“No,” she cuts him off. “I need to get the hell out of this bar. Right now. You’re missing the point, like usual.”
His thick eyebrows pull together. “What the fuck does that mean?”
She shakes her head, pushing herself away from the bar. “Have a good night, prospect.” Then she’s off the stool, and I’m on my feet.
Jesse grabs her arm, stopping her retreat. “You’re not leaving. Come on.” He pulls her toward him as he hops off his own stool.
“Let go of me, Jesse. I’m out. I can’t do this—”
“Like hell,” he snaps. “We’re doing this.” He hauls her toward the back of the bar, and I’m moving to break in-between them.
I’ve kept my cool this whole night—told myself I’d just make sure Mel got home safely. Didn’t get too fucked up. Slip from her record drug-free month. Wouldn’t get involved in her personal business. But I’m not idly standing by while this guy—friend or not—hurts her. And I’m not thinking physical, though in his state he’s not taking no for an answer. He could, unintentionally, strike out. It wouldn’t be the first time something went down that way.
In the few seconds it takes me to reach them, Melody has broken away. She sways some on her feet, then notices me, frozen, waiting to know my next move.
“Back off, bare-knuckle.” She slurs a bit, but the words are still delivered with a stinging clarity. They’re true. Truth sucks. “Not looking for any hero action tonight, okay? I got this.”
My teeth grit under the pressure of my clenched jaw. “Maybe a little hero action is just what you need.” Soon as it leaves my mouth, I deflate. Fury evaporated. My anger wasn’t supposed to be directed at her, and I hate that I’m so easily provoked.
She doesn’t seem to notice, though. She’s smiling, amused. “Got a white steed, guy? Or you planning to whisk me away on your heroic bobber?”
Jesse’s the one who speaks next. “Bullshit. Mel, you don’t even know this asshole. It’s not like you…you’re acting like—”
“What? Who?” Her head whips around. “It’s not like me, it’s like Darla? Huh? Is that what you were going to say?” Her whole body tightens with rage. “You calling her a slut? You calling me one? You’re fucking slut-shaming me?” She shakes her head, laughing. “You are such a fucking hypocrite!”
At this point, the bar has noticed their spat. Heads turning their way, conversations dying down. I glance at Jesse. His countenance suddenly changes; he’s aware of the gathering attention, and he shifts in place, latches his hands to his elbows. Sweat beads at his hairline.
Melody checks the crowd, then slams him with a disgusted look. “Can’t have any negative publicity for the prospect, can we?”
Stepping into her personal space, he lowers his voice. “Please, Mel.” He jerks his head toward the back of the bar.
I’m about to cut in, voice my opinion on what a bad idea going off with this guy is, when Melody says, “All right.”
What? I’m crossing the distance, not about to let this happen, but she stops me halfway in my pursuit with a severe look.
“It’s fine,” she reasons. “I got this, okay?”
No, it’s not okay. But I’m on her turf. Her ground. Her way. I’m the invader, having swooped into her life…not really understanding what I wanted from her, or us—this. But I did want something, and it’s not fair to ask anything of her when I can’t give her all of me in return.
I’m a selfish bastard.
With a forced nod, I back away. “Text me if you need me,” I say. “I’ll be outside.” And with that, I turn and head out of the loud, smoky bar.
I don’t look back to watch her disappear with Jesse. I can’t block any of the bad from her life; she has to make her own choices. I’m a fucktard for getting involved with her shit in the first place.
I push open the door, letting the humid night air welcome a blast of clear thoughts. If Mel can’t leave the scene behind, won’t get sober, then how far into it am I willing to go to protect her? I know from firsthand experience that no one and nothing can make a user stop using.
No scare tactic, no amount of pain, no quantity of remorse, can force someone straight. If anything, those are only more reasons to get high; drown out the fear and the guilt. One last time…then I’ll deal with tomorrow. A classic user mantra.
It was the one I recited to myself, over and over, then again the night Hunter died. I was singing that tune as I put the needle to my arm, fucked that girl hard, high as a kite, while he was taking his last breath.
Frustrated, I dig out the cigarette pack from my jean pocket, thump out a cigarette and fire it up. I inhale a deep drag and lean against my bike. I haven’t smoked in months. But I keep them close, just in case. And this is a stressful, just-in-case kind of moment.
Streetlamps light the asphalt parking lot a surreal gray. Cars coasting along the A-1 fill the void of sound with a distant zip and hum.
I’m contemplating jumping on my bike and hauling ass, getting out of Mel’s way, when a bang shatters the deceptive quiet. Cigarette butt between my lips, I swing my head toward the sound.
The front door of the bar slams against the outside wall as Melody storms out, yanking away from Jesse. He’s trying to pull her back inside, but she rips free of his hold and through the doorway. She loses balance with the forward momentum and stumbles to her hands and knees on the sidewalk.