I ask the bartender for another drink, and he shakes his head at me. “No way, man, you’re cut off.”
“Fuck you!” I shout, but I didn’t really want to yell at the guy. It just sort of comes out. I am drunk; I feel way more than a buzz, and I know that I should stop –but I want more.
“Fuck you,” the bartender says calmly and then waves at the end of the bar. “Do you see anyone else here? It’s fucking eleven in the morning; you’ve been drinking since eight this morning. You’re cut off. Call someone to drive you home, or I am going to call a cab for your ass.”
“I’m not taking a damn cab,” I say and start looking for my keys like a moron. I know I don’t need to drive, but for some reason, I just can’t keep my head on straight.
The bartender jingles some keys, “I took these from you hours ago, asshole. Remember? That was the deal to get you those two shots.” He turns away from me, grabs the bar phone, and hands it to me.
“Where’s my fucking cell phone?” I snap as he hands me the bars phone.
“You fucking threw it at the dart board, moron!” the bartender hisses; he is ready for me to get out of here. I don’t remember throwing my phone, but apparently, it’s busted. I sure hope Brandi hasn’t tried to get in touch with me. As I’m holding the phone in my hand, I debate calling her… I really don’t want her to see me this incredibly drunk. My left arm is in a sling, and I’m covered in stitches. Between that and the droopy drunk eyes, I’m sure I look like a damn Halloween costume.
I call the only other number I know by heart, but honestly, I can’t even understand what I am saying. I’m fairly certain that I hear Gabe’s voice, but I’m not sure. I try to leave, but the bartender convinces me to stay by promising me another drink. I don’t know if he gives it to me or if he just poured me a glass of water and dipped the straw in tequila to try to trick me. I have no idea, but I drink it.
I’m not sure how much time passes by before Gabe is standing next to me, calling me a jackass. “Brandi is going to fucking kill you, man,” Gabe says as he yanked me off of the bar stool. “This is the third time this week one of us has had to come get you. She’s trying to plan a wedding, and you’re acting like a tool.”
I don’t remember the details, but suddenly I am sitting in Gabe’s car. He is cussing at me and calling me a moron. He turns and looks at me, and I take note that we are still in the parking lot. He’s gripping his steering wheel as he shouts at me. “You are so drunk! Why do you keep doing this? What, because you can’t fight? Come on man, get over yourself. So what if your perfect record got scrubbed this week? You’re a grown ass man! Quit pouting like a damn child. Grow up and get over yourself.”
“Shut up, Gabriel,” I hiss, and he punches me in my bad arm. “Ah! Knock it off that hurts!”
“Oh, does it? I’m surprised you can feel a damn thing as drunk as you are!” He shouts.
I think I black out for a second because at some point Gabe took out his cell phone; I think he’s talking to Brandi. “Yeah, I found him. He wound up calling me. No, I’m not taking him home –you don’t need to see this shit. I’ll get him cleaned up for you… no, don’t do that! No, Brandi, don’t. Finish your dress shopping with your mom; he’s fine… no, I don’t think this is going to keep happening. He's just a wuss about his loss, don’t worry –he’ll get over it. No, no, Brandi, I told you, he’s fine.”
I suppose I should thank him at some point about this. I had forgotten why I had left the house in the first place; Brandi was dress shopping today, and I had decided to go grab a bite to eat at the bar… and I had ordered a drink and another and another and another. Geeze that had escalated quickly.
Gabe hangs up the phone, and we pull out of the parking lot. I am talking, but I can’t understand my own words, so I doubt that Gabe has a clue. Suddenly Gabe is screaming and cussing at me again…. Fuck, I threw up in his floorboard. This is not the most appealing side of me. He looks like he’s ready to kill me.
The next thing I know I’m sitting in his bathtub, and he’s hosing me down with his shower nozzle. “I swear, if you tell anyone about this-” Gabe grumbles, and I realize I’m naked. Did he strip me? Yeah, probably.
