Brandy
Rebbecca smiled, still holding that goddamn Brandy glass in her left hand, a half lit cigarette in the other.
“Let’s go”, I snuffed out my unfiltered cigarette on the sidewalk with my boot.
“We just got here”, a tone of discontent in her voice, “live a little”. She couldn’t get enough of this diamond lit night life.
I was impatient. Fuck, anyone with two testicles and a gut full of Black Label Whiskey would be just as near fucking the closest trap as I was. This boy has control. Does he really? There’s a scrapbook of sluts back in Texas that would vouch for the contrary.
God, Don’t let this turn into the midnight cop out last night was. She spends her whole night getting wet and worked up conversing with “Intellectuals”, once she’s back in bed, she’s too tired to scream for me. And this… pattern, continues. This broken relationship, where we depend on each other for nothing but half empty liquor bottles and sub par sex. I wasn’t so bad at it, I kept telling myself.
Somewhere between Grey Goose and a French woman fondling my zipper, I blacked out.
I woke in my own bed, somehow I had made it home, without my pants it seemed. I felt Rebbecca’s legs pressed against my own, ‘FUCK’ was the only word that came to mind. There’s a good chance we had sex last night, I was too hungover to remember and too high to care.
It was raining, and I spent a great deal of time staring at the streaking shadows of water droplets crawl across the floor before passing out again.
Awoken by the sounds of trash compactors in the street, I touch my bare feet to the cold wooden floor, standing up to the onset of nausea, all those espresso vodka shots working their way up. As I kneel over the toilet, the only clear though echoing through my mind, “Shouldn’t have had that last glass of Brandy”.
I pulled the toilet handle down with effort, staring at bits and pieces of appetizers spiral down into the drain with a hue that could best be compared to a nice 25 year scotch. Scotch… The thought made me throw up again.
Rebbecca is awake now, sitting up in our bed wearing my white dress shirt from last night, she’s tapping away at her phone. Whoever it is, they’re apparently more interesting than I could ever be. There was a time and place when I could stumble out of the bathroom, naked from the waist down, the sight would drive her wild, we’d make love for hours. There was a time, and a place.
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