Don't Let Me Remember

Chapter 3: Midnight Deals Turn Bad

I wake up, smelling of a bad time at the worst bar in town and not high enough to function. I take a few Xanax and find a diamond in the rough, a left over Prozac tucked away neatly in my glove box. This will get me through until my break. I hope.

I drive to the place you go where you want to die, and hop out. The morgue actually looks good with this Prozac filter.

I go in and do my job. It's the same thing everyday. Person dies, persons family either wants him too look perfect or cremated, we clean them out, we dress them up in a nice suit and tie or dress, have visit, then it's either to the cremation room or 6 feet under.

I won't bore you with details of my work day. We all know you're here too watch me either crash and burn or become the hero this story needs, right? Right.

I get off fairly quickly, right at 7PM, and decide to go back to that dingy night club.

It's almost the same crime scene as the night before. Over weight men and women avoiding eachother because they "want someone thinner" yet can't see their own toes, slutty girls that are a bit too drunk with too little amount of clothing on, etcetera.

I ask for the same boring drink, screw driver on the rocks, because I'm a sick fuck that likes orange juice and vodka with ice. I down it and ask for a refill, then another.

I see that same blonde haired girl. I knew I had high hopes for her for a reason. She is now talking with a man who has a better job than I do and has the un-tailored suit to show for it. Good luck, Claire.

I don't get why girls seem attracted to men that look depressed in bars. Is that a turn on? Do you think you can save all of us? Someone please explain.

A girl, short black hair, brown eyes, slim, however, had a body that was easy on the eyes, no shorter than the previous girl, maybe even taller grabs the stool beside me.

"You look like you're having a rough day."

I can't help but smile. If you only knew, lady. If you only knew.

"I would call it a rough year."

She takes this as a joke. Most people do when you say something like that. They don't know what happened, so I always let it slide.

"We've all been there. Whatcha drinking?"

I look into my empty glass. "Well, nothing right now. I think I'm gonna switch it up from a screw driver to Jack and coke. Can't get too drunk, can you?"

"Well, it depends on your definition of too drunk is. Everyones is different. For me, I wouldn't drink more than 3 hard liquor drinks. I assume you've had more?"

Assumptions assumptions. This isn't good. You don't want to assume a lot. Take notes kids that shouldn't be reading this fucking nightmare but probably are, you shouldn't always assume. The assumption that is exampled above isn't too bad. It passes.

"This will be my 5th drink of the evening, however I'm not even on my buzz yet. Hopefully this Jack will help."

"So should I call you Jack?" She smiles as she says this, she has really pretty white teeth. Not too white where they look fake, but by far whiter than anyone else's in this bar.

"You can call me a bad time." Yes, this time I actually said this. Later on there will not be a "let me shoot it real" I actually said this.

She chuckles, again, like it's a joke but we all know by now that it's not.

"Well you can call me Amber. Amber Howards."

Hm. Amber. A name you don't really hear much these days. It's usually something basic, like Kayla or Emily. Not that there's anything wrong with those names, just seems like everyone and their mom has that name.

"Well, let me ask you then Amber, why are you in here? Are you having a rough day?"

"You could call it a rough month."

She smiles as she says this yet her eyes are down. This is probably true. You can tell a lot about truths and lies by body language, it's the subtle things. A smile with sad eyes usually indicates a genuine response. Better be writing this down kiddos.

"I apologize for that." I slide my Jack and coke towards her and ask for another. "Go ahead and down it. Seems like you deserve it."

"Thanks, but I don't accept drinks from someone whose name is 'Bad Time'" she smirks.

I can't help but chuckle. Alas, I will not bite.

"Well, it's there if you want it." I kill my drink and lay it back on the bar. "However, I must get going. Be safe then, Amber."

She looks saddened, and for a moment I almost stay. She reminds me a lot of Julia when she was here. That, however, gives me all the more reason to leave.

I climb back into that piece of shit I call a work horse and drive back to my piece of shit I call a home. If you take 2 things from this story, anyone who is reading this, I hope it's to never do drugs and to never drive drunk. If that's all you take away I'll be happy.

I walk into my home with low hopes of getting good sleep before work. It's 1 in the morning and I gotta be awake bright and early at 9. Yay.

I bet that girl already has found someone to go home with tonight. Don't get me wrong, she was very pretty. The problem is what I established before, I don't want to move on. That requires work. If I call in to my real job, what will I do with something that isn't necessary to pay the bills?

I feel myself starting to have another episode. I run into the bathroom. I can't stop myself from looking into the mirror, only to see dead eyes looking back at me. I grip the sink again as my knuckles fade into the color of the porcelain sink and tear drops as loud as thunder crash around the drain. It's routine, like going to work. I hate myself, I hate her, I love her, I miss her, I wish we never met, I wish we had more time, she's stupid, she's smart, just a deadly routine that I do a few times a week. Nothing I can't control, right?

I down my Xanax, pop my OxyContin, and hope it along with my drinks from earlier levels my head some. If it's anything like the last episode I had, I doubt I'll be able to contain it.

I run cold water in the tub with trembling hands. I strip down to to that 150 pound frame and hop in, along with my bottle of Xanax. I'm trying to keep myself in control this time. It's my usual routine. I completely break 3 times a week and the other 4 days I fight it as hard as possible. I'll be the first to say I do succeed some days, but if you've read this far then you know this isn't one of those times I succeed.

I lay in the cold tub, making the hair on my body stand on end. I'm shaking more now, not from the cold, but from the memories. From my past, because quite frankly I was not meant to last (no rhyme intended, however, I'll take it).

My eyes ache from being open, yet I continue to stare at the pale white wall in front of me. My mind tingles from exhaustion yet it continues to race. My only hope is to make a wrong turn and be put to sleep.

I won't bore you with many other details of this experience. To make a long description short, I spaz, pass out in the tub, wake up at 7, pop more pills, put clothes on and repeat the same job I did the day before.

However, today wasn't the same as an ordinary day. Today ends up being something special. I can't spoil it for you, but soon enough.