I start telling him that he needs to take my sling off, but then I realize I’m not wearing it. Yeah, I’m gone. I am so clueless. He sprays me in the face and tells me to shut the hell up. He starts pulling me up to help me stand, and he makes me wrap a towel around myself. I drop the towel, and he cusses at me again.
He throws me down on the couch and then tosses the towel over me, saying, “I don’t want to stare at your dick while I’m looking for some clean clothes,” and he disappears for a second.
I feel really numb now. The alcohol is really starting to affect me. Damn it, how could I have let myself get this drunk? Soon Gabe is standing me up and helping me get into a pair of sweatpants and an old, baggy t-shirt that he had lying around his apartment. I wind up on the couch again, and I can smell him brewing some coffee in the kitchen.
“Yeah, Brandi, don’t worry, he can stay here tonight. You and your mom just have fun,” I can hear him saying from the kitchen; he’s on the phone with her again.
“Let me talk to her,” I say, spinning my head towards the small kitchen, and I can see him flicking me off while talking to her. He’s a good friend. He’s not going to let me talk to her, and I know I probably would have regretted that later.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll give him hell about it,” Gabe says. “Oh yeah, don’t mention it. Just go have fun. Don’t let one little fuck up by Jonathan ruin your day.”
Soon he is placing a cup of coffee and a glass of water on the coffee table, telling me he’s not going to leave me alone until I drink both. I obey, and I manage to stammer out a thank you. “Whatever, dumbass,” Gabe says and plops down on the couch. “Brandi would have killed you if she saw how fucked up you just got. You got to snap out of this, man. Your manager is already working on setting up some fights in a few months, but until then you got to stay out of trouble. All right?”
“I know,” I say, and I pass out on the couch.
14
Four Months Later…
I watch the fight over and over again, feeling a huge amount of self-hatred overcoming me. After my drunken night in the bar and my talk with Gabe, I got serious. I took it easy, but I pushed myself just enough during physical therapy to get myself back on my feet as quickly as possible. I went to all my doctor appointments, and I listened to what the guy had to say. I would go for walks for a while so that I was still doing some form of exercise to ensure that I could bounce back quicker, and soon my walks turned into runs. Not being able to constantly work out and not having any matches did allow me to spend some quality time with Brandi and do some of the cheesy wedding preparation stuff. I’ll admit, I actually enjoyed some of it. It was a bit of a distraction. Because I was not super involved in the boxing world at that time, I had no idea that my comments about female boxers had gone viral. I’ll have to do something about that sooner or later, but right now that is the last thing on my mind. What’s bothering me right now is the two matches I’ve lost since returning.
Two. Fucking. Losses. Two! Un-fucking-believable. And not to big name players like Donte, but to up and coming professionals. My most recent loss had been a knockout in the third round. I’ve never been knocked out before Donte, and I’ve certainly never lost that early on. The third round. The third fucking round! How? How? My body is fine now. My injuries from my fight with Donte don’t hurt at all now. So what is causing me to lose these matches? What is causing me to suck so much? I’ve never had this problem before! I watch the clip again on my television in my den. I can hear Brandi pacing in the next room over; she is worried about me, and she probably should be. I rewind again, and I rematch the knock-out. Three losses in a row including my match with Donte. What is happening to me?
Brandi finally makes her entrance into the den. She is supposed to be staying with one of her friends tonight; they’r
e going to go get fitted for their bridesmaid dresses. She’s worried about leaving me alone with the way I’m acting. I take a breath as she enters the room and forces a smile. I chew my gum, smacking a bit. “Hey baby, you getting ready to go?” I say as chipper as I can.
“You know, I was thinking, I don’t really have to go. I mean, they already have their dresses. It’s just a fitting-” she starts to make excuses.
“Brandi, I’m fine,” I say and stand, smiling. I embrace her and kiss her lips. “Don’t worry about me, baby. Really. I’m just pissed off about the match; that’s all. I’ll get over it. And I won’t go to the bar. I’m staying right here.”
I can tell she is thinking. I give her another kiss to break her concentration. “Fine,” she finally says, “But please, just… stay out of trouble, all right?”
