Find Me (5 page)
“I have absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which I sometimes so madly indulge. It has not been in the pursuit of pleasure that I have periled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom.”
-
Edgar Allan Poe
Layla
Sometimes, I deceive myself into believing that those men, adolescents really, could act like adults. That I could allow them to pass one over on me and not catch it. Fish.
Fucking Fish.
Fish Lasagna.
I’ve never.
Again, I laugh. Something that has been happening since they first gave me the recipe written down on an index card. The card was worn and wrinkled, like Gage had carried it in his wallet and rarely removed it. I’m still not sure if they really believed that I would make it¸ or maybe they ended up fooling themselves in the end.
Liam decided to take a nap
, like the old man he is before dinner and the night out we have planned. I decided to make something Italian. One of my favorites, Chicken Alfredo. And no, not that store bought
Ragu
fake Alfredo sauce, but my own. The real Alfredo, with a sour cream base, some mozzarella cheese added in, and flour to thicken. That’s the shit that hits the spot.
I tend to like to make the sauce a few hours before, allowing it to occasionally simmer
, until the chicken is boiled and baked. But because I wasn’t given much of a notice and I lucked out with the guys buying all of the makings of my favorite dish, I decided to start on it as soon as they left. They’ll have their salad and breadsticks still, so that should suffice some part of our deal.
Around eight
, the guys walk in as Liam’s walking out, having apparently woken up and showered. It’s hard to ignore his attractiveness in all of its glory. He is one fine male specimen, if I have ever seen one.
Tall
, taller than I, with a grown out fohawk. It’s still short, though. And his beautiful piercing green eyes. The man would scare the hair off of Big Foot- if he even existed- with his glare alone. He has a hard steel jaw that ticks whenever he’s thinking, or pissed off. Okay, maybe all the time. Whenever he’s not speaking, at least.
And the tattoos
that go on for days. Tattoos that he refuses to discuss. I’ve tried, countless times. He won’t budge. Ever. Which is pretty damn pointless.
The way I see it, your skin is a canvas. The most important canvas in the world, and if you permanently etch a work of art into your skin
, it better fucking mean something. Something deep into your core. Fuck, it damn well better mean something to you.
It should sure as hell show you who you are. Why ruin that beautiful unmarked skin
? Skin that is with you forever, if it doesn’t mean anything to you?
I have
a few tattoos, all hidden of course. Because I don’t want to show anyone who I am. I don’t want to discuss it. Maybe Liam should have thought about that before he covered his entire body in ink.
He has this one tattoo that I can’t seem to get out of my thoughts
. Every time I close my eyes and my mind starts drifting off to him, it comes to mind. Whenever I bring it up, he shuts down immediately.
It’s a red dragon
. A fierce looking creature, with flame coming out of its mouth, aiming to the dead center of his chest to his heart. It takes up half of his chest and the tail ends below his ribs. It’s the focal piece for all of his tattoos on his upper body. It’s the only ink that is colored on his body. The rest is black. Most are tribal, some are initials, dates and such.
He
won’t speak about one of them. Now, whenever I see him shirtless, I look away. That way it’s not a tease and doesn’t cause me to open my mouth.
As I’m finishing up the sauce and about to boil the chicken before I pop it in the oven
, Liam comes out, wearing nothing but a towel.
I have been abstaining from sex for about two months, all because Nat nicely pointed out how it’s my coping mechanism.
My mode of self-preservation.
Here I was being a major fucking hypocrite
, only seeing that Natalie was hurting herself and hiding behind the walls of our two bedroom apartment. Not getting close to anyone, other than me. I pushed her into going on tour with five men she had never met, nor ever had any interest in meeting.
Once I met Liam
, I wrote him off as a no-go. Even if I found him attractive, I saw how much he cared for my best friend. He didn’t deserve my weekly commitment to nothing and I didn’t deserve to be the second choice. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.
But living with him, without him pining for Natalie daily
, has been a struggle. A struggle that I have been barely fighting.
I can’t defend myself. He’s fucking hot and any female
, or male for that matter, can see it within viewing distance. He’s pure testosterone. His arms are safety rails and his body screams hard, rough, pick you up and throw you around sex.
The kind of sex I want.
The kind of sex I need.
I close my mouth
, when I realize that it’s still agape and drool is on the verge of running out. I snap it shut and check on the chicken that is now in a pot that has water boiling over onto the stove. I toss the now cooked chicken into a baking pan and throw it in the stove.
I then continue to set the table
. It’s then that I notice Liam is still standing in place, wearing nothing but the accessory of a towel. One that barely conceals his blessed package, much to my disappointment. He looks at me one last time and moves back on to his room.
