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I would’ve ruined his life.
That’s what I did, what I’ve always done.
“Is there anything wrong with white picket fences and a simple life?”
I finally returned my focus to her.
“No,” I said. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.”
* * *
I didn’t know how badly my feet could hurt before I started waiting tables atLyla’s Place, one of the most popular restaurants in Sweet Water. They practically barked at me after my shift.
Darkness had settled over the town, the sky an inky black splattered with diamonds as I sat in my car, stalling as the thought of driving home to my empty studio apartment. I wasn’t used to being alone, even if the company I used to keep wasn’t exactly healthy for me. The idea of sitting in the silence with myself made me want to scream. Or cry. Maybe both. Today’s session had certainly opened up a box I’d kept locked up for a decade, and it was like I couldn’tstopfeeling everything.
Feeling sad, regretful, ashamed, embarrassed, pissed off. I ping-ponged from each emotion all night, all while wearing my proper southern smile like a mask while I waited on customers.
It was too much.
Ifelttoo much.
It swarmed me, all the emotions filling me up from the inside out like grains of sand until I was sure I’d suffocate from it. It made everything harder—thinking, breathing.
Maybe it was normal to feel all these things at once.
Maybe it only felt strange to me because I usually floated in the wonderful space of oblivion provided by alcohol.
Thirst swept over me, and I glanced to my right, eying the small bottle in the cup holder.
I’d bought it in a low moment last week.
My fingers itched to crack the lid. One drink wouldn’t kill me.
Only, it could.
Right. It could. Was the numbing fog it offered worth dying over?
Would anyone even miss me? They’d probably be so relieved. I could see them at my funeral, teary eyed but content knowing they didn’t have to deal with me anymore.
The bottle was in my hands without me even realizing it, the lid partially cracked open.
Fuck it.
I opened it completely, bringing it to my lips, the harsh smell hitting my nose—
“No,” I said to myself. “No, I don’t want to be this person anymore. I don’t.” My hands shook, the clear liquid in the bottle sloshing slightly. “I’m stronger than this. I’m a VanDoren for Christ’s sake.”
I hurriedly put the cap back on and started the car, suddenly desperate to get home and dump this down the drain. I pulled onto the road, swerving slightly as the bottle in my lap tipped and liquid spilled onto my pants.
“Damn it,” I groaned, trying my best to scoop up the bottle with one hand and drive with the other. I obviously didn’t get the lid screwed on tight enough, and trying to do it one-handed wasn’t exactly easy.
Luckily the traffic was light—
Something small and black darted out in front of me, a flash of light blinking off a reflective surface. I slammed on my breaks and swerved off the road to avoid hitting it. The bottle flew out of my hands, upturning and dumping its entire contents all over my shirt.
I threw the car in park, my hands shaking from the jump scare.
“What in the absolute hell?” I said, glancing down at myself now covered in the exact drink I was trying to stay away from. “Perfect.”
