than the actual hallucinations.

Occasionally I would see a shadow in the corner, the feeling of somebody watching me, that sort of thing. But nothing major. These kinds of things had happened before the accident too, why should I suffer various side effects just because they were more frequent now? I would honestly rather see dancing shadows in my peripheral vision than suffer intense nausea coupled with lethargy.

Besides, I figured I wasn't all that special. Anyone can see or hear it if they're open to it.

I looked at the mahogany grandfather clock in the corner. It was 11pm.
I was scared sober so I turned on my heel and ran up the grand staircase to my room. Scared enough to ditch the party, not scared enough to take those god awful meds.

I had to remember to keep looking down, should I chance upon shadows begging for my help or some other thing my imagination liked to make me suffer through.

I'm not crazy, I swear.

I gingerly opened my bedroom door and stripped down to my boxers and got under the covers.

I looked towards the window which didn't have it's velvet curtains drawn, but decided I was too lazy to be bothered. Or too frightened. Same thing.

The rays of sunshine did not wake me up in the morning because, even in my hung over state, turned away from the window, I knew someone had drawn the curtain.

~*~

"You're late, son." My dad quipped.

"I know, I know." I turned to my housekeeper who was busy making French omelettes, "Sarah, I've told you a thousand times not to draw the blinds." I sipped my coffee.

Even though I hadn't.

She turned to look at my father once and he gave her a look, "I'm sorry, Bobby," she put the omelette in my plate, "slipped my mind."