Chasing Arizona

Sober Saturday Night

Just a filler. I'm sorry I've been gone so long. Will try to update as soon as I finish writing from now on. Hope y'all enjoy! Let me know what you think!

xxKay

Arizona

My world was fuzzy, almost like trying to watch a movie on a tilt-a-whirl. It all blended together as one as I bobbed toward the doors of the bar, a thick arm wrapped neatly around my waist to steady me. Giggly and bubbly headed, I didn't have a care in the world. My blood was swimming with sunshine and happiness, it seemed, as the whiskey I'd consumed danced merrily through my veins. I could barely feel my toes as we made our way outside, our faces being kissed by the warmth of the summer night. My companion kept saying things, surely trying to make sure I wasn't going to vomit in his brand new truck – something he'd mentioned about a half a million times while plying me with copious amounts of alcohol. He'd spent the better part of an hour paying for my drinks and talking himself up, pointing out all of his redeeming qualities between compliments. However, he hadn't known that I'd been drinking since six, four hours before he'd even shown up, and that his efforts were pointless. Hell, it hadn't taken anything to convince me to go home with him. He was warm, he smelled nice, had a beautiful smile and from the way he kept touching me, he damn sure wasn't going to turn down my offer.

I hadn't missed the concerned glances that the staff at Chubby's kept throwing in my direction as I threw back the last few shots before me and prepared to leave, and the ever blunt Dax made sure to let my future bed buddy know that he'd copied the license information down so he could hunt him down if I didn't return.

Should I be going home with this total stranger? Probably not. I had no idea who he was, but I needed the oblivion he provided, the promise of forgetting what I'd lost, what I'd seen. I wanted it, and I was going to get it. Could I properly defend myself if he turned out to be a violent psycho? Not in my state, but God willing I wouldn't end up on a milk carton or being run as a special report on the six o'clock news.

I had laughed senselessly as he assured me that I wasn't going to end up chopped into tiny Arizona pieces, snorting loudly when he leaned over to buckle me in. The trip to the hotel is a nonexistent memory in my mind, but the burning image of the flashing Motel 6 sign is clear, bright and blinking.

 The last thing I remember is the cool feel of a bottle touching my lips and the familiar warmth of whiskey.  

The familiar tang of vomit rose quickly in the back of my throat and I knew instantly who the culprit was as I came to consciousness.  

Daniels. Jack, Daniels. 

I didn't want to open my eyes, but knew that the longer I hesitated, the worse it would be once I finally did. 

Yikes. 

Clothes were strewn every which way across the small room, the lamp shade next to me was knocked sideways by what appeared to be my bra -- or at least I hoped it was mine, I hadn't thought I'd gotten that drunk.

Alcohol had a way of distorting ideas and thoughts, making good seem bad and bad seem excellent. I'd often wondered how I had made it so far in life with my tendency to drink a little too much, laugh a little too loud and fall in with the wrong people. It was mornings like this one that made me question my own thought processes. I was naked on a rumpled bed in the middle of a seedy motel room that smelled of booze, urine and cigarette smoke, with a familiar ache between my shoulders and my thighs. I wasn't entirely sure how I had ended up here, but the cotton mouth, pounding headache and rolling nausea gave me a pretty good idea, and so did the empty bottle of Jack sitting on the end table. The sound of running water registered just as my bladder alerted me that I needed to relieve myself. Grimacing, I pushed a hand through my tangled mass of auburn hair, hoping the pain would somehow divert attention from the situation at hand.

I'd done it again.

Groaning in irritation, I made a split second decision. I made a mad dash for my clothes, shimmying only into the necessities before I nabbed my car keys and phone, praying I'd made the idiotic decision to drive here. I was just fumbling with the locks when the bathroom door swung open - and I only caught the muffled shouts of a man through the door as I raced out to the parking lot.

*
Aunt Rose was eyeing me from across the table her vulture like gaze making me want to fidget like a six year old who'd been caught red-handed with cookies before dinner. In a sense, I had been caught. I'd had to call Uncle Dane to come get me from the Motel, making some asinine excuse that I'd been visiting a friend who'd come in from out of town. Of course he knew me better than that and was just glad I hadn't driven after being at the bar, but I could see the disappointment in his eyes as he dropped me at Chubby's. 

"Is the food not to your liking, Arizona?" Oh, did I know that tone. I was in a whole heap of trouble. I silently prayed that she hadn't received another call from one of her church ladies because I'd slept with one of their sons again. At seventeen, I'd barely lived that one down. Now that I was nearly a decade older, you'd think I'd have better sense.  Instead of asking what I'd done - because honestly, I was a coward - I simply shook my head and swallowed the urge to vomit as I forced a bite of her famous meatloaf down my throat. The cruel gleam in her eyes let me know that she had asked just to get me to take a bite. Evil witch probably knew I was still trying to calm my stomach. 

"It's great, Aunt Rose." I mumbled sourly, ignoring the somersaults my gut was doing, taking another bite I nearly choked on the awful flavor of onions. "Especially the onions and peppers." 

Hours later I was busy trying to hide from my aunt, who was breathing fire after an altercation with one of her parent committee friends. I knew running into her at this point was dangerous for all involved. I knew Uncle Dane was likely out in his man cave or pretending to check on one of the various animals he owned and that October was out with friends tonight. There would be no buffer if I managed to find her. I was stuck in my room since she was pacing in the kitchen, which happened to be in view of both escape routes out of the house. Unless I wanted to climb out of my window and shimmy down the lattice. At the seconds ticked by, it was starting to sound more appealing. A loud ding echoed through my room and I jumped, my heart nearly stopping with fright. 

U mke it hme ok? I was staring at the new message on my phone's screen with my brow furrowed as I tried to make out the number. It was local but wasn't one I recognized. I scrawled out a quick "who's this?" in return hoping it wasn't someone important. I didn't wait long for the next message to come in. 

Jake. 4rm lstnite. So that was his name! We continued to text for the next hour, general questions mostly, before he asked the question I'd dreaded: "when can I see you again?" Of course he'd butchered the spelling, falling somewhere between a shorthand and a preteen new to texting. A rush of anxiety filled my gut with each time I re-read the text. 

In the end, I didn't send anything back and settled for blocking the number.