The Whiskey Monologues

MIDNIGHT STRIKE

She was standing in the room with her drink up in the air, screaming “Happy New Year” with a clear conscience that she wasn’t as happy as she may have sounded. She went around with her open arms ready to welcome the first hug of the year, when distinctly, she hoped it was from the man with the Canali scent. She made a round of kisses and maintained herself in order to keep the happy atmosphere floating around her.

With a new full glass in one hand, she held her phone up in the other. As she was reading the content of her first message, her face lighted up. She wasn’t surprise because ironically, she knew he would take the time to send his wishes and she replied without hesitation. She smiled because she was touched but deep down inside, she just wanted to break down and cry. She maintained herself again but her glass of rum was suddenly empty.

She poured herself another glass, cheered around with that disguise on her face. Her smile wasn’t genuine but only she knew it. She tried to laugh. She tried to dance her emotions away. She tried to enjoy her night with her friends. She tried but she didn’t want to be there. She didn’t want to socialize. She didn’t want to pretend. She just wanted to be alone because she couldn’t keep her mind off from streaming everything that happened earlier that day.

He broke it off with her. “Yes, it really happened”, she reminded herself before emptying her glass again. She couldn’t believe that there was an end to such simple relationship when they barely gave themselves a chance to begin with. She was going over and over in her head about everything that had been said and done, and surprisingly smiling at all those random subjects they deviated to during those hours of discussion. She thought about how she was able to open up to him so easily and fearlessly. She was thinking about their chemistry, a chemistry that she won’t be able to find anywhere else. She thought about the walk to the coffee shop and the hour spent in that little paper store. It was just a simple and lovely day spent with one of the most wonderful man she ever met. A man she would have to consider as a friend from now on, a very special friend perhaps, only if she could handle it. Curiously, it was one of the most memorable days of her life, forever engraved in her heart. And sadly, it was a day spent as if it was their last.

Her thoughts made her wander away from the party. She was standing in the middle of the action, too busy texting him to acknowledge her friends trying to keep her away from her miserable self. The alcohol was heavily flowing in her bloodstream. And suddenly, her vision got blurry. “No! Not now! Not here!” was she screaming to herself in panic. She looked up at the ceiling trying to dry off the teardrops imprisoned in her eyes. She nervously controlled herself. She observed the scene around her. Everyone was on the dance floor having a good time, drunkenly happy. She was alone and she felt alone, drunkenly emotional. She didn’t want to join them. She only wanted to see him. She wanted to feel him again: arms around his waist, head on his chest and nostrils all over his Canali scent. She wanted to feel his fingers brushing her hair and his breathe tickling on her neck, just one more time. But she realized that she had to shove that desire off her heart, so she drank it away.

Her vision got blurrier and this time, she couldn’t help herself. She ran to the washroom and hid inside one of the bathroom stalls. “Are you alright missy?” she read. “Obviously not…” she thought as she replied. She collapsed on the floor and poured her heart out in tears. She doesn’t remember the last time she cried like this but it wryly felt good. She looked at her phone, gazing at his last question. She didn’t want to answer it now because she knew she might regret it when she’ll be waking up from this nightmare. She continued to cry until she lost sight of the rest of her night. She blacked out.

She woke up, laying on her friend’s futon with her party clothes still on. Her head was pounding and her body was swollen. She couldn’t remember how she got there. She tried to picture three girls carrying her dead corpse up the third floor and secretly, she laughed about it. While she was trying to remember her night, flashbacks of her conversation with him ran into her thoughts. Nausea hit her, so she ran out to reach the garbage can and puked the devil in her. She looked around for her phone and went back laying on the futon. She retrieved that conversation and she wasn’t proud of herself for sounding so pitiful. She stopped at the last question she never answered. She really wanted to see him but “No, I don’t…” was what she decided to send.  

“Happy fucking new year girl…” she told herself. Her stomach was growling but she didn’t have any appetite. She just wanted to sleep on her pain. She closed her eyes and drifted away from reality. She didn’t see the light of day or the time passing by but she dreamed for a better tomorrow.

Submitted by Live, Love & Write.