What was he doing out here naked anyway?
Shortly thereafter
, the guys join us for dinner. They’re all dressed to the nines in designer clothes, designers that I am all too familiar with. These lucky bastards get free clothes, just to wear them. Apparently it’s a bonus, for a company to see someone famous wearing their apparel out and about.
They so need to hook a girl up. I would wear the shit out of their clothes for free
, if they’ll supply my demand. We all toss the dirty dishes in the sink, as Liam announces he’s going to call a cab.
Luckily
, I have friends that realize safety is of the upmost importance when going out. A designated driver, or a cab number should always be on hand, when going out to reach an intoxication level.
Wh
ile everyone else spent time spiffing themselves up and or sleeping, I made dinner, so I excuse myself to get dressed. I had picked out my outfit earlier, but planned on changing after we ate. No way would I want to go out in a dress that has my sauce running down it. A likely event if I had worn it.
I
shut the door to my room and throw my clothes off in a rush to put on my strapless bra and black booty shorts from the one and only
Fredericks of Hollywood
, my favorite place to buy intimate attire. I chose a strapless navy blue dress that reached the top of my knees. It hugged all of my curves in the right places, but also left a bit to the imagination.
I slip on my black flats, which are much easier to dance in than a pair of six inch heels. I look in the mirror and apply a light coat of mascara and eyeliner, with a touch of lip gloss and I’m good to go.
The mistake many women make when they go out is that they doll their face up and by the end of the night, after hours of drinking and dancing it up with a bunch of sweaty guys, their face looks like its running. I opt to not look like that mess.
My hair is pin straight tonight
. Not so different from any other night, but it doesn’t hold a curl, nor will it do anything else other than flop. So I add in a bobby pin, snapping my bangs back to give my face a more open fuller effect.
Right before I leave my bedroom
, I grab my license and cash out of my wallet, then slide them into my bra. Everything else can stay here. I always leave my wallet home. With as many cards as I have in there, I would surely be cleaned out in at least one account, before I realized it was missing. My life is in that leopard print Betsey Johnson wallet that I normally have attached to my hip.
Maybe twenty minutes after I left the guys
, I rejoin them in the kitchen to find Gage slamming a shot of straight vodka. Can you say disgusting? Who drinks vodka straight? That’s a burn all the way to the gut.
“Gage, you do realize that you bought juice earlier
? Wouldn’t it taste better with something mixed in?”
“Juice? Listen babe, men go straight out. We don’t water our liquor down with nonalcoholic additives.” He brushes me off. “Want a shot?”
“No thanks, babe. I’ll wait until we get there.” I say smiling. I’ll start my drinking there, pre-gaming for me never ends well. It usually ends with me covered in puke and a raging migraine in the morning.
Somehow
, my denial wasn’t an actual denial, because to these men it had to have meant ‘maybe, but I need encouragement’. I presume this because it ended with a cheer of. “Shots, shots, shots.”
It had a familiar feeling
. You know, where you attend your first party and you’ve never tasted alcohol before. Where you’re not an adult yet, but you’re coming out of your teenage years. You haven’t attended a party yet that involves drinking and getting drunk, hooking up. Yup, this is what I am thinking tonight’s going to be.
Yay me.
Liam
We decided to go to the bar that Layla
works at a few nights a week. It was not my first choice, not even my third or second. She doesn’t think I am aware of her sleazy co-worker, who hits on her throughout their shifts. Through investigation, I’ve learned that the owner is this sleazes’ father and apparently he’s allowed to get away with acting as such.
It’s not in a flattering respectful way either
. It’s in a grotesque, I want to fuck you right here on the bar and I don’t care what anyone has to say kind of way. Knowing that, I am not a fan of his or this bar. But I was outvoted before we left the apartment. I tried to blame the alcohol on their rash decision making. An argument only ensued, so here we are in line to enter.
I could easily walk up to the bouncer
, flash my smiling face and some cash and we would be welcomed in, but that would most likely announce our presence. I could also have Layla sneak us in around back, since she works here, but I don’t want to announce our presence to all of her co-workers either. Many people, when handed cash would open their mouths and I put no one above another. Instead, we all play it cool with our eyes down and disguises in place.
Tonight
, we went for a non-radical change in appearance. I threw on a grey beanie and the guys chose trucker caps. We wouldn’t be recognized, unless we allowed someone our direct gaze and none of us planned on making that mistake.
