I can’t thank Raul enough for being as understanding as he is. I know it can’t be easy turning a blind eye once in a while for me. I love him for it though.
I walk around the bar top and head back to the spotless kitchen Genevieve has spent the last two days working at. She must have picked up and organized while she was back here.
It looks great.
I picture her standing here just two days ago, smirking with a spatula in one hand and a bun in the other, telling Raul she thought his burgers would give the resort food poisoning. She laughed so hard her eyes crinkled, then turned around and looked at me like I was the only person in the room.
That laugh—God, that laugh. It stuck in my ribs, like it wanted to live there.
How am I ever going to forget about her?
I have no idea how to cook anything except the basic stuff on the menu and lucky for me, Genevieve already prepared all of the beef patties for today. All I have to do is put the patties on the stovetop and assemble the rest. I can just imagine this is going to be a long day. A day I hope I never have to relive again. This is exactly why I tried to never fall in love. It never works out.
***
A few hours into my shift and I’m nearly shit faced. I need to sober up if I’m going to make it home. Or I can continue to drown out my sorrows and just ask Everest for a ride. My thoughts are interrupted when Raul sticks his head in the back and says, “Aspen, a customer just told me her meat wasn’t cooked enough. Step it up boy, don’t make me take that bottle away from you,” he warns.
“Sorry boss, I’ll do better,” I slightly slur and salute him off with two fingers.
My life is depressing. I look like a mess, I feel like a mess, and the food I’m making probably tastes like shit. I’m having withdrawals, but not from cocaine, from Genevieve. She is the new drug I have now addicted myself to. Without her I can’t live.
Drug.
Live.
I can’t help my emotions.
Before I lose my train of thought, I grab one of the sheets of paper Raul gave me with an order written on and begin writing on the back of it.
I’m having withdrawals
She’s my drug,
I’ve become addicted.
It’s too late now,
I’m feeling conflicted.
Do I go after her?
No.
Yes?
I don’t know.
All I know,
Is I miss her and I need a bump of her,
before I lose strength.
A tear rolls down the side of my cheek when I place the pencil down. Fuck. What have I done? I used to tell myself I wasn’t like him, that I’d never screw it up like he did. But here I am—same story, same ending. Different name. The same way my dad lost my mom.
To drugs.
I thought I was different, but I’m not. I’m exactly the same as him. Something I’ve been trying to avoid my whole life, I didn’t realize I already was.
