by A. L. Wood
Tonight, we went for a non-radical change in appearance. I threw on a grey beanie and the guys chose trucker caps. We wouldn’t be recognized, unless we allowed someone our direct gaze and none of us planned on making that mistake.
The wait ended up being about thirty minutes. When we gain entrance, we head straight to the bar, without my approval. I can’t leave Layla to her own devices, especially while under the influence of the liquid courage. We all sit on barstools while waiting for the bartender to approach us.
“I think we should start off with a pineapple upside down cake shot. Mmmm,” Layla says.
We agreed on the ride over that we would all go shot for shot, drink for drink tonight. We would each take a turn deciding what said drink would be and we all had to accept. I wasn’t thinking she would head straight to the sweet stuff.
“Why not a shot of Jack?” Gage asks, stealing my thoughts away from me.
“Listen, you all agreed to this. I go first, and if you don’t drink it every single time I have the chance to choose our drinks, I’ll make sure it’s some of the grisliest drinks you’ve ever tried. I’ll have you drinking a cosmopolitan. Shit, how about a strawberry daiquiri?” Layla interjects, her hands swinging about and her voice raised high enough to attract attention. Luckily Gage saw others watching, so he decided not to argue back.
“Fine, the damn cake shot it is. This better be good, Lals. If it’s not, I’ll make sure your downing whiskey and gin all night.” Gage says, accepting her silent challenge. The drink decided, we wait for the bartender.
“Is someone doesn’t come over here soon, I am just going to go behind the counter and make our drinks.”
“Would that get you fired?” I ask Layla.
“Possibly. I’m not supposed to be behind the bar, unless I’m on the clock.”
“Okay, then make our drinks.” I say smiling. She swats me playfully on the chest.
“You just want me to get fired, you dick.”
“Only because of the sleaze you work with, nothing more. You could find another job. Something where you don’t get sexually harassed daily.”
“Carl is harmless. He is all talk, no action. I really don’t think he would do anything that has come out of his mouth. And he doesn’t just say shit to me, he says dirty things to everyone.”
“Even more of a reason to find another job. I don’t like him. He rubs me the wrong way.”
“I don’t want to argue about this again. Let’s drink and have a good time and if you happen to see him, just ignore him. I would say be nice, but I think at this point that’s beyond you.”
She’s right. I can get all worked up about this and then confront him whenever he comes out from where he’s hiding at the moment and end up ruining our night. This night for me was about putting the seal in place, closing the door to my past.
Moving on.
“What’s the next drink?” I ask, changing the topic.
“Boilermaker, if they ever get over here. We still haven’t taken Lals shot.” Gage replies.
“I was thinking, if they are this slow in service tonight, we should order all of the drinks now and find a table. So when we go for round two, we won’t have to wait as long.”
“Sounds good to me,” Layla adds in. Everyone else nods in agreement.
Just as Zepp and Jason decide on their drink of choice for everyone, a bartender approaches us. The one I really didn’t want to see tonight. I smile tight lipped. Better to keep my mouth shut than end up in a brawl with this douche.
I have to keep reminding myself why I shouldn’t want to fight this guy. Layla will get mad and pictures of us will end up online everywhere and the story will get so twisted and screwed that people will end up believing I went off in a drunken rage. Nope. Not a wise decision.
Again, the strongest of all the reasons- Layla will get pissed.
I repeat this chant over in my head, trying to rein in my sudden rush of anger, my need to destroy this guy. This guy who is suddenly staring at me. Everyone else is silent, in fear of how I’ll react.
Carl, I believe Layla said his name was, is a few inches shorter than I. Tattoos scrawling over his arms, which apparently makes him a tough one. One who believes for some reason that he can talk to women however he wants, sexually harass them. Degrade them. Its disgusts me.
“Bro, are you ready to order, or what?”
His words ricochet through my head. He wants to take my order, my drink of choice for all of us. “One hundred proof,” I say tightly, while grabbing Layla’s hand in front of him. Laying claim in my own way. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get the hint.
“It will be a few minutes for all of those drinks.”
“That’s all right, Carl. If you want to have Lex bring those over to us, we’re going to be at table eight.” Layla says all friendly.
I grab her hand and tow her away from the bar, no idea where table eight is. I feel her pulling me back, so I allow her the control of directing us. She leads us to a table that is tucked into the corner of the stage, an empty stage that no one is performing on, tonight anyway.
Layla lets go of my hand and pulls her own bar stool out. I choose the one next to her. Gage, Zepp, and Jason take a seat as well.
“What was that about?” Layla asks me inquisitively.
“What was what about?” I ask back, pretending to be clueless.
“You know what I’m talking about. You pretty much mauled my hand as soon as Carl came into view.”
“I don’t like him, actually I detest him. I hate how he talks to you and you are well aware of all of this. I was staking a claim in front of him. Maybe now he’ll leave you alone.” I reply defending my actions to her.
“You really didn’t have to do that. He really is harmless. He wouldn’t ever act on anything, I’ve worked with him for over a year now. I think I know him well enough by now.”
