Just Before You Go

When I woke again, the sun was beating through the window. My head pounded as a reminder of how much alcohol I’d consumed the night before—and was still coursing through my veins. As I sat up, I was entertained to find I was still a little drunk.
Jimmy was nowhere to be found. I felt around for my phone—nothing. Did I even bring my stuff with me when we left Brian’s? I tried to remember actually leaving Brian’s but my mind came up blank. How much did I drink?
I made woozy steps down to the bathroom and locked myself in. My world was spinning. I put one hand on the sink to steady myself before dropping my weight onto the toilet and emptying my very full bladder.
As I waited, I noticed a little white powder had collected on the side of my right hand. I surveyed it carefully, trying to work out where it had come from. Was it there all night? But because I was only a little drunk and most intelligent, I glanced over to the sink where I’d come from and, sure enough, there were remnants of what I could only assume was a good time.
I could remember Jimmy frantically appearing in the doorway to greet me—to stop me? The sudden realization that maybe Jimmy’s demons were of a different breed than I’d imagined put a brick into the depths of my guts.
I hoped that I was wrong.
Once I’d finished my business, I found my way downstairs—taking my time as not to trip and fall down the many stairs. Jimmy was busying himself, quite loudly, in the kitchen.
“Morning!” she shrieked at me.
I grumbled something of a return, collapsing onto his island stool and dropping my head into my arms.
“That’s adorable,” he snickered.
He slid two small pills in my direction with a glass of water to wash them down with. For a split second, I was suspicious about the drugs.
He looked at me weirdly, shaking his head as if to ask what the problem was.
“I thought you might want something for your head,” he said awkwardly.
Deciding I was crazy, I thanked him and swallowed them.
“Did you have fun last night?” he asked happily, returning his attention to the pans on the stove.
The smell made my stomach turn.
“I think so,” I said weirdly. “I don’t really remember.”
He smirked, “That’s a Brian party for you.”
“I’m supposed to work tonight,” I groaned, rubbing at my temples. “How do you recover from this? I don’t know that I’ve ever been this hungover.”
“Hair of the dog,” he shrugged, shaking a half-emptied beer at me.
Instinctively because apparently I’m nothing but judgmental, my eyes shifted behind Jimmy to the clock on the stove.
“It’s nine o’clock in the morning,” I told him gravely.
He shrugged again.
“Jimmy—”
“Are you hungry?” he interrupted quickly. “I’m making eggs—scrambled…because I don’t know how to flip them.”
I really, really wanted to start questioning him. Maybe it was the lawyer in me but I wanted all the facts. I’d already, if not accidentally, collected evidence—but I didn’t really want to call him out on it.
I really liked him…
“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” I said honestly, groaning a little.
He snickered, “Food will fix you up. Or you can call into work and hang out with me. Whatever.”
“Yeah,” I whined. “I’ll get right on that.”
It’s funny, though; because I did. I did call into work. By three in the afternoon, I still felt as though I was on the verge of death. I’d barely been able to lift my body from Jimmy’s couch for most of the day—no way was I going to be able to work. I could practically hear my father scolding me.
I didn’t care.
“Hey,” I said into the phone. “I’m not going to be able to make it in today…It would appear I’ve caught some sort of virus.”
Derek groaned, “Are you kidding? It’s fucking Saturday, Aria. I can’t run the bar alone on a fucking Saturday.”
“Sure you can,” I encouraged weakly. “But if you really can’t, call the new girl. She owes me a favor.”
Derek sighed so loudly that it sent vibrations through my skull, “I guess if you can’t come in…”
“I’ll come in if you don’t mind me vomiting on your shoes and slugging around the place,” I offered.
“Yeah, stay home,” he decided. “You’re gross.”
Jimmy had walked in for the better half of my phone call and was looking at me with unadulterated excitement. I was shaking my head at him before I’d even hung up the phone.
“Don’t you get all excited,” I warned him. “I’m going to go home and I’m going to die for the rest of the night.”
He plopped himself down at my feet, pulling them into his lap and giving my toes a little pat.
“Fuck that,” he chimed. “If you’re skipping work, you’re totally hanging out here.”
“Jimmy—”
He made the world’s saddest puppy dog eyes at me. He knew I was sucker for those blues.
“I’ll tell you what,” I mustered some courage, “I’ll trade you.”
“Trade me what?” he asked cautiously, sizing me up.
“I’ll stay here and hang out with you, if you answer my question—without dodging it or making me feel weird about asking…or lying. If you lie, I’m going home.”
He raised his eyebrows, “Why ask a question if you already know the answer?”
“Do we have a deal or not?” I asked cockily.
“What’s the question?”
“The one I asked you last night,” I told him.
He scrunched his face at me. He obviously did not recall—or if he did, he had a really strong poker face.
I really didn’t want to have to repeat it—but I wanted to know the truth. I wanted to know what I was getting into before I got too deep into it. I had to know what I was dealing with.
“I’ve heard rumblings,” I said slowly. “About you being a bit of an alcoholic…”
