I ignored Nate and found the vodka first, taking a shot while pouring myself a mixed drink, light on the mix. The first swig stung as it slid down my throat to an empty stomach but quickly warmed its path. I’d take it easy. I just needed a little something to lessen the pain. Anything that would take the edge off, numb my senses, and hopefully stop the whirlwind in my mind.
Nate watched me nurse my vodka for over an hour, seemingly satisfied I wasn’t going to drink myself into oblivion. He was the only person I’d ever known who I could sit in comfortable silence with, no need to fill the void.
“You need me to stay tonight?” He cleaned up his trash from my coffee table.
My mind wandered to how easily we, as humans, discarded things, including lives.
“I’ll sleep on the couch if you want.”
“Huh?” It dawned on me that he was talking, but I only half heard what he’d said. “Oh, no. I’ll be fine. Go home.”
“I don’t mind. I’d rather know you’re safe and have a sore back tomorrow from sleeping on your couch.”
“Bye, Nate.”
When Nate left, I grabbed the liquor bottle from the kitchen and went to find the company of The Seraphim. Kissing her on the forehead—as if she were mine to protect—I plopped down on the side of the bed, chuckling at the irony. I couldn’t help the real thing, so I’d preserve the stone likeness.
Jesus, I was a fucking moron.
Real genius there, Bastian.
Reaching over to the nightstand, I filled the room with Sylvie’s voice, listening to her throaty melodies on the sound dock. Then, lying back, I took the bottle with me, nursing it, remembering the two women I’d loved most. With one’s voice in my ear and the other’s face in my sight, I drifted.
The clear liquid ignited my memories in slow motion, but I was unable to distinguish between those with Sylvie versus Sera. I should have known, but I didn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to. If I morphed them into one, the despair and heartache wouldn’t multiply, but rather, divide. My mind laid the images of one on top of the other, making them more difficult to differentiate between, her voice and her hands combined.
The best parts of them both filled my mind, and for just a moment, my lips tilted up in a smile, albeit a small one. Their laughs, their wit, their grace, who they each were—seeing and hearing each of them in part as one—a recording and a rock—made me believe they were with me. That might have been the vodka, too.
The uplight for The Seraphim kept her silhouette lit but the room dark. With no outside distractions, it was easier to imagine them with me. The rest of the house was silent. Moonlight didn’t stream through the windows. It was just Sylvie, Sera, and me. The thought of my glorious threesome was a bit naughty, but I wouldn’t allow anyone else to violate that intimacy.
I teetered on the edge of reality and delusion when I began to talk to the statue. Slurred words committed to her, making vows of love. “Did you know how much I loved you?”
Her response never came.
“I tried to save you.” I choked on sobs and struggled to speak. “The water was fucking frigid. It was dark, but I kept looking until I found you.”
She never moved, never answered.
Stone cold.
Seraphim stared back at me as if she were waiting for something more profound. I had nothing left to offer.
Sylvie sang in the background about a tormented soul ripped apart by the loss of love. Her music used to bring me joy, but now, I wondered if I’d ever actually listened to the lyrics. Each song reverberated sadness, one I hadn’t been aware she’d felt. I hadn’t really ever heard the words, only her voice, which had made me so proud.
When the sun peaked through the blinds, I saw the fatigue in Sera’s face and heard how tired Sylvie was from singing all night. I closed the blinds, turned off the lights and the music, and allowed them to rest. Tiptoeing from the room, I closed the door softly behind me.
Flipping on the light in the bathroom, the walls began to spin as the floor fell out from underneath me. Hitting my head on the counter, I almost blacked out before heaving into the toilet. The stench was wretched, but I couldn’t decipher if it was me or the alcohol mixed with bile that was so putrid—not that it mattered.
Still naked, vodka bottle on the floor by the toilet, my body crashed to the floor. My flaccid penis rested on my leg. “You piece of shit. Stand up!” I yelled at my dick like it might listen. “Why the fuck are you just lying there?” Grabbing it, I pulled on it, yanked it, attempted to stroke it to attention, but the motherfucker didn’t even twitch. It was as limp and lifeless as Sera’s body was on the bank of the river and as dead as I felt inside.
