By the third drink, my thoughts aren't walking anymore, they're stumbling.
The room feels warmer. Softer. Or maybe I'm just sinking.
Alice's voice floats through the haze. "Hey, you okay?"
I laugh. A short, broken sound. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm g-great… F-fantastic."
"Sure you are," she says gently.
The words start tumbling out before I can stop them.
"She didn't even see it," I mumble. "Was talking to someone… some guy. I d-don't even know him. Hic. I was just standing there like an idiot while everyone laughed."
Alice doesn't interrupt. She just lets me spiral.
"And him," I continue, pointing vaguely at no one. "That… that bastard. Samuel. He talked about my dad. Said I was strong. (I pause, trying to focus). Like it was a compliment. But everyone knew it… it wasn't. He knew."
I laugh again, too loudly. "Funny thing, right? He knows more about my life than I do. I d-didn't even know my mom's engaged. Found out at his party. Like some… like some punchline."
My words slur together now, truth and self-loathing mixing like the drink in my glass.
"Maybe she didn't tell me 'cause I'm not worth telling. Maybe e-everyone's right. I'm just the poor kid with the tragic family. Trying to keep up with people who were born shiny."
Alice reaches out, her hand brushing my sleeve. "Ash—"
"No! Don't. (I push her hand away too hard). Don't say it's okay! It's not okay, Alice! None of it is okay!"
The words wobble out of me, half-choked, half-laughing. My eyes sting. The lights blur into gold and shadow. My reflection in the counter looks like someone I've been running from.
I should stop.
But I don't.
Because stopping would mean feeling everything again.
So I raise the glass one more time. "To f-forgetting," I say softly.
Alice hesitates, then clinks her glass against mine. "To surviving."
I drink.
It burns less this time. Or maybe I'm just getting used to it.
The room feels like it's breathing.
Or maybe that's just me.
I swirl what's left in my glass. "It's funny," I mumble. "I used to hate this stuff. Swore I'd never drink. My dad…"
The word catches in my throat. I take another sip to wash it down.
"...used to drink till he forgot we existed."
Alice's voice is quiet. "And now?"
"Now I get it," I mutter, my head drooping. "Forgetting sounds… really nice."
She doesn't answer. Just watches me like she's waiting for something to fall apart.
And it does.
"It's so stupid, right? Still being in love with someone who already moved on."
A dry laugh slips out. "She said we could still be friends. That's what people say when they mean go away quietly."
Alice tilts her head. "This is the girl from back home?"
"Yeah," I nod too hard. "Lena. God, Lena. We grew up together, you know? Since we were kids. She… she was light. The light of my world... "
I rub my eyes with my sleeve. "Then she met this guy. Samuel. Rich, perfect, charming. All the things I'm not. I told myself... I could still... protect her, or something. But now—"
The words melt together. My throat burns.
"Now I'm just the charity case who crashes her parties. Who crashes her parties."
Alice frowns but stays silent.
I lean forward, slumping against the table. "He humiliated me tonight. In front of everyone. Said things about my family… stuff he couldn't have known. About my dad, my mom…"
"He says L-Lena told him. She won't… she won't do this to me. What do you think, huh?"
My voice cracks. "Mom's getting married. To someone rich. Didn't even tell me. Found out from him. From him, Alice."
Her hand twitches, like she wants to reach for me but can't quite cross the distance.
"Hey," she says softly. "You don't have to—"
"I do," I interrupt. "Because no one ever listens, you know? They just move on. Like I was some bad dream they woke up from."
There's a long silence.
I laugh again, quiet and bitter. "You're probably thinking I'm p-pathetic."
"No," she says. "I'm thinking you need another drink."
I grin, blurry and exhausted. "You're not wrong."
She slides her glass toward me. I take it. The liquid catches the light. Dark, gold, cruelly beautiful.
I raise it to my lips, whispering mostly to myself,
"It burns... but at least I can feel it."
Then I finish it in one go.
The world sways a little. Alice just sits there, her eyes softer than her smile, watching me drown quietly in the thing I swore I'd never touch.
It didn't taste like freedom.
It tasted like ashes.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
Alice's arm was around my shoulders, and the city was spinning in slow motion.
The sidewalk tilted, or maybe I did.
"Okay, Mr. Shakespeare," she muttered, half-dragging me toward the building. "One foot. Then the other. It's not rocket science."
"I'm fine," I mumbled. My voice sounded foreign. "I can walk."
"You can't even stand."
She was right. My knees had apparently given up on being knees and turned into decorative noodles.
We stopped in front of a streetlight. Its yellow glow swayed above me like it was drunk too.
"Sorry, Alice." (I lean heavily on her.) "You shouldn't have to… help me like this. I'm a mess. Could've just… left me there."
"Yeah, well," she said, shifting my weight, "I have this annoying habit of not abandoning people in gutters. Character flaw, really."
That made me laugh. Or maybe hiccup. Hard to tell.
When we reached the apartment, she guided me inside, kicked off my shoes, and tossed me onto the bed.
The ceiling was spinning. Or breathing. Both.
"Stay there," she said, filling a glass of water.
I watched her move. Steady, calm. Like she was used to dealing with chaos.
I muttered something that was probably thank you, but it came out like mmph-thanks.
She set the water beside me. "Sleep. We'll talk when you're less… poetic."
"I'm not poetic," I said into the pillow. "Just… s-sad."
"Yeah," she whispered, softer now. "I noticed."
When I woke up, sunlight was clawing its way through the blinds.
My skull felt like someone had replaced my brain with gravel.
The living room smelled faintly of coffee.
I groaned, sitting up. The glass of water was still beside me, untouched.
Alice was in the kitchenette, scrolling her phone with one hand and holding a mug in the other.
"Good morning, drunkard," she said. "You look like roadkill with feelings."
"Thanks," I croaked. My throat was sandpaper. "I feel worse."
She smirked. "That's the point. It's called consequence. Drink."
I did. The water tasted like forgiveness.
Bits of last night drifted back; the bar, the burning in my throat, the laughter, the things I said about Lena. My stomach twisted.
"I shouldn't have told you all that," I muttered.
Alice shrugged. "You needed to tell someone. Don't worry, I'm a vault. A sarcastic, judgmental vault."
I smiled weakly. But inside, I felt that strange, empty pull.
Not for her. For the drink.
Just one more, I thought. Not to forget, just to quiet things.
The headache, the shame, the ache that Lena left behind.
But I didn't say that out loud.
Alice was talking about breakfast, eggs or toast or something.
Her voice faded in and out as I stared at the half-empty glass of water.
It wasn't the alcohol I craved.
It was the silence that came with it.
Alice was talking about breakfast; eggs, toast, maybe pancakes if I could sit upright without dying.
Her voice drifted in and out, warm and steady, a sound from a world I couldn't reach yet.
My gaze slipped to the coffee table.
The glass of water sat there, empty, catching the morning light.
My head still pounded. My chest still hurt. But underneath it all… the noise was quieter.
Maybe too quiet.
I leaned back against the couch, watching the faint reflections dance on the rim of the glass.
This helps.