Misery Loves Company

Chapter 2

I'm thankful Ashley pulled me out of my reminiscent state. I hate thinking about all that I had and all that I've lost. It's stupid to even toy with the idea that I could somehow remember my way back to it all. What good what that even be anyways? It wouldn't bring them back.  

I'm five beers deep already. But I'm only including the drinks I've had since I walked in through the doors of this lavish, distastefully, expensive mansion. I've been drinking since I woke up this morning, but no one needs to know that. Not even my best friend. 

"Up for another game?" Ashley looks at me, head cocked to one side with one eye closed as if she's concentrating really hard not to see two of me. 

"I'm good, I need another drink," I yell over the obnoxiously loud music. Holding up my empty solo cup and shaking it in the air. 

"OK girl, I'll be right here!" she smiles and turns towards her hot new item of the night, the star quarterback, Todd McFadden. I roll my eyes and smile. 

If it's one thing I've learned about Ashley over the years, it's that she is very aware of how painfully breathtaking she is. Her beautiful long, blonde hair, frames her face in just the right way, complementing all of her soft features. Her deep blue eyes, long lean legs, and pearly white smile command the attention of any man who simply looks in her direction. There's a reason she's a model. She is, what society considers to be, flawless. And I can't disagree with that. 

Aware of the fact that there is no longer a full cup of alcohol in my hand, I turn on my heels to go find myself something that doesn't taste like piss. Vodka would be nice. But I'm not picky. I'll take whatever hard stuff I can get my hands on. 

I walk through the room, after room, after room, for what feels like a good five minutes before I finally come across the only room I give a damn about in this house - the kitchen aka booze central. As I enter, I can't help but admire the white marble countertops and the beautiful bay window in front of the sink, displaying the immaculate landscape. The island is the size of a small bathroom and the appliances all appear to be custom-made and very expensive. Rich people.

I run my hands down the length of the island and begin to think about my childhood home, with kitchen countertops just like this one. I can still hear the laughter of my mom, dad, brother, and I, as we eat our dinner together and recount the events of our days. Their voices echo in my head.

I approach the endless line of alcohol and my eyes go wide. Scanning over all of the labels, I finally come across something that looks somewhat decent. Ciroc. This will do. Instead of pouring some into my cup, I toss the cup on the counter and grab the bottle. A chill of pleasure courses through me as I feel it's full. Perfect.