Page 12 of The Intimacy of Finding You

“Payin’ customer, ‘member?”

“Dude, you’re getting hella southern on me right now. And slurring your words pretty hard. I don’t think that’s a good idea, and I have to take care of my bar. That includes the people in it.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I grabbed my bag from under the table and scrounged around in it. “I got the money.”

He put his hands up. “I don’t doubt that. I just don’t need you passing out in my bar, okay?”

“Fine. I’ll drink it somewhere else. Just gimme one.”

Sighing, Jack stood from his seat and took the money I was handing out to him. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I? But you’re an adult. If you want to ruin your liver…that’s on you.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, whatever. Hold on.”

I watched through blurry, wobbly vision as Jack went behind the bar counter and grabbed my favorite. I didn’t know why I’d latched onto vodka and decided it was my drink of choice. It was the first thing I ever drank, though it was mixed with a lot of orange juice.

Used to, I always mixed it. I couldn’t stand the taste by itself. Over time, I poured more vodka than mixer until, one day, I stopped mixing it and started drinking it straight. It was cheaper than anything else, and I knew I could handle it. Vodka was my second love.

Callum was my first.

When Jack handed me the bottle, I took it and slowly stood from the table. I was a bit wobbly, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I’d been worse off before. Throwing my backpack over my shoulder, I held up the bottle and shook it toward Jack. “Thanks.”

He shook his head. “Don’t thank me for enabling you, country boy. I don’t want that on my conscience. But please think about what I said earlier, okay?”

“I won’t.” I went to leave but stopped, turning back around. “Also, Callum and I did know each other a long time. Not no more, though.”

I started my way to the front doors, feeling my body pull itself sideways as I continued to lose my balance little by little. “Not no more,” I whispered.

I whispered it because there was no one else around to hear me say it. Truly, honestly, I was alone.

And I couldn’t really say I cared anymore.

So I trudged through the snow on uneven feet, slipping a few times here and there as I kept drinking and drinking and drinking, barely leaving any time in between sips. I didn’t know how close or how far away the subway was—my only shelter as of late.

At some point, I had to move over to the side so I could catch myself on the walls of random buildings as I walked. The world was moving too quickly, and it was getting so much harder to breathe.

The setting sun looked like it was reflecting off the fallen snow. It blinded me. I tried to squint, but it was like my body didn’t know how to anymore. My heart was pounding in my ears as people passed by me, looking at me with disgust on their faces. Disgust and judgment. Their eyebrows were furrowed, their lips were curled up, and their noses were scrunched. They looked at me like I was some rodent scattering across the sidewalk.

I’m sorry. I wanted to say. I’m sorry I look like this. I’m sorry I’m like this. I can’t stop.

I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop walking, even though my breaths were louder and faster than the heartbeat in my ears. My fingers wrapped around a light post, the metal frigid against my skin. Why was I holding onto a light post?

My legs gave out as I leaned forward, resting my entire body weight on the sturdy figure. Oh, that’s why. I couldn’t feel most of my limbs anymore. It was like all the signals to keep my brain functioning had died. Or maybe it was in overdrive, trying to keep me awake and alert. Fuck, my stomach hurt. Really bad. And where the fuck was my vodka?

I tried to look around for it, but every turn of my head caused a wave of nausea from how disorienting everything looked. After leaning against the light pole for what felt like a million years, I tried to brace and stand up straight. The moment I got halfway there, my heartbeat picked up tenfold, and a wash of heat spread across my body. I suddenly felt weak. Really weak. Like I could hardly hold my head up, and I was fucking sweating, which didn’t make sense with how cold it was outside.

There was snow on the ground, but I was fighting sweat and my eyelids, which kept trying to flutter closed. I shouldn’t close them—I knew that. I knew that if I did that, there was a chance I wouldn’t wake up. How much of that second bottle had I drunk? And how quickly had I drunk it?

I was going to die, wasn’t I?

Right here. Right now. I tried to turn my head, looking to the left. Fire and Ice was right across the street. I was going to die in front of the very restaurant I’d run from years prior. How fucking ironic.

I really should’ve taken Jack up on his offer.

chapter seven

The skin on my thumb right beside the nail was covered in black scabs and red, irritated skin. Some of the red parts had a sheen of liquid over them. I’d looked it up at one point to figure out what the liquid was. Plasma, if I remembered correctly. Some sort of plasma to try and heal the open wound. It must’ve been really strong with how hard I made it for it to heal. I couldn’t help but pick at the sides, opening the wound further. I planted the side of my thumb between my teeth, tearing at the scabs there, and chewing the skin to pieces.