“Are you quitting on me, too?” My screams echoed off the bathroom walls, and I was afraid I might wake my sleeping girls in the other room. I slapped it, repeatedly, angered when it came flying back to the same position, limp and unfeeling.
My soft cock was a metaphor for my pathetic life. The reflection of light off my razor caught my eye; I reached for it to cut off the cancer between my legs. Unable to stabilize myself, I stumbled back to the tile floor, cold and unyielding. My head jerked back in response, slamming against the tile before the blade ever met my skin.
The pounding wasn’t just in my head; it was at my front door. I dragged my body off the bathroom floor, trying not to gag on the smell of vomit and urine around me. I didn’t bother to look in the mirror before I opened the door.
Nate’s face was beet red and marred with anger. “Goddamn it, Bastian. I knew I shouldn’t have fucking left you alone last night. What the hell have you been doing?”
Ignoring him, I turned away from the door.
“For Christ’s sake, put on some fucking clothes. You look and smell like shit. I sure don’t need to see your junk, too.”
Giving Nate the bird, I grabbed my robe from the bathroom. It wasn’t in any better shape than I was, but I didn’t give a fuck. Then I took a seat on the couch next to Nate.
“You’ve gotta pull your shit together. You can’t go down this road again.”
I didn’t acknowledge anything he’d said. There wasn’t any point. Nate would never close his eyes and see a dead woman or hear a song on the radio that tortured him.
He picked up the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Who did you hang with last night? Jose, Jim, Jack?” His sarcasm knew no bounds.
I narrowed my eyes and glared at him. “A fat Russian.”
“How much is left of that half you had in the kitchen?”
“Fuck if I know, Nate. Would you like the bottle? I wasn’t counting shots.”
“What I would like is for you to get your head out of your ass and realize you have a life worth living, a career many would kill for, and people who care about you.”
“Reality check, good buddy. You are my only friend. I haven’t talked to my parents in years, both women I loved left me, and Ferry was the only other thing close to a friend, but I’m pretty sure jail time is going to sever that tie. Can we not talk quite so loudly?”
Nate ran his fingers through his hair and seemed to acquiesce. “Head hurt?”
“Like hell, but I don’t want to wake them up.” As soon as it was out, I knew what I’d done.
“Who?”
“Never mind. I misspoke.” Resting my head on the back of the couch, I prayed death found me in the near future, or that I could get back to my fat Russian friend, vodka, before Nate found him. The Russian and Jose didn’t mix well, but maybe that didn’t apply to separate days. Hell, I didn’t know.
“Is there someone here?”
Before I could answer, Nate threw open my bedroom door. He flipped on the lights, tossed the covers around, looked under the bed, in the closet, then the bathroom. “There’s no one here, Bastian.”
Fuck!
He grabbed my Russian friend from the bathroom floor, tucking the bottle under his arm. “I’m taking this with me. So help me God, Bastian, if you don’t get your shit together, I’m going to start h
auling your ass with me everywhere I go. I will not fucking lose you again.”
I flipped him off—again—when he stomped by. He’d be back, so there was no point in asking when. He didn’t think to take my keys, so I’d just go buy a few more of my favorite drinking buddies and hide them around the house. But, I was too hungover to operate a motor vehicle safely, so I walked the few blocks to the package store downtown. I had thrown on jeans and a dirty T-shirt, not expecting to see anyone I knew and not caring if I did.
Not having driven, I was limited by what I could carry the four or five blocks back to my house. I opted to buy a couple of canvas tote bags for my buddies to make the walk back easier. As I reached the cashier, in walked Tara fucking Winford. Goddammit. If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
I continued my transaction, hoping the guy behind the counter would hurry up and put the bottles into the bag.