I nod and send her out the door. As soon as she is gone, I spit out the mint gum I had been chewing and flop back down on the couch, pulling my flask out from between the cushions. I know I should stop, but it’s like I can’t help it. The bottle just calls to me. I finish off the whiskey, and then I head to the kitchen and pour some of Brandi’s wine. I pour water into the bottle so that she won’t notice because she’s been keeping an eye on me. I finish off two glasses worth and then go searching for the tequila I had hidden in the light fixture above the dining room table. There is about half of it left, so I go for it.
Now I feel sick. I decide to need to go to bed before I do something stupid, so I hide the now empty bottle and head upstairs to bed. I trip once, but thankfully I don’t wind up falling down the stairs. That’s the last thing I need right now. I need help. I know I do, but I won’t ask for it.
Eventually, I manage to make it to the bedroom, and I crawl into bed. I am so thankful to be in bed; I wrap the blankets tight and groan a bit. I can’t believe I am this drunk… again! Why do I keep doing this to myself? Seriously, why do I drink every single time I am alone? As soon as Brandi leaves the house, I tend to sneak off to the bar or drown myself with my hidden stash. This is my life now. If I’m not training or at a match, I’m drunk. I sort of wish that Brandi had stayed because then I wouldn’t have gotten this drunk… I don’t think. I’m getting really good at hiding it now. Really good. Whenever she’s not around, I’m drunk. When she is around there is about a fifty percent chance that I will find a way to drink anyways. I can’t stand it. I don’t want to be this way, but I just can’t seem to find any other way to deal.
I just don’t know what to do. I pull the blanket up over me, but I instantly get a gurgling feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have to throw up. I jump up out of bed, but I don’t make it to the bathroom. Fuck. There’s a mess on the carpet. Brandi is going to find out I’ve been drinking again, and she’s going to be pissed. I got to get this cleaned up.
I get the carpet cleaner and scrub like crazy. By some matter of luck, I actually manage to hide the mess. Thank God.
I pass out on the floor, never making it to bed this time. I wake up the next morning with a hangover, and I coax it away with a Bloody Mary at the bar down the street. I had promised Brandi I wouldn’t go to the bar, but there was not any alcohol left in the house the next morning with the exception of her wine… and I don’t want her to find out I’m watering her wine down. I don’t want her to know I’m trying to be that sneaky, and if I water it down anymore, she’ll definitely notice.
I only have the one Bloody Mary, but I stop by the liquor store on my way back home. I hide the drinks around the house. My flask in the couch, some tequila in the light fixture, some vodka under the bed, and several other hiding places. Why can’t I stop? Seriously, why am I doing this? I’ve never had a drinking problem before. Am I really that messed up in the head from my losses? Gabe was right; I’m acting childish. It’s like I just can’t cope with… not being the best. Am I really that vain? I spend the rest of the day sitting around the house, trying my best to resist getting any of the alcohol I had hidden. I tell myself, I’ll need it next time. Brandi will be home soon, and it’s the only way I am able to stop myself. I can’t stand this version of me. I hate it. I just want to stop, but I can’t.
I’m supposed to be getting married soon. I love Brandi, and she deserves so much better than this. She deserves a guy who can hold his own. Someone who doesn’t drink himself silly. Someone who can actually win a fucking boxing match! Why is this happening? What is wrong with me? Why can’t I just stop? I want to stop!
Someone help me…
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15
Brandi looks beautiful, and I’m pretty sure it’s going to take the wedding video for me to remember it. Before walking down the aisle, I had taken at least three more shots –that’s right: more. I’ve been drinking all day, and even though Gabe has taken away at least two bottles of beer from me, he doesn’t know about all of my stashes. The other guys look just as worried as I sway slightly back and forth, grinning like a moron as Brandi makes her way down the aisle. The pissed off look on her dad’s face tells me that he knows I’m already drunk.
“Just keep your fucking mouth shut and pay attention to the justice of the peace, got it?” Gabe whispers to me.
“Uh-huh,” I say. I’m happy –really, I am. I’m marrying Brandi, so I should be. Why the hell did I drink today? Why in the hell is she dumb enough to keep walking towards me? I’m spiraling, and I know it. She should just run. She really should just run and avoid all the hurt and pain I’m probably going to cause her. She deserves so much better than all of the shit I’ve put her through in the past few months.
