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So I decided to do the next best thing: Self-Medicate.
I took another shower, even though I had already taken one as soon as I left Clara’s room that morning. Then I got dressed and headed down to the Book Shelf for a drink or five.
It was already getting late into the evening by that time, and Marco was working the bar.
I think it was probably after about the fourth or fifth drink – vodka cranberries with double shots… I guessed that would make it like eight or ten drinks… Marco cut me off. I was mad, but in his defense, I was probably acting like a big old fool at that point.
“Can I call you a cab, Zia?” Marco asked in his Spanish accent.
“Aww, come onnn, Marco. Things were juss’starting to feel… nnnummbbb.”
The usually silent B at the end of numb was emphasized. “Juss one more drrrink. Tha’s all I need’n then I’ll juss go.” I slurred.
Marco laughed and handed me a glass of iced water. “Here you go, mami. You don’t have to leave, pero no beberé más, okay?”
I sighed. I’m pretty sure I knew what he probably just said, and I knew he was right. What was I thinking? I knew better than to do this. I didn’t even like to get drunk. I had lost control last night, and how did I respond the very next day? By just giving it away.
I wanted to cry, but I refused. I wanted comfort. I wanted someone to hug me and tell me everything was going to be okay. I knew I was stronger than this, and I was angry for letting myself feel so powerless, when I knew that I wasn’t. I knew I would never let anyone do that to me again. Never put myself in that position again.
But tonight, I wanted comfort. I could allow myself that, couldn’t I?
I could call Becker; no, make that should call Becker, if I was going to call anyone. Things were going in a good direction with him and me, and we had had a moment with the lovely goodbye kiss.
Unfortunately, I had no desire to call Becker at all.
My thoughts instead turned to Dylan. My thoughts constantly turned to Dylan these days. Ever since that first night he ran into me at the coffee shop, he’d been somewhere on my mind, whether it was at the forefront or in the back of it. In some way, it was constant.
He was an amazing guy. He challenged me and made me look at my beliefs. My first impression of him was completely wrong. Sitting right here in this very bar, the first time I had ever laid eyes on his beautiful face, I had made assumptions about him that could not have been further from the truth.
Then my thoughts roamed back over every wonderful memory we’d had together over the past several weeks. The night we went salsa dancing, feeling his hands on my body, holding me, smiling at me and laughing with me. The live band at the coffee shop and the way his face lit up hearing that music. The way he laughed standing outside the Yoga studio. The night at my apartment, just talking and getting to know about each other. How he rescued me from Cason and stayed by my side until he knew I was okay.
If I was truly honest with myself, I cared about Dylan more than I wanted to admit. Deep down, I’d known it for a long time now, as much as I’d tried to deny it or push it away. A part of me knew it was the alcohol, but suddenly I wanted to tell him how I felt.
Maybe tomorrow I wouldn’t feel the same, but right then, I wanted him to know. I had to find him and just tell him. I picked up my phone, fumbling with it and opened the texting app.
“Zia?”
Oh my God. Now I could hear his voice. I really was going crazy.
“Zia, are you okay?” Dylan sat on the stool beside me at the bar.
He was really there. Was this the coincidence of all coincidences? I took it as a sign that I had finally decided to reach out to Dylan and there he was. My eyes widened and my heart filled with relief and excitement all at once as I reached for his hands.
“You’re here? How did you know where to find me?” I asked.
“I went by your apartment to see you, make sure you were okay, and Clara said you were here. So here I am,” he explained.
“You came for me.” I stated the obvious.
Dylan gave Marco a card to charge my tab to, and thanked him. Then he turned to me and took my hands again.
“Come on, let’s get you home.”
Dylan decided to drive me the few blocks back to my apartment. Unfortunately, when the cool night air hit me as I walked outside, it had a sort of compounding effect. I was still able to walk and think somewhat coherently still, but my inhibitions had been left in my seat at the bar back at the Book Shelf.
He walked me to the passenger side, opened my door for me, and helped me in. My head started to spin ever so slightly so I steadied myself by placing my hands out on either side of me, my right hand on the edge of the car door window and the other hand on the middle console.
Dylan walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. He started the ignition and turned on the heater. Then he reached his right hand out to touch my hand on the console.