The wait ended up being about thirty minutes
. When we gain entrance, we head straight to the bar, without my approval. I can’t leave Layla to her own devices, especially while under the influence of the liquid courage. We all sit on barstools while waiting for the bartender to approach us.
“I think we should start off with a pineapple upside down cake shot.
Mmmm,” Layla says.
We agreed on the ride over that we would all go shot for shot, drink for drink tonight. We would each take a turn deciding what said drink would be and we all had to accept. I wasn’t thinking she would head straight to the sweet stuff.
“Why not a shot of Jack?” Gage asks, stealing my thoughts away from me.
“Listen, you all agreed to this. I go first, and if you don’t drink it every single time I have the chance to choose our drinks
, I’ll make sure it’s some of the grisliest drinks you’ve ever tried. I’ll have you drinking a cosmopolitan. Shit, how about a strawberry daiquiri?” Layla interjects, her hands swinging about and her voice raised high enough to attract attention. Luckily Gage saw others watching, so he decided not to argue back.
“Fine, the damn cake shot it is. This better be good
, Lals. If it’s not, I’ll make sure your downing whiskey and gin all night.” Gage says, accepting her silent challenge. The drink decided, we wait for the bartender.
“Is someone doesn’t come over here soon
, I am just going to go behind the counter and make our drinks.”
“Would that get you fired?” I ask Layla.
“Possibly. I’m not supposed to be behind the bar, unless I’m on the clock.”
“Okay, then make our drinks.” I say smiling. She swats me playfully on the chest.
“You just want me to get fired, you dick.”
“Only because of the sleaze you work with, nothing more. You could find another job
. Something where you don’t get sexually harassed daily.”
“Carl is harmless. He is all talk
, no action. I really don’t think he would do anything that has come out of his mouth. And he doesn’t just say shit to me, he says dirty things to everyone.”
“Even more of a reason to find another job. I don’t like him
. He rubs me the wrong way.”
“I don’t want to argue about this again
. Let’s drink and have a good time and if you happen to see him, just ignore him. I would say be nice, but I think at this point that’s beyond you.”
She’s right. I can get all worked up about this and then confront him whenever he comes out from where he’s hiding at the moment and end up ruining
our night. This night for me was about putting the seal in place, closing the door to my past.
Moving on.
“What’s the next drink?” I ask, changing the topic.
“Boilermaker, if they ever get over here. We still haven’t taken Lals shot.” Gage replies.
“I was thinking, if they are this slow in service tonight, we should order all of the drinks now and find a table. So when we go for round two, we won’t have to wait as long.”
“Sounds good to me,” Layla adds in. Everyone else nods in agreement.
Just as Zepp and Jason decide on their drink of choice for everyone, a bartender approaches us. The one I really didn’t want to see tonight. I smile tight lipped. Better to keep my mouth shut than end up in a brawl with this douche.
I have to keep reminding myself why I shouldn’t want to fight this guy.
Layla will get mad and pictures of us will end up online everywhere and the story will get so twisted and screwed that people will end up believing I went off in a drunken rage. Nope. Not a wise decision.
Again, the
strongest of all the reasons- Layla will get pissed.
I repeat this chant over in my head
, trying to rein in my sudden rush of anger, my need to destroy this guy. This guy who is suddenly staring at me. Everyone else is silent, in fear of how I’ll react.
Carl, I believe Layla said his name was
, is a few inches shorter than I. Tattoos scrawling over his arms, which apparently makes him a tough one. One who believes for some reason that he can talk to women however he wants, sexually harass them. Degrade them. Its disgusts me.
“Bro, are you ready to order
, or what?”
His words
ricochet through my head. He wants to take my order, my drink of choice for all of us. “One hundred proof,” I say tightly, while grabbing Layla’s hand in front of him. Laying claim in my own way. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get the hint.
“It will be a few minutes for all of those drinks.”
“That’s all right, Carl. If you want to have Lex bring those over to us, we’re going to be at table eight.” Layla says all friendly.
I grab he
r hand and tow her away from the bar, no idea where table eight is. I feel her pulling me back, so I allow her the control of directing us. She leads us to a table that is tucked into the corner of the stage, an empty stage that no one is performing on, tonight anyway.
Layla lets go of my hand and pulls her own bar stool out
. I choose the one next to her. Gage, Zepp, and Jason take a seat as well.
“What was that about?” Layla asks me
inquisitively.
“What was
what about?” I ask back, pretending to be clueless.
“You know what
I’m talking about. You pretty much mauled my hand as soon as Carl came into view.”
“
I don’t like him, actually I detest him. I hate how he talks to you and you are well aware of all of this. I was staking a claim in front of him. Maybe now he’ll leave you alone.” I reply defending my actions to her.
