Don't Let Me Remember

Chapter 5: We All Don't Have To Evolve

The next day, like a building tied to its foundation, I show back up at the dingy bar. I gotta prove a point.

I down a few Jack and Cokes and a couple screwdrivers, enough to run up a $75 bar tab. To put in perspective, Jack and Coke runs $4, screwdrivers $3. The term "to make a scot drunk" applies here, however, instead I'll use the term "not enough for a suicidal man to feel numb". I haven't even had any downers today. Shocker, but I needed to be in some sort of right mind when this happens.

I'm there from 4 in the afternoon (I didn't have to work today, Saturday is one of the very select few days I'm off, which is good because come winter I won't have many) until she comes in. Like clockwork, she kinda memorized when I get there after work, which is usually 7:15, and she's here five minutes early. Good. I gotta clear this up.

"Amber."

I barely recognize my own voice as I call out to her, kinda throwing me back into the cat calls of high school.

"Chris."

I wince as such a beautiful voice mentions a name that never should've been mentioned. The grey tank top paired with black jeans suit her well as she makes a path over to the stool beside me.

I make an effort not to slur my words between my teeth, because I'm sure coming up from the alcohol coated vocal chords they're slurred enough. "You should've never known my name."

"What's your last name Chris?"

I wince once again, downing another screwdriver, which if you're keeping tally, makes my tab $78, about to be $82.

"Jack and Coke." I slur towards the bartender, who hasn't seen me this way in a while. Downers usually relax my muscles to the point where my words very rarely get slurred, my voice slides out like a nice wine coating my throat. Today, however, it's pretty bad. "Amber, stop. You're not gonna know anymore than you do. I'm not looking for someone. I'm looking to not remember. I'm looking for a pain reliever strong enough to erase history-"

"I might be the thing you're looking for." She chimes in. "Think about it, last night we were laughing and smiling and you seemed genuinely happy for the first time I've seen you. Granted, it was only the second time I've seen you but you were insistent on not telling me your name. When you told me your name, I knew I had a breakthrough."

"What are you, a psychologist?"

"I'm a therapist at the middle school. I have a degree in psychology and I know how people act and react. Your reaction was genuine."

I'm kinda bewildered. A shit load of thoughts run through my head. I know psychology, I took psychology 101 in high school and before I dropped out had finished Psychology 201 before the end of my first semester in college. I know a fair amount, more than the average person. However, this caught me with my guns lowered as she explained how she knew.

"And you don't have to play dumb. I actually know your full name, Christopher Tyler Smith. I know you work at the Glassboro morgue in the cleaning department and you're not one of the higher paid few that wear suits and put together the funerals. I know you went to college but dropped out sometime before the beginning of your sophomore year. I know you buy Xanax from a guy named Zack Hackley and I've heard you take Loritabs, however that part of my research I can't say I can confirm. I can confirm, however, that you lost someone close to you in the name of Julia Everly as a result of depression and a rope. That's as far as my research went, and it seems that you need a therapist that can deal with child-like behavior as in using bad habits to cope even though you know it won't help. With that said, let me help you."

I'm so fucked up that I just stare at her. The colors of the wooden walls and strobe lights fade away as all I'm focused on is her.

"H... how did you-"

"I have friends that tell me things and I just cross check them with the newspaper at the library and with calling your place of work and former college." She interjects like a knife through butter.

I guess my face is just as pale as a wedding dress for she speaks more.

"Now, here's some homework for you; were you just an experiment to see if I'm capable of doing my job as a school therapist, or am I genuinely here to try to get with someone who drinks until they have no paycheck left?"

And with that, she smiles toward the bartender and leaves, leaving me to my own bitter vices and a million questions inside my skull.

-----------------------------------

Hey guys! So I'm gonna try for a regular schedule to help cope with my own depression and such, but with this taking a lot out of me, it might just be every 1st and 3rd Monday's of the month. How do you feel about it?

2 questions for those interested;

Unrelated to the chapter: Would you rather me update this book both times of the month or this book one time and start another project for the other?

Related to the chapter: If presented this information as if it was you in the "protagonist" shoes, how would you react?

Be sure to comment your answers on this chapter as I'm gonna have questions at the end of chapters for now on! Thanks for reading! And sorry for the short update. I feel this is what was needed for this chapter to help progress the story forward, anymore would just make it feel like I'm making filler and such.