I have no idea how much I plan on drinking tonight, so the Tylenol pill I wrapped in a plastic bag and put in my purse is my safety measure.
“All right. Let’s go,” I say.
“Hell yeah! I’m so excited,” she shouts as I slap the back of her head. Closing the door behind me, Ana hops down the hallway, making too much noise.
“Shut up.” I try to keep her calm. Getting caught is not what I need right now. I’m finally feeling like myself again, and I don’t need anything ruining that. We’re like children sneaking out of the house. I shake my head at how stupid all of this is, but I’ll do it for Ana.
We didn’t have the normal childhood many others have. Even though we were able to spend most of our time in New York and Paris, there were still men watching our every move.
Sneaking out sounds childish, but it’s what we have always had to do, and I guess some things just don’t change.
* * *
The lights strain my eyes while I make my way back to the bar. Drunk strangers make the best dance partners. No feelings attached, which makes it better in my opinion. The music makes everyone’s bodies move as if they’re puppets on strings. Just people enjoying each other’s existence and feeding off smiles.
The music in here is blaring, and I can hardly hear myself think. I guess that’s a good thing. I only came here to have fun.
Alcohol. I need more.
“They cut you off, remember?”
Someone is screaming at me. I never planned on drinking this much, but that’s what the water and Tylenol is for. Look at that—sober me knew what to expect.
“Are you good?” Whoever this person is, they’re holding me up.
I open my eyes and realize that I fell into Ana’s arms. I can tell she is trying to keep me steady, but she’s not doing a great job at it. She’s probably more sober than I am right now though.
My foot hurts.
My head hurts.
So do my ears.
“Nina, can you hear me? Grab onto my shoulders.” She’s laughing at me. I can’t blame her even if I wanted to; I’d be laughing if I saw myself too.
It feels like I’m moving a million miles a minute. She pulls the stool out from the bar and motions for me to sit. Her long, dyed blonde hair is changing colors with the strobe lights. Red, green, pink. They all begin to mix too fast, and now her hair looks like a rainbow. She rolls her eyes at me and then directs her attention to the bartender.
“I’ll take a gin and tonic,” she tells him. I open my eyes and shoot her a glare.
Her hazel eyes return the glare.
“You know what, make that two.” I hate gin. I don’t know why I’m ordering it.
It is silent for a moment until Ana lifts her hand to her mouth to cover her burst of laughter when the bartender brings us tall glasses of water.
His eyes widen while I stare at him trying to make sense of the words falling off his lips.
“I think water could be good for you two,” he says while trying to hold in a laugh. “Drink this, then maybe I’ll give you more gin.”
He probably sees this every day. Two girls at the bar, drinking far too much. More than their bodies can handle. But from a business standpoint, that sucks. They could have made like twenty bucks off two drinks.
I take the iced water and sip it. There is a hint of lemon in it.
The man is probably right—he is a bartender after all.
I feel a twist in my stomach.
This can’t be good. I know what comes next, so I gather the little strength I have left and dart through the crowd of people. I can see the women’s bathroom.