Sugar McKenzie and August Wakefield couldn't be more different - Sugar, a meticulous, caring, but lonely paramedic and August, a charming former reality star still chasing his dream. But they've both closed themselves off emotionally from others...t...
"And true intimacy, the exchange of affection between two people who are not lying, is transforming."
- Scary Close: dropping the fact and finding true intimacy written by Donald Miller
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I squinted behind my aviators. The afternoon sunshine was too strong for my light eyes. The splinting headache screamed. The muscles on top of my head and around my eyes tightened. I rubbed in a circular motion, trying to alleviate the pain. An unopened plastic water bottle was in my right hand. The condensation made the paper label bubble out – easier to rip it off.
I drank too much yesterday.
Min-ho fulfilled his promise. He picked me up in his silver Audi, the one with the nice leather interior, and drove us to the Golden Era.
Sentence after sentence, I spewed out information about the meeting, new contract, Mr. Dalton, Mr. McCoy, and Penelope. Word vomit continued. In the car and in the bar. The imaginary string stretched, small tight knots were on the fabric. Each story was a knot. My chest began to constrict, holding my breath. My thoughts rushed out like a pressurized bottle. All the liquid filled up – took up all the space, overflowing until the pressure created cracks. The glass bottle split. Water leaked out of the holes.
Penelope broke the bottle.
Penelope broke me. The past fought to be my present.
Every past memory. Our dates at the park, La Bella's, making silly faces at their makeup stylist, paranoid that cameras were watching us, and chilled in her dressing room. I sat upside down on her couch, sneakers marked the dressing room walls.
The details. Her vanilla fragrance. Fresh on my mind. All tumbled out of my mouth.
I winced. I recalled the past twenty-four hours.
Min-ho listened to my foul language, complaining Penelope as an attention hog, slimy cockroach – well, I said another name instead. I couldn't remember the amount of drinks I had. By the taste left in my mouth, whiskey was my choice.
Short fragments helped piece together my night.
Min-ho threw me back in the passenger seat. I barfed on the sidewalk near the grindy asphalt pothole. Min-ho tickled me for my keys, when I leaned against the cool, metal elevator wall. I was dragged into my apartment, and the remote controller was in my hands, pressing "x" and "triangle."
Dripped coffee smell woke me up this morning. Bitter and warm aroma jolted me up from my sleeping position, back cracked and head pounded. I slept on the couch's footrest, separate from the couch itself. On my belly.
"What the h-"
"Drink this." Min-ho placed the ceramic mug in my right hand. "I warned you last night. You're a grown man. 'I know my limits,' you said."
