Face Down

Eight

    I was in the bar by nine o'clock that night; I didn't care that it was a Wednesday, or that I had to work in the morning. I kept that in mind when I started with a few beers, but within the hour I decided not to care; I was going to sit here and get drunk and then I was going to get laid.

    The bar was near a college campus, so I wasn't surprised at how full it was for being the middle of the week. Scanning the crowd there were a few potential football players, they were always fun; I was surprised to catch a glimpse of Eric, in the back corner, with some guy and they were intently staring at a group of girls.

     I was trying to get a better look at the guy with Eric, maybe I'd go home with him, but I recognized him; his name was Paul, he's one of Istin's, and I don't know exactly what he does, but he is deep in highly illegal shit.

     I stopped looking in the back corner and grabbed a random football guy, but  he was so anxious, so it took two or three more vodkas to get us out of there. We took a cab back to his apartment, where we had more to drink.

     He took a minute to go to the bathroom, and something came over me. I didn't want to be here; I have to work in the morning; I don't understand why I felt the need to be like this.

     I picked my shoes up and stumbled out of his apartment; he followed. I was shitfaced, and if I could tell then I knew I had drunk way too much. I stepped outside of the apartment building, but he had followed me and asked if I was sure that I wanted to leave, and that there was nothing he could do to get me to stay. I laughed and told him I was going to go, but the street lights were a blur and he grabbed my hand, which made me trip.

     I stood back up and walked in one direction; he called out 'bitch' behind me as I walked away. At some point while I was walking, I heard a car stop next to me, and when I looked over Eric was climbing out and I had stopped walking.

     "Hey babe," I slurred.

     "C'mon," he said leading me toward the car, his hand on the small of my back.

     "I thought-"I hiccupped, "I told you-"

     "Stop talking, just get in the car." I was too weak to argue.

     My vision was blurred so walking up the stairs to his apartment was a quite the challenge; each time I tripped on a step I would giggle and wait for Eric to help me up, after I tripped the third time he just carried me inside.

     While he carried me to his room I told him, "I am so drunk," I laughed then held his face between my hands, "I'm not gonna sleep with you."

     "Just lie down and go to bed," he took my shoes off my feet and covered me up.

      I woke up around one a.m. and ran for the bathroom where I then threw up the contents of my stomach, twice; Eric came in at some point and held my hair for me. "You're a real nice guy," I told him, "real nice." I threw up again.

     Eric went to the kitchen to get me some water and aspirin; when he came back I was leaned back against the wall crying. "Hey, don't worry about it, with how much you drank at the bar I'm surprised you held it for this long," he handed me the pills and one of his shirts.

     "It's not that," I took the pills and slid the shirt on. He put his arm around my shoulders and I laid my head on him, he was waiting to see if I'd continue. I did. I told him about my mother's condition and her fake reality. I broke.

     After I finished talking we sat there in silence; there was no way to comfort that, you can't say that it'll all be okay. Instead he held me and used his thumb to rub circles on my arm until I fell asleep on his chest.