Lighter

e i g h t e e n

they say love grows,
but i've only seen it d i e . . .

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The first time I ever got drunk was with Ben. And I don't mean having one beer and feeling a little "tipsy" – I had done that with Cheyenne before a few times, courtesy of Tommy's older brother being pretty clueless. I mean tasting straight-up liquor for the first time, shuddering at how bitter a shot of vodka was, but quickly getting over it because it was "so much fun".

The one and only so-called love of my life is now the reason why I no longer do that. Getting drunk reminds me of him. It brings back all the times he'd take me to upperclassmen parties where I wouldn't know anybody but him. It makes me think of tossing back shot after shot so I could loosen up and make new friends. All I can think of is that stupid sixteen-year-old girl I used to be.

One week after kissing Ronnie, something changed.

I didn't have a way to get high, but I just wanted to feel numb for a little while. Totally and completely oblivious to everything in my life. So to make a long story short and a bad decision somehow even worse, I turned to drinking.

Getting over Ben would be one of the hardest things I'd ever have to do, I knew that. After my talk with Cheyenne last weekend about him, it was clear to me that it would take longer than I wanted it to. All I was concerned with was flushing my system of him and moving on.

I thought that maybe getting drunk would do that for me, since the last time I felt that way was in high school. It didn't. I thought it'd be different now. It wasn't.

Feeling a little too melancholy on a lonely Friday night led me to raiding our liquor cabinet that sat in the living room wall unit. It was only ever opened if we had guests over, or for an occasional celebration. There was an array of glass bottles to choose from – ancient whiskey and scotch my dad never let anyone touch, wine that Aunt Farrah insisted on having around, and your standard vodka. I went with the last option, choosing something that was already open so it wouldn't be too noticeable that I drank from it.

Everyone in my life had their own engagements they were attended to. I ended up sitting at my kitchen table accompanied by a bottle of strawberry flavored liquor that was just as strong as I remembered. If anything, it was stronger, more bitter, and reminded me all the more reason why I stopped drinking.

That didn't matter too much to me as I kept slinging back the juice glass I'd fill with a shot every few minutes. I just wanted to be numb.

Numb numb numb.

Once it got to the point where I almost vomited on the surface of the table and my throat was completely raw, I knew it was time to quit. I didn't know what time it was and I didn't care. My brain was fried, I couldn't keep my thoughts straight. The one and only thought that remained a constant was Ben.

It was always him.

The inside of my head looked like a sloppy montage that a wild, hopeless romantic put together for a newlywed couple, except they were pictures of a past relationship that didn't work out. There were flashes of Ben all over. It was like I was having a nightmare while being wide awake. I couldn't stop thinking about him and what he did to me, how it's taking over my life, potentially ruining it because it's preventing me from moving the fuck on.

I was thinking too much, and that never did me any good. I couldn't help it.

Eventually, I took out my phone and stared at the last couple of texts between Ronnie and I. Every time the screen would dim, I'd tap it with my finger and light it up again. I scrolled up and down our conversations, but never really read them. I wasn't in the right state of mind to read anything. But apparently, I was able to type out a sloppy text to him that even I couldn't decode in my drunken condition. If you asked me the following morning what I was trying to tell him, I honestly wouldn't know.