I’ve been sitting here in this fucking cage for hours. There is no expectation of privacy to be had in this cell. I could piss all day long in front of someone, but taking a shit is not gonna happen. Dee however would think its hilarious. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on her bucket list. If this isn’t a big enough trigger to justify getting loaded and destroying two years of sobriety, I’m not sure what is. Not sure what time it is by now but it feels about five in the afternoon. “Fuck!” My head screaming out loud. The thought of that drink warming my tongue and stinging the back of my throat is on repeat in my thoughts. However during the few intermissions from my self destructive ramblings in my mind I wonder about deciphering the moments that have occurred hours ago and leading me here.
I let out a barely audible sigh as I speak Dees name. My whole body is knotted up with tension and anguish. There is something to a traumatic moment and silence afterward that can make you question everything you thought of yourself. I think back to that moment. Scary that I do not remember too much, nothing entirely specific. The memory runs in abrupt parts, nothing flows from scene to scene. I recall my clenched fist smashing into Gingers chin. It was almost like slow motion, the flesh on her chin rippling as my fist connected with her damn face. Everything goes blank from there for awhile. The last thing I can remember is Dee pulling me off of her, Ginger laid passed out with what looked more than just one punch to her face. Feeling guilty and shocked by the reaction I had my eyes begin to tear up.
My thoughts are jumbled, confused, speedy from one thought to an emotion and back. I am devastated that I had hurt someone as badly as I had. Why such a violent reaction though? Why? The mere constant reflection of my hideous actions only heightens my want, need, for something to help me escape. At that moment I hear the door open from down the short hallway and someone starts my way. I look up once I hear the scratchy hiss of the individuals pants rubbing together at the thighs. A female cop stops at my cell. She is cute, blond hair and bigger build. The uniform accentuates her features. As she unlocks the cage, with some surprisingly muscled hands, she explains that someone has bailed me out.
“Who?” I ask with some hesitation in my voice, shaky. There is a rasp in her voice as she replies, “Not sure, does it matter at this point?”
What a douche I state under my breath as I walk passed her. She cocks her left eyebrow as if she heard me or at least aware I did say something not so polite.
After I have retrieved all my things, my watch and a couple of bucks, they release me. As I enter the lobby area my eyes make contact with Dee. She looks as if she has been crying, her eyes a bit blood shot and puffy. She furrows her brow, now she just looks pissed. I can sense what she wants to say and is holding back. This is gonna be all my fault. I speak little to her and ask if she walked here. “Naw, Twat found a double bagger with a vehicle.” Now I know she is pissed, her voice dripping like molasses and full of disdain. I don’t say anything more out of fear of angering her and also of the truth. We exit the double doors of the building and Dee motions over to the vehicle with Twat at the drivers seat. The vehicle, a classic meant only for a junk yard, 1990’s something Ford Tempo. At the moment it’s aesthetic “beauty” takes a back seat to getting us the fuck out of there. In our anger Dee and I sit apart. I take shotgun she takes the back on the drivers side, her body language speaks volumes of hostility. As Twat drives away I’m not even sure where we are going. To her new fuck of the weeks place, maybe not.
My mind begins to hasten to that of an old friend. A friend I haven’t seen for a year or so and for good reason. My urge to meet up with her is overwhelming. I look over at Twat, my left eye catching a blurry image of Dee in the back seat.
“Take me over to Leslie’s.” My voice is lowered and commanding.
I am determined this day to abandon all of my principles, principles I have been developing and practicing for about two years and with much difficulty. Dee speaks for the first time without anger in her voice, concern is apparent.
“Fuck Burgess, you know what goes on there.”
“I don’t fucking care at this point and you’re clearly pissed at me. Why the fuck do I want to hang with you Dee?”
Were finally there, stopping in front of Leslie’s apartment building. Nice place except for the fact that carrying mace must always be a part of your wardrobe. Dee begins to utter something I know will just bring up even more guilt. I cut her off, I exit the vehicle and slam the door so hard I can see and hear the glass of the window rattle in it’s frame.
A few hours pass and Leslie has invited some friends over, I recognize no one. Alcohol is in abundance, music blaring with bass that thumps your eardrums, the coffee table made from milk crates and particle board.
That blue plastic cup with Jack inside beckons to me, calls to me in the friendliest of voices. Sobriety is no longer my savior but my enemy. I grasp the cup like a baby grabbing for it’s mothers tit. The cup is just below my nose, the aroma itself is intoxicating. Are battles like these ever really won?