“You really didn’t have to do that
. He really is harmless. He wouldn’t ever act on anything, I’ve worked with him for over a year now. I think I know him well enough by now.”
“Lals, that’s what you don’t get. You trust way too many people easily. Knowing someone well enough
, isn’t good enough for me. I can’t stand knowing you come to work at this place a few days out of the week and that it’s with him.” I slam my lips together.
I really can’t make her aware of how much I care about her
. If she were to be aware of me actually giving a shit, she wouldn’t listen to any of the advice I have to give.
She’s
been spooling a protective layer around Natalie for so long, that she forgets what it’s like having her own or anyone else’s. I didn’t realize this until Natalie moved out. Any time I had an issue with something she was doing, she would go against my advice one hundred times harder. I don’t think it was on purpose, but more subconsciously. The ‘you’re not my father’ argument.
I’m not saying that I could blame her for being like that
. From what I know, her life has been as much of a shit storm as Natalie’s. One would never be able to find fault in anything that she has done, if they were given an eye of her past.
I just worry about her and the path that
she’s choosing to go down. Always caring for someone else and never looking out for herself. I’m not saying that someone should be a selfish asshole and only care about themselves. But when you’re caring about everyone else, care about yourself too.
I
knock out of my reverie, when a drink is placed in front of me. A shot. Layla’s choice, I believe, since it’s the only one we ordered that would be colorful. I look over to her and she’s picking her shot up, as are the guys.
“One, two, three,” Layla counts.
At three, we all tip our heads back and down the fruity confection. I wouldn’t admit this to her, because then she would be ordering them all night, but it wasn’t half bad. Bordering down right good.
“Not so bad, huh?”
She asks all of us.
“I’ve had better,” I mutter.
She starts laughing, “You liked it, all of you did, admit it and I won’t make you drink fruity drinks all night.”
“Yeah, yeah it wasn’t so bad,” Gage says.
She giggles hearing him admit it.
“Boilermaker next?” I ask.
“Yup,” Gage says, while handing me mine. The glass of beer and a shot of whiskey.
On three
, we drop the shot in and chug down the beer. I have a feeling that we’re going to rush through these drinks and in a matter of moments the buzz will rush in on us.
This bar has no idea what it’s in for. Although
, I’ve never seen Layla drunk. When she does drink, it’s a glass of wine here or there, or maybe a beer to join in with us. But never all out consuming alcohol to get the rush of a buzz.
“Next?”
“Jack & Coke, my friend,” Zepp says, this being his choice of buzz fuel.
Jack can be a tough fuck going down, if alone. But the added smoothness of coke mellows the burn out.
Jason’s up next.
“
What’s your choice of ammunition?”
“A Long Island Ice Tea,” Jason replies.
“Harsh, my man, harsh.”
This isn’t a drink you down in four seconds, this is one that you
continuously sip off of. It’s rough on your gut and even rougher to your intoxication level. Jason made a damn good choice.
“So, tell me what
exactly is in a 100 proof. I have never made or heard of it before,” Layla says, while stirring her straw in the alcoholic tea.
“
It’s just 100 proof shots, in a cocktail of sorts. Cinnamon schnapps, vodka, peppermint schnapps, scotch, and tequila. It’s delicious and will get you hammered before you can finish it.”
“Well I guess that’s the perfect
choice, since tonight is about forgetting for you.”
“I never said that,
it’s just a night out. Get drunk, be fucking merry, and have a good time. That’s all.”
“You didn’t have to say it
, Liam. I’m not blind, and earlier you wanted nothing more than to disappear. Frankly, I’m surprised that you even came back.”
“I really don’t want to hash this out right now, or at all even.
Let’s just have fun and forget it.”
“That’s always the way with you
, though, isn’t it?” Always running from your shit and ‘forgetting’ it all like it never happened.”
“Layla, really I don’t want to go over this right now.
It’s not the time, or the fucking place. Please, just drop it.” I beg of her.
“Fine. Whatever,” She says
, finally brushing it off.
I’m not, nor have I ever been into emotional drunks. When I go out
, I want to have fun, with laughs all around. I want to get so beyond a buzz that I forget every single emotion I have zinging through my body, that I forget all of the pain I’ve caused others and myself.
I want to get so damn drunk that I
can’t stand when I walk through my door and all I can do is lay down on my bed and pass out. I want to get so fucking drunk that I have the worst hangover in the morning, that I’m declaring abstinence from alcohol, promising never to drink it again. That’s what I want for tonight.