“Lals, that’s what you don’t get. You trust way too many people easily. Knowing someone well enough, isn’t good enough for me. I can’t stand knowing you come to work at this place a few days out of the week and that it’s with him.” I slam my lips together.
I really can’t make her aware of how much I care about her. If she were to be aware of me actually giving a shit, she wouldn’t listen to any of the advice I have to give.
She’s been spooling a protective layer around Natalie for so long, that she forgets what it’s like having her own or anyone else’s. I didn’t realize this until Natalie moved out. Any time I had an issue with something she was doing, she would go against my advice one hundred times harder. I don’t think it was on purpose, but more subconsciously. The ‘you’re not my father’ argument.
I’m not saying that I could blame her for being like that. From what I know, her life has been as much of a shit storm as Natalie’s. One would never be able to find fault in anything that she has done, if they were given an eye of her past.
I just worry about her and the path that she’s choosing to go down. Always caring for someone else and never looking out for herself. I’m not saying that someone should be a selfish asshole and only care about themselves. But when you’re caring about everyone else, care about yourself too.
I knock out of my reverie, when a drink is placed in front of me. A shot. Layla’s choice, I believe, since it’s the only one we ordered that would be colorful. I look over to her and she’s picking her shot up, as are the guys.
“One, two, three,” Layla counts.
At three, we all tip our heads back and down the fruity confection. I wouldn’t admit this to her, because then she would be ordering them all night, but it wasn’t half bad. Bordering down right good.
“Not so bad, huh?” She asks all of us.
“I’ve had better,” I mutter.
She starts laughing, “You liked it, all of you did, admit it and I won’t make you drink fruity drinks all night.”
“Yeah, yeah it wasn’t so bad,” Gage says.
She giggles hea
ring him admit it.
“Boilermaker next?” I ask.
“Yup,” Gage says, while handing me mine. The glass of beer and a shot of whiskey.
On three, we drop the shot in and chug down the beer. I have a feeling that we’re going to rush through these drinks and in a matter of moments the buzz will rush in on us.
This bar has no idea what it’s in for. Although, I’ve never seen Layla drunk. When she does drink, it’s a glass of wine here or there, or maybe a beer to join in with us. But never all out consuming alcohol to get the rush of a buzz.
“Next?”
“Jack & Coke, my friend,” Zepp says, this being his choice of buzz fuel.
Jack can be a tough fuck going down, if alone. But the added smoothness of coke mellows the burn out. Jason’s up next.
“What’s your choice of ammunition?”
“A Long Island Ice Tea,” Jason replies.
“Harsh, my man, harsh.”
This isn’t a drink you down in four seconds, this is one that you continuously sip off of. It’s rough on your gut and even rougher to your intoxication level. Jason made a damn good choice.
“So, tell me what exactly is in a 100 proof. I have never made or heard of it before,” Layla says, while stirring her straw in the alcoholic tea.
“It’s just 100 proof shots, in a cocktail of sorts. Cinnamon schnapps, vodka, peppermint schnapps, scotch, and tequila. It’s delicious and will get you hammered before you can finish it.”
“Well I guess that’s the perfect choice, since tonight is about forgetting for you.”
“I never said that, it’s just a night out. Get drunk, be fucking merry, and have a good time. That’s all.”
“You didn’t have to say it, Liam. I’m not blind, and earlier you wanted nothing more than to disappear. Frankly, I’m surprised that you even came back.”
“I really don’t want to hash this out right now, or at all even. Let’s just have fun and forget it.”
“That’s always the way with you, though, isn’t it?” Always running from your shit and ‘forgetting’ it all like it never happened.”
“Layla, really I don’t want to go over this right now. It’s not the time, or the fucking place. Please, just drop it.” I beg of her.
“Fine. Whatever,” She says, finally brushing it off.
I’m not, nor have I ever been into emotional drunks. When I go out, I want to have fun, with laughs all around. I want to get so beyond a buzz that I forget every single emotion I have zinging through my body, that I forget all of the pain I’ve caused others and myself.
I want to get so damn drunk that I can’t stand when I walk through my door and all I can do is lay down on my bed and pass out. I want to get so fucking drunk that I have the worst hangover in the morning, that I’m declaring abstinence from alcohol, promising never to drink it again. That’s what I want for tonight.
“No mind is much employed upon the present; recollection and anticipation fill up almost all our moments.”
-Samuel Johnson
Chapter 10
Layla
The buzz is coming on pretty strongly and the guys are talking about getting another round already.
“I’m good for right now, but you guys can go on ahead.”
“Oh no, Lals. You’re doing this with us.” Gage says.
“I’m already feeling it and I want to dance. You guys can grab a few more drinks and meet me out there on the floor.” I say, ignoring Gage’s comment.
I stand up and begin to walk away, when I feel a hand tugging on my elbow. Glancing to my arm, I see it’s Liam’s hand.
“You coming to dance?” I ask, trying not to sound so hopeful.
“Only because the bartender’s eyes are on you. I’m not giving him a chance to get you alone.”
“Oh,” I say, hope instantly deflated.
