Tonight, the first shot wasn’t enough. The second shot wasn’t either. Perhaps, a third would help put out the fiery nerve endings and memories, and I could finally store away the bottle and calm the fuck down.
Splashing a generous amount into the glass, I threw it back. The alcohol burned my throat, granting discomfort before hitting my stomach in a wave of heat. Wincing, I cocked my arm and threw the tumbler again, pockmarking my wall with yet more anger-fuelled aggression.
Pacing, I dragged both hands through my hair. My eyes went to the vodka bottle again, craving something, anything to calm me, but knowing enough about myself not to have another.
My own family didn’t want me, but that didn’t mean I would destroy myself. I hadn’t when they’d banished me, and I wouldn’t now.
I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing their ostracizing had ruined me. I would never fall because they expected that of me. And I definitely wouldn’t screw myself over for when the Chinmoku found me. It wasn’t a matter of if but when. I was surprised it had taken this long.
How dare Raymond take my mother to my place without telling her? How dare he accept my offer of free accommodation without getting in touch? He’d willingly taken my gift but not offered thanks in return? He’d enjoyed my food, my home, my motherfucking hospitality, all without giving me something in return?
Asshole!
Not for the first time, I wondered why I held on to the past so hard. Why I craved the approval of so many who were no longer a part of my life. They’d left me to rot. They’d had no input into who I’d become. They didn’t know I had a guard watching them constantly—ready to alert me for when the Chinmoku decided to kill off more of my family. They didn’t know I silently watched from the shadows and kept them safe through any means necessary.
I was the reason they were in danger. But they were the reason why they remained so vulnerable—because they didn’t take me up on the offer of sanctuary on the Phantom while I hunted and killed the threat to my entire lineage.
My mother had carved out what was left of my heart the day they’d unanimously agreed that I should leave and never return. Never listen to my warnings. Never forgive me.
“Stop thinking about it for God’s sake.” I pressed my temples, willing the alcohol to have some effect, but at the same time, fearing it. Marijuana was easier on my system. It only offered me quietness. It didn’t make the world a better place or give me false illusions like liquor did.
I didn’t get happy or sad or reckless or conniving. Pot made me slow down. It halted the thoughts and allowed me to just be. To hover in the moment.
I needed that.
I also needed to stand in one place, judging by the carpet track marks from where I’d paced. My feet didn’t listen and continued to stalk the suite, hunting for a reprieve.
On the thirtieth or so pass, when I approached the remaining vodka on the side table in its crystal bottle, I scooped it up and marched to the front of my room.
I couldn’t have it taunting me anymore.
My strength was waning.
I need it gone.
Strangling the silver labelled bottle, I flicked the button to head outside. The wraparound toughened glass opened, allowing me access to the main deck. Laying anchor a few kilometres from shore allowed the constant sea breeze to find us and blow away the cobwebs of the fight with my mother.
Inhaling deep, I cocked my arm back and tossed the bottle as far as I could. It arched up in a flash of crystal and liquid then tumbled over the side of the Phantom, breaking the brine and sinking to the depths below.
Eventually, barnacles and coral would cover the glass, starting a new existence as part of an ecological system rather than housing liquor to poison my mind and liver.
Unable to return inside just yet, I leaned on the balustrade and sighed. The pretty view sparkled and glitzed. Snatches of music made its way over the water, revealing the never-ending party Monte Carlo encouraged. The rich playground that never slept.
A few years ago, I’d partaken in the all-night affairs. I’d drunk and seduced and stolen.
Now, the thought of dancing with sweaty strangers, of sex in alleyways because libidos were jacked and morals were torn, appalled and intrigued me. I’d never been comfortable in crowds, but the allure of being no one for a while—of pretending to be someone other than myself—held more weight than normal.
What would it be like to be different? To have no sins or regrets? To have no blood beneath my nails or transgressions chasing me constantly? What would it be like to meet Pim across a crowded dance floor? To see a strong, untouched, unbroken woman and ask to share a drink with her? What would it be like to writhe together in song beat, jostled by other strangers, slowly getting more and more turned on, her body against my body. Her legs brushing my legs. Her eyes inviting me to take her.