As she goes from her father to me, she gives me this look that tells me she knows… and honestly, it’s pretty heartbreaking. She looks really sad; this is supposed to be the happiest day of her life, and I’m fucking ruining it. I take a deep breath. I’m not going to embarrass her in front of all of these people. I grin and bear it, and by some act of God, we manage to make it through the ceremony without me causing a scene. I even make it through my vows without so much as a slur, but I do talk unusually slow –I think some people could probably write it off as nerves.
We do our exit and pile into a back room that the venue has waiting for us and the rest of the bridal party to get ready for pictures. Brandi and I are only going to be alone for a couple of seconds before the rest of the bridal party makes their way down the aisle, but she does not give them time to get here before she lets me know she’s pissed. She punches me in my jaw –not hard, but enough to mean something. “You asshole!” she shouts at me, “You’re drunk! You’re drunk, and the reception hasn’t even started yet! You promised! You promised me!” she smacks me with her bouquet.
“It’s a party, Brandi,” I say, trying hard not to slur my words so as to appear less drunk than I actually am.
“You didn’t use to be like this,” she hisses and throws her $900 bouquet on the ground so that she can push me with both hands.
I almost tumble, but I manage to stay upright. “I just had a little bit of whiskey,” I lie. “I swear, I’ll take it easy, all right?” I try to smile at her and then I make up yet another lie. “I was just a little nervous about the wedding, okay? I just had a little bit to drink to take the nerves away. Baby, I don’t want to ruin this day for you. I’m fine, I swear. If you want, I’ll have nothing but water the rest of the night, okay? I won’t even have a damn soda with dinner.”
She looks like she’s going to cry. Gabe and the maid of honor are entering in through the back door, the rest of the bridal party behind them. I make a quick move, pulling Brandi into me and holding her close. I don’t want her to start crying, not now. “I’m so sorry, okay?” I say and kiss her face. “I shouldn’t have had anything to drink. I’ve been getting carried away lately. I love you. I wouldn’t ever do anything to upset you –not on purpose, at least. Not today, especially. I’ll get some coffee and sober up, and we’ll go to the reception and have fun and start the rest of our lives togethe
r, all right?”
She nods and takes a breath before the waterworks can start. She smiles at me and gives in, letting me kiss her. The bridal party enters the room –they’re all loud and rambunctious –each giving us hell in their own special way. We take pictures, and Gabe is kind enough to get me some coffee. Brandi looks gorgeous, and I tell her probably a thousand times. I start thinking about the hotel room we have, and I want the reception to end as soon as possible.
I’m starting to feel sober once dinner is served and I am able to get some food in my stomach. Brandi isn’t as annoyed with me now, and she even gives me permission to have one glass of wine with dinner, and it keeps me a little buzzed through the rest of the evening.
Finally, the event is over, and we head to our hotel. I’m excited, and I’m not going to lie… I snuck one… two more shots in there before we made it to the hotel. I don’t think snuck is the right word because she figured me out. She doesn’t seem to care, though. I guess me staying tipsy is not enough to ruin it for her. She smiles excitedly as we fall down on the bed. I kiss her cheek and caress her lips. I have no idea how to get the complicated wedding gown off of her; it’s tied up in so many places… it looked gorgeous, but damn this is inconvenient. She laughs at my failed effort and shows me where the damn dress unties and unzips.
I remove my shoes, socks, and the top half of my tuxedo as well as my undershirt before climbing on top of her. The enormous ball gown is tossed aside, landing in a giant heap on the floor. She’s got on some sexy white, lacey lingerie that still manages to get me hard as a rock despite the excessive amount of alcohol traipsing through my blood. I run my fingers across her chest, tickling her a bit as we are lying down beside one another. She suddenly stops me as I go to undo the front strap between her breasts. She looks sad again. “How drunk are you right now?” she asks.
Filthy Desires: A Romantic Suspense Collection Page 131