“Because, it makes me feel good and it helps me forget. I like that it’s numbing my emotions. I feel happy. Maybe you should try it? Oh wait, I forgot. You don’t have any emotions to numb, do you?”
He didn’t scowl at me like I’d expected, just did that disappointed look that I hated.
“So, that’s your answer, is it? Your boyfriend cheats on you so you’re just gonna drink the pain away.”
“If I want to drink, I will. If I want to stop, I can. I’m in control. I’m always in control.”
“You don’t look very ‘in control’ to me right now, Ryley. In fact, I think we should go home.” He put his hand on my elbow to steer me towards the house, but I pulled away from him. I felt under attack.
“No way. You can leave if you want, but I’m staying. I haven’t seen Sal for ages and I’m having a good time. What’s your problem? Isn’t Allie your type?”
“Who the fuck is Allie?” he growled, looking completely confused.
“The cougar. You know, that woman over by Uncle Mick who was laughing at everything you said. What she finds funny about you though, I’ve no idea.”
“You’re drunk, and you’re not a good drunk, Ryley. You need to come home before you do or say something you’ll regret tomorrow.”
“I don’t need to do anything you say.”
“No, you don’t.” He pulled me to the side out of earshot of the other guests around us. “But trust me when I say, you don’t want to go down this road. Drinking isn’t the way to deal with your problems. You’re not facing them, you’re just avoiding them and hurting yourself more.”
I wasn’t ready for his dose of reality. “It’s the best I can do for now,” I answered truthfully.
I knew what he was saying, but I didn’t want to hear it. How I chose to deal with Justin’s betrayal was on me. I liked how the drink made me feel, and in that moment, that was enough.
“Fine, stay. Drink yourself into oblivion and make a fool of yourself with the mayor’s son, but I’m leaving. Your uncle is a good man. He’s agreed to my applications, and he’s pledged money for the charity. I don’t want to stay around here and watch you jumping off the proverbial cliff.”
He turned and walked towards the house, leaving me gawping after him. What the hell did he mean, make a fool of myself with Ben? I stood, toying with the idea of staying and keeping the party going. But my legs began to work on automatic pilot, carrying me into the house after Jackson. The other half of me knew I wasn’t in a good place. I wasn’t good around other people. Perhaps a few more drinks at home on my own in my room would be better. That’d help me sleep, and keep the images of Justin at bay for another day. It’d also keep thoughts of Jackson from swirling around my head. That was the answer to everything, after all. Get throug
h the day, any way I possibly could.
Days turned into weeks, and I found myself turning to the ever faithful bottle more and more. Sure it fucked up my days pretty bad, and I spent a lot of time hiding in my room. But the nights were so much better when I was numb, dizzy, and oblivious to the cruelty that was my world. Alcohol had become my new best friend.
I found myself opening the wine earlier and earlier, figuring it wasn’t so bad starting a bottle at three in the afternoon. After all, it was like medicine to me. The medicine to numb the pain.
Jackson didn’t say a word to me about my drinking after the barbecue. Occasionally, he gave me disapproving glances, or tutted if I walked past him with my drink, but I was good at zoning him out. In fact, we’d built up a pretty good thing with our cohabitating. I never saw him much; he was always out at work or terrorizing innocent people. Whatever it was he did to subsidise his income from the clubs. Sometimes I heard him playing his piano in the night, but I was usually too drunk to leave my bed. Those nights, I appreciated the extra lull to sleep.
I liked living at Jackson’s. It was the perfect hiding place, because apart from Sylvie and Cillian, no one ever visited. At first, my friends were constantly blowing up my phone, and my parents called daily too. I didn’t answer though. I let every call go to voicemail. I didn’t want to talk about Justin, or about anything in my real life. I was happy to drift through my days sipping my cares away. Damn, I even looked forward to that first drink of the day.
After a week or two, the calls petered off. Daisy still rang, and my mum, but that was all. I knew who my real friends were, and who really cared. It was times like this that showed you who you could rely on. Funnily enough, Cillian came round most days. He tried to use his humour to get me to see things his way, and always told me how worried Jackson was about me. Who knew the devil’s sidekick would become one of my trusted circle? He got it. He got me. I liked that he told me what he thought, but didn’t push me to change my ways.
Then there was Sylvie, my new surrogate mum and part-time angel. She kept me fed and gave me her motherly advice. I smiled and agreed with everything she said to appease her. When she left for the day, I’d pack up her good will into the box in my brain, and start the circle of drinking and passing out all over again. I didn’t have a problem. I could stop if I wanted to, but I didn’t want to.
Friday night, and instead of having my usual party in my bedroom, I’d agreed to accompany Jackson to a charity gala. I hadn’t done nearly enough work to bring his centre to the forefront like I’d promised. Maybe this was my way of trying to make amends? Pay for my board and booze, if you like.
I’d insisted I had a dress to wear, but Jackson had sent another outfit over direct from Harrods. A silver, sequinned full-length gown, fitted at the body but flared at the bottom. It was strapless and made me feel like a million dollars. I sipped wine as I got ready, straightening my hair until it was sleek and hung down to my ass.
When I walked out into the living area, I had hoped I’d get an appreciative look. Hell, maybe even a compliment. But he screwed his face up.
“What’ve you done to your hair?”
I ran my fingers through it and frowned back at him.
“I straightened it. Why?”
“I like the curls.” From the expression on his face, you’d think I’d destroyed my curls forever.
“Don’t panic, they’ll be back tomorrow. Or sooner if it rains. The wet, damp air always makes my hair go frizzy.”