I make my way to the dance floor. It’s a huge thirty by sixty foot area with tables surrounding on all side but one. The bar is located at the foot of the dance floor, to make it easier for customers to run up grab a drink and go back to dancing.
Leaving the area, I am free for Carls’ eyes to roam. The lights are dimmed down in the entire establishment, but the dance floor has the extra strobe lights beaming off of sweaty bodies. The bar is packed tonight, not unlike any other night.
I shimmy my way through bodies grinding on one another to Ushers’ Love in this Club. Myself? I would prefer to sing and dance along to some Tommy Tutone or The Outfield any night. But as of right now, I will take what I can get. I just want to dance.
I start swaying my hips to the beat of the melody swirling around me, so loud that I can barely hear my own thoughts. I do not consume enough alcohol to get drunk on a regular basis, rarely often. Tonight, when the opportunity presented itself, I couldn’t back out. After the Liam fiasco- fuck, the Liam fiascos’- I wanted this. I needed this. A night to let go and free myself. Go numb to the pain, block out all of the issues that are at hand, and now also planning a wedding.
It’s a break away from the beginning to the madness that will surely ensue, once my parents discover that not only I, but also Natalie will be in town. That we will be home.
I’m so caught up inside of my head that at first I don’t feel someone grasping my hips and dancing along with me. It takes me by surprise for a moment but when I shake out of the shock I just go along with it. I don’t even look to see who it is. I lean my back in resting against the heavy muscular chest that’s behind me.
Together, we sway into the beat, we meld, and we float for what feels like hours. One song becomes another, then another, until they all sound the same. It sets my mood for the night. Relaxed. Until I hear the whisper in my ear.
“He can’t stop staring at you and it’s driving me fucking crazy.”
Liam.
I pull myself out of his grasp and fling myself around, almost unbalancing my feet at the same time. I end up falling head first into him. Once I right myself, I give him a glare.
“What?” he asks surprised.
“That’s the only reason you were dancing with me?”
“Well, someone has to watch out for you, Layla.”
“I’m doing fine by myself. I do not need a self-appointed protector.” I argue.
“I can see just how fine you’re doing. The guy can’t keep his fucking eyes off of you and I know how he talks to you, it doesn’t feel right.” He says.
“I don’t need a bodyguard, Liam. If you want to dance with me because you want to dance with me, then fine, but don’t join me out of obligation, or duty. I am not in need of your services.”
I walk away, sliding my body through the throngs of other drunk patrons finding a spot I can dance by myself in, without Liam. And without Carl’s eerily stalkerish glances.
When Stay With Me by Sam Smith comes on, the song that calls for a slow dance with a partner, I say fuck it and dance with myself. I’m not walking off this floor to go back to the table, where Liam is only to restart a conversation that I don’t want. I’m taking cues from him, I guess. Sometimes running away is better.
I hug my arms around myself and close my eyes, letting the song take me. Allowing the words to soothe me, consume me. My body flows like liquid with every syllable, every line, and every verse.
Suddenly, I’m pulled forward and arms are tightly wrapping around me.
“I’m sorry,” Liam apologizes.
“Mhmm.” I reply, partly because my mouth is locked against his chest and the other part is because, what can I say? I don’t want an argument to ensue. Sure, I’m a little peeved. I was hoping he had wanted to dance with me, just because.
“Really, I am.”
He lets go of me for a few seconds, tugging my arms out of their spot, then enclosing me again. He takes the lead, swaying our bodies and slowly I glide my hands around him.
Loosely at first and then somewhere along the line, I find myself clutching him. Wanting him closer, even though his body is already meld
ed against mine. We’re touching each other’s every crevice. And all of a sudden I’m hot. My body is sweating and I am thinking thoughts that I shouldn’t be thinking.
Thoughts such as, I wonder how he tastes. Does he taste as delicious as he smells? Would he let me run my tongue along every single line the tattoo gun carved into his body? Slowly tasting every single inch of skin he has. Would he make love? Or would he use my body to such extent that I wouldn’t be able to walk for days?
Questions that at this point, I desperately wanted the answers to.
A sign that I should really let go of him and get myself another drink, maybe scope out the men in the bar. Someone that is free and only wants a few nights together. Just enough to sate my lust, hopefully.
I come out of my deep lusty reverie, only to realize that my fingers are literally millimeters from clutching his entire ass. Shame and embarrassment flood through me. If he had any idea what I was thinking, I’m sure he would have booked as far away from me as he could possibly go.
I slowly drop my hands and pull away from him and he reluctantly lets go.
“You all right?” He asks, concern etching his face.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little hot in here and with all the dancing, I need another drink. How about you?”
“I could go for another. Come on, let’s find the guys.” He says, while pulling my hand with him.
We walk back to the table we were at earlier, the one that’s hidden in the corner. The only table that is slightly hidden in the shadows, offering a bit of privacy.
All three of the guys, Gage, Zepp, and Jason are sitting at the table accompanied by three women. The woman that’s half sitting on Gages lap, approaches me first.
She has an honest look about her, innocent. She fits the girl next door mold well. Shoulder length brown hair, slightly angled outward brown eyes and perfect pink lips that are currently smiling in my direction.