The Wandering.

Chapter 16

I am not who I am to be
Nothing but the vessel of my disguise
So I cry and sob and whine
As I realise, the real lies
They're the eyes of a dead man, not mine

- taken from my poetry book "A boy in this f***ing world".

1

Scott Davenport slammed down the shot glass and shut his eyes tightly, forcing the burning liquid down his throat.

The alcohol soothed his worries, tingling down his whole body and sending a sensation of warmth spreading across him. He closed his eyes, appreciating the tiny taste of oblivion it offered him. The more he would drink, the more of it he would get. And he wanted it all.

"Damn, Davenport." The bar tender, Jean Vine muttered. "What's up with you? Haven't seen you in here for a good few years."

Scott wriggled the glass, beckoning for another shot.

Jean shot him a dark look and then grinned. "I'm a bar tender, not a freaking slave, you know. Manners, Mr Davenport."

"Sorry 'bout that." Scott muttered, his elbows feeling heavy on the bar.

"Rough couple of months?" Jean asked, pouring him another shot of his favourite whiskey.

Scott didn't answer, instead he shot the whiskey like it was water.

"You know, your father used to come in here a lot." Jean said, leaning against her side of the bar.

"Don't speak of my father." Scott said, his voice shaky and unstable. "Please. I can't."

Jean got the message, as she watched his hard face seem to shatter at the mention of his father. Instead, she poured him another shot on the house.

Jean had short pixie-cut hair and was quite a small size, but a ferocious character was what she was known to be. She had fought her fair share of men too - Jean wasn't to be messed with. She was known by many of the townsfolk in Sachem Bay, for she was one of the friendliest people about. She was also known to be in an on-off relationship with a girl nicknamed "Chester", a wild child who rode a motorbike, causing rackets within the streets, much to everyone's displeasure.

Scott had another three whiskeys and by that time, his vision was spinning, but his ass was sure going to stay on that seat. Going home meant walking past Gracie's room, and that was a reminder of his failure as a father. There was no way of waking her up and Scott knew it. It killed him everyday.

"You know what, Jean?" Scott mumbled, his eyes looking heavy and sleepy.

Jean grinned her usual friendly, understanding smile. "What, buddy?"

Scott clanked the empty shot glasses together, grinning in a daze. "I'm surprised I'm alive. You know what? I'm surprised I lived long enough to fall in love with Gia Summers. I'm so surprised I even survived long enough to marry her and make her a Davenport."

"Why's that?" Jean said, seeming a little concerned.

"Us Davenport folk have a habit of dying or going missing."

"I know what you mean, Hun." Jean said, pouring herself a Martini. "You're talking about the death of your father and Sadie, aren't you? And Gracie disappearing. I feel for you."