No need for memories
It would have been great to go home and take a long shower after that week, but Melanie was fool enough to make other plans at her old favourite bar.
“After all, I can’t ignore my friends forever.” — She kept saying that to herself, pretending to believe in those words.
Once inside, the memories took place immediately — not in a pleasant way. How many times was she carried away from there?
She looked around and smelled the alcohol impregnated all over: wine, gin, whisky, lots of beer. That’s when Dan waved, from the balcony, with probably a Lager on his hands. Melanie walked toward him, neglecting half of her drunk mates from before, focused on elaborate some excuse to decline a drink. An excuse for him, but mostly, for herself.
‘Hey, you!’ — He said.
‘It’s been a while.’ — Melanie sat and smiled, trying to look casual.
Everything about that place was a trigger — the smoke, the music, even the nasty peanuts in the glass pots, but she was fool enough to believe she could come back and act normal.
‘My man! The usual for the beauty here!’
‘Just some water.’
‘Just some water? I’m paying, Mel, c’mon!’
‘It’s not that, Dan. I don’t feel like drinking today.’
“Don’t feel like drinking?” Melanie mocked inside her head — how on earth these words would convince anyone who knows her? All she wanted was a damn drink, and maybe this is why, of all the possible places she and Dan could meet, that was her choice.
‘Mel?’
Even talking was tiresome, but she needed to change subjects: ‘Tell me, what’s new?’
‘Lots of news! It’s been ages!’ — He was excited enough to talk about his last months without an expectation for elaborated replies. Typical narcissistic behaviour — how the hell did they become close?
‘Hi, Mel! Been drinking somewhere else? Didn’t see you here for, I don’t know, two months?’ — Jay, the bartender, ignored her request for water and served a glass of wine. She smelled Cabernet, and her heart skipped a beat.
‘I only asked for water, Jay. And no, I haven’t.’
‘I’ll save the bottle for you, babe, just in case,’ — He smiled. She always loved the way he knew what she wanted — but it felt evil this time. ‘I’ll bring you that water too.’ — Jay couldn’t be more obvious about the ironic tone of voice. By his experience — and hers — only one glass would need for repeated refills.
Dan was saying something about how amazing he was: an attempt to look charming or something, with eventual touches at her arms and thighs. It would have worked some months ago. “What does he do for work anyway?”- Mel couldn’t remember, and she didn’t care. The glass was looking at her, and she couldn’t help looking it back. It was a million times more inviting than Dan’s body, eyes or anything else — no orgasm was better than wine: “Could I keep it at one glass?” — She knew the answer.
‘Amazing, right?’ — Dan said.
‘Really? That’s great!’ — A big client? New job, maybe. It sounded like happy news, so she reacted like expected. That reminded her why it’s so hard to stay sober during those interactions. She just needed to hold on for one hour — and skip any questions about her recent absence from their drunk evenings — followed by guilty mornings.
Melanie didn’t touch the water, or the peanuts, or even looked around: she was a cautious prey. “Hang on. You can do it” — she thought. “Focus!”
‘Tell me, Mel,’ — He took the wine from the balcony and placed at her hand. Those two seconds were enough to make her feel weak and powerless, unable to refuse that seductive call. One last time, it won. She smelled the wine and gave them — the booze and herself — a defeated smile, so Dan said: ‘Are we making some embarrassing memories tonight?’
Those words came like a bullet. Melanie felt a chill in her neck, like a warning whisper. “What am I doing here?” — She finally looked around, and her eyes filled with tears that she refused to drop. “No tears today”.
Melanie smiled at Dan, stood up and placed the glass back.
‘And no memories either’- Melanie chose to win, by letting her old self behind.
She petted Dan in the shoulder and left. This time for good.