“Bastian?” Tara placed her hand onto my forearm and turned me toward her. “Oh, honey, I knew it would be bad.” She pulled me into an awkward embrace and then pushed me back to give me a once over.
“Sir?” The cashier motioned for me to swipe my card so he could help other people in line.
“Thanks, man.” I took the receipt and my bags from the man at the register and prayed Tara didn’t follow me when I left.
No such luck.
“Bastian, please tell me you’re getting help this time?”
I ignored her, setting my sights on home where I could promptly uncap one of these and hide the rest before Nate returned.
Tara grabbed my hand, jerking me back. “Bastian, seriously, you can’t beat yourself up over this. I heard what you did. Everyone in town knows you tried to save her and almost killed yourself in the process. Did you see the story in the newspaper?”
No, I hadn’t seen it because I had hoped someone would respect my privacy, Sera’s privacy, and hell, for that matter, even Ferry’s. I had no interest in public pity or whatever people dished out this go-round.
She didn’t stop even when I didn’t answer. “I know it’s only been a couple of days, but you really need to shower, shave, and make an appointment to talk to a counselor.” She was sincere in her advice; she wanted nothing but the best for me, but the reality was, I was too far gone to give a shit what the Tara Winfords of the world wanted from me. She had to have known about Sera and Ferry. She had to, but she’d done nothing.
“Did you know?”
Her face twisted into a perplexed expression. “Know what?”
“About her and Ferry.” I stared into her eyes, waiting for the moment the lie revealed itself. I could always see it if I looked closely enough. Everyone’s eyes changed for just a fraction of a second when they lied.
Tara sighed. “I knew they had dated several years ago, but nothing since. Sera was always very private about her romantic life. I think that’s why people speculated so much about her promiscuity. I don’t think she was promiscuous at all. I never did. I always thought she had the spirit of an artist, one that loved one soul completely, but when that love wasn’t returned, she wasn’t able to invest in anyone else. I just assumed she wasn’t with anyone because she couldn’t be with the one.” Nothing but honesty. She hesitated for just a moment. “Bastian, I know you loved her. You couldn’t stop what you didn’t know existed.” The way she tilted her head and furrowed her brow irritated me.
I didn’t want her sympathy or anyone else’s. “That’s just it, Tara. I did know. I just didn’t know who.” Ripping my arm from her grasp, I walked away without another word.
She called my name in the distance, but I didn’t turn back.
Once I got home, I put a bottle of Jack in the freezer for tonight’s dessert and attempted to find hiding places for the others, but not together, so if the Prohibitionist found one, I wouldn’t lose them all. Shuffling around, I realized I sucked at hiding shit…in my own damn house. I was a grown-ass man who was afraid my best friend was going to raid my liquor stash.
Fucking pathetic.
I still hoarded a couple of bottles—just in case—and put the rest in the fridge. When I opened the stainless steel doors, it was empty. Nothing filled the shelves or drawers. What was full of color just days ago was now bleak. Standing there, staring at the empty space, the light went out—there’s a fucking metaphor if I’d ever seen one. I lined up my buddies neatly in the dark space inside the fridge.
“Guys night.”
Nate didn’t stop by tonight. Instead, he called to check on me. He was at work but would leave if I needed him, blah, blah, blah. I wasn’t some needy bitch for fuck’s sake. I just wanted to be alone. When I finally pacified him, I went to find Jack.
The liquor had a much stronger effect on me with nothing in my stomach, and I landed back in my room with my ladies. Convincing them to play drinking games with me wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I suggested strip poker minus the cards. Sylvie continued to lull my mind with her songs, while Sera taunted my eyes with her beauty. It was erotic in a stoic and fucked-up, morbid way.
The angel began to sway, begging me to ask her to dance. I had two left feet, but she looked so lovely in her grey dress that I couldn’t help but extend my hand. Holding her in one hand and Jack in the other, the room spun around us, twirling for hours.
Sylvie never got jealous and never tired. Her voice was just as strong as it was hours ago. Time ceased to exist with my girls by my side and Jack pulsing through my veins. The warmth and comfort he brought were unsurpassed.
