1.2 The Chronicles of Us - Rewound & Retold

Chapter forty

"Another one."

The bartender refills my empty glass with scotch—no ice. He seems suspicious of my nonstop drinking, but the bleakness in my eyes keeps him from asking questions. It's a shitty bar anyway. There's only one other customer. A scabby guy with greasy hair. Just like me, he kicks back drink after drink. Maybe he's trying to drown whatever haunts him as well.

I sigh and refocus on the glass in my hand. Why did I come here? Also, how did I get here? I know my bike is parked up front, which means I didn't crash, but it's all a blur in my head.

I press the rim against my lips and swallow the amber liquid until my veins buzz. This is who I am. A fucked-up guy who smothers his depression with alcohol. No more trying to be a good boy, no more hoping for salvation. Just me and my scotch. I'm sure there's some country song written about this exact moment.

I had that shitty memory buried under a pile of other shitty memories, it almost fooled me into believing it never happened at all. Sure, it popped up when Ellie showed me the pills Vicky gave her, but I shoved it right back where I kept it hidden all those years.

"What happened?" a familiar voice asks.

I glance right and find Roy sitting down on the barstool next to me. The fuck? "How did you know where I was?"

Confusion tugs at his expression. "Don't you remember texting me about half an hour ago?"

Do I? Vaguely, maybe. I shrug weakly and throw back the remainder of my drink.

His hand touches my shoulder for a just a second. "Talk to me."

Where do I even begin? "Just another fucked-up day."

I signal the bartender for another refill and to my surprise, Roy doesn't try to stop me. He frowns seriously. "Did Ellie break up with you?"

Ellie.

My sweet bird, freed from her cage only to become trapped in my miserable life. I'm not good for her. The fact that I left her stranded on the curb is only the most recent example of that. She must hate me for it.

I sigh, close to a groan. "No, I think I did."

Roy seems genuinely confused. "Why? I thought you two were doing really well."

My heavy head hangs. "Does it matter? Angels and demons shouldn't fraternize. Nothing good will come from it, not in the long run."

"Jesus, Tex. You better start telling me what happened. It's been a long time since I've heard you talk in dark riddles."

I keep my eyes on a black, ashy burn mark on the varnished wood. "I don't wanna talk about it."

He slams his hand on the bar. "Stop acting like a child and start talking."

This tiny sane voice in the back in my head tells me that I should do exactly that, but the words remain unspoken, poisoning my mind. Though I was strung out that day, the memory never faded.

She had tangled blond hair and very slender arms. Her hollow eyes begged with an intensity I recognized. She needed to forget about something. We had that in common. I wasn't about to give her the batch of Xans that I desperately needed to feed my destructive behavior. Funny thing, the first time I took Xanax was after some asshole doctor prescribed them to me. Ruin sold as remedy. Anyway, the pills I had on me that day didn't come from a pharmacy, I bought them from some crook.

When the girl tried to trade pussy for pills, I took pity on her. That pity become her death. I gave her the bag and left her alone with them. I should've found out if she had a drug buddy, but it didn't even cross my mind. Two weeks later, I heard that she had died. The pills were laced with too much fentanyl. The unbearable guilt sent me straight into a bender that lasted five days. On the sixth day, I couldn't take it anymore and, apparently, called Roy. I never told him what truly went down that day, but he decided that he was going to be the one to put me back on the right path. We fed Axel and Joey a lie about me needing some time for family stuff. I cleaned up my act, mostly, but the guilt and the memories stayed.