His brows fell, “Okay.”
“I want to know if it’s true.”
“You want to know if I’m an alcoholic,” he said casually, already making me feel stupid.
I looked away, “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable…but I do kind of feel like you owe it to me to tell me the truth.”
“Do I?” he asked in such a callous way that it kind of hurt my feelings.
But I was tough.
I nodded once, “Yes.”
“Why’s that?”
“Jimmy,” I groaned. “You and I both know that there’s something, obviously, going on here. If we’re going to do this—and I mean really do this—I feel like you need to be open with me.”
He squinted.
“What makes you so sure I want to do anything?” he asked.
I shook my head in a bit of disbelief. Had he been taking lessons on crude and snarky comments from Brian? Was this some weird Freaky Friday moment that I’d been conveniently left out of?
Or was this Jimmy being defensive?
“Don’t you?” I retorted.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Right,” I said sternly. “Then I should go.”
He let me get off the couch and make a move for the door. I actually thought he was going to let me go—and then I would have never taken his call again.
But because he’s a smart man, he called to me, “Aria, wait.”
I tapped my fingers rhythmically against my hip as I waited for him to say something. Anything.
“To answer your question,” he said finally, “I guess if we’re…putting a label on it… I definitely have some problems with not drinking.”
My feet took me, cautiously, back to where I’d come from. I sat at the very edge of the couch, looking at him with sympathetic eyes.
“Okay,” I replied coolly.
“It really isn’t a big deal,” he assured me. “I have it under control.”
My skepticism must have shown.
“I’m serious,” he urged. “You really don’t have to worry about it.”
“But I care about you,” I told him warmly.
He smiled a little, “I know. I promise, it isn’t a big deal.”
I don’t think I’d ever heard anyone formally argue alcoholism not being a big deal. I was actually pretty sure that everything I’d heard about it was to the contrary. However, I didn’t know any other actual alcoholics, I really didn’t know what it entailed. I knew a little bit of Jimmy though, and so far he had been right; it hadn’t been a problem.
“Anything else?” I asked knowingly.
He furrowed his brows again, “What do you mean?”
“Is it just the alcohol?” I clarified. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I like to drink. I don’t, like, need it to function.”
“He says even though he cracked a beer at nine a.m.,” I retorted.
He looked embarrassed.
“Do you swear you’re okay?” I pressed, still just not believing him.
He nodded, “I swear.”
Everything inside of me told me he was untruthful. Deep down, I think I knew he was lying. But he was so sweet and he was so incredibly handsome. For a smart girl, I’d abandoned all logic and was flirting with stupidity.
But I just didn’t care.
“So you want to date me, huh,” he grinned widely. “That’s interesting.”
I sunk back down onto his couch, “Shut up.”
He collapsed himself next to me, wrapping an arm around my body and snuggling into my neck. I could smell the alcohol on him—which seemed ridiculous to me, even then.
“We can only date if you bother to stick around long enough,” I told him, still kind of irritated by what I’d learned.
And what I knew he was leaving out.
“Aria,” he whined into my skin. “I answered your question. Can we drop it now? Please?”
I didn’t want to.
But I agreed anyway.
He looked up at me after a while, just as I was nearly into another state of sleep. His movement startled me—my eyes snapped to meet his.
“You’re really beautiful,” he told me seriously.
I blushed.
“Look who’s talking,” I smirked, giving him a quick kiss on the tip of his nose.
He looked down and away from me, “I’m a little afraid you’re going to figure out how ugly I really am.”
I tilted my head.
“Never mind,” he breathed, pushing a smile onto his face. “I guess I just feel like a lucky guy today.”
I really wanted to get into that ugly comment. That was a red flag if ever I’d seen one.
But Jimmy knew where to hit me, “I really like you. I’m not sure if I’ve said that to you…But I guess it’s something you should probably know.”
I was so weak for him.
Fuck was I ever weak.
“I like you too,” I said like a teenage girl with a crush.
Shameless. Shamelessly weak. So weak.
“I know,” he grinned. “You faked sick just so you could hang out with me. It’s sooo romantic. I can just feel how much you adore me.”
I groaned, “Jimmy.”
“Oh, Aria; no! You can’t call into work! You need your job to live! Do you want to starve, Aria? Oh, what’s that you say? I’m too irresistible to leave? Well, honey, I know but you have to be strong—”
“Are you done?” I asked blankly.
He cackled, “Probably not.”
“I don’t need my job, remember?” I asked pointedly. “I’m a little rich girl.”
He looked at me strangely, like he didn’t know what that meant.
“You don’t remember saying that to me?” I choked.
Jimmy gave me a ‘you’re crazy’ kind of look.
“You called me a little rich girl!” I insisted. “You were being an asshole, if I’m speaking honestly.”
“Why would I say that to you?” he quizzed.
He genuinely did not remember.
I wasn’t sure if I should be happy he’d forgotten or concerned that he couldn’t remember anything that had gone on last night. My memory was hazy at best but I could certainly remember pivotal moments.
“Crazy little rich girl,” he teased.
So weak.

Notes

Half-truths are better than no truths, I guess.

xx