It was the first time since I’d gotten out of that water that I hadn’t felt the cold in my bones or the pain in my heart.
I could survive here, happily.
“Bastian! Bastian!”
The voice was faint and angry. I was unwilling to exert the energy for distance and unhappiness. Ignoring the cries, I closed my eyes with my fist around Jack’s neck. The bastard had tried to make a move on my girls last night when he thought I was too drunk to recognize what he was doing, but I fucking caught the philanderer. I’d kept close tabs on him since.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” The looming figure in my doorway looked vaguely familiar, but without any light or sobriety, it was hard to say who it might be.
If he were after Sylvie or Sera, I’d grab him by the balls until he begged for mercy, too.
“What the fuck are you doing? Do you realize the police have been trying to reach you all day? They have more questions for you.”
Fuck the light. Goddamn it; I tossed my arm over my face. “Flip the switch, cocksucker!” I didn’t recognize my voice. The words felt clearly enunciated in my mouth but sounded like a jumbled mess in my ears.
He grabbed Jack in a terribly aggressive manner. My brows creased, unhappy with how this man was treating my guest until I remembered how Jack had treated my girls. Suddenly, Nate’s arm was around me, hauling me up. “Hey, man. Where are we going?”
“Bastian, I can’t understand a word you’re saying, but you smell like a fucking brewery that a hundred drunk sailors threw up in and pissed all over. Is this what we’re doing this time around? You going to become a worthless alcoholic who vomits all over the place and doesn’t bother to go to the bathroom?” He looked down my body with disgust. “You just piss all over yourself?”
“I’ve been dancing with Sera all night.” It was completely incoherent.
“Nope, not one fucking word, Bastian.”
Nate, the killjoy.
I lifted my hand to pat him on the face, but the crusty stuff caked to my skin stopped me from touching him.
“I’m afraid to ask how much you’ve had to drink. If this bottle was new…”
I nodded and missed the rest of his sentence when he pushed me under the water in the shower.
Cold fucking water.
Ice cold.
“Sera!” I screamed as I broke the surface, gasping for the largest breath I could take before diving back down to search.
My chest burned with the n
eed for oxygen, the water pricking my skin like needles, thousands of painful needles at a time.
“Oh God, Sera!” I pleaded with her to answer me, but there was nothing other than the sound of the river, then silence, engulfed in blackness.
When the lightning filled the sky, I saw her bloated, blue face, her body contorted into an unnatural position. The fish had eaten at her skin, pecking for food, pulling away bits of her. Unable to hold my breath any longer, I choked, taking water in by the mouthful. I couldn’t reach the surface, no matter how hard I kicked.
The gloom was everywhere—up, down. Completely disoriented, I panicked—my heartbeat erratic, I imagined this must be what it was like to get the bends. Confined by the water, I quit fighting.
Nate held me between his legs, my head to his chest. “I’ve got you. We’ll just sit here until you’re okay. All right, man?” He kept talking, what I heard cutting in and out like a radio station on the fritz. “You’re not in the water. I’m with you.” God, he must want to rid himself of this burden; he didn’t sign on for this.
We might have sat there for hours. I’d never know. The only time he let me go was to allow me to vomit in the toilet in front of us. Then I went right back between his legs in a bear hug. Sometime during the episode, he’d taken off my filthy clothes.
I’d spent an exorbitant amount of time on this floor naked in the last few days, but instead of having the desire to get up, all I wanted to do was slam my head on the tiles until it cracked open.
I no longer cared about what was on the other side. I didn’t care if it continued and this wasn’t the end. I couldn’t stay on this side of eternity any longer. This pain was never going to stop. This hopeless, rambling attempt at life was pathetic.
The best of me was lying in two separate coffins in two different cemeteries, and I had nothing left to offer. I’d imagined my own demise; I’d plotted it out but never had the courage to go through with it for fear there was just more to deal with in the next phase, the unknown scarier than the here and now. That was no longer true.
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