A phone call and drinks
1241 Words
Score, I thought, scanning the article quickly.
Reil Jenner, age 18, disappeared from her foster home in February. After a long investigation the police found no trace of foul play, leading to the conclusion that the teen had run away. "She was always distant at home, acting like she hated this place," Jenners" guardian had commented. Teachers and classmates agreed that she was estranged at school, choosing not to make any friends.
The local teen was found last week on the corner of Dorsey Lane and Don Carlos Avenue in critical condition due to an overdose. From the state of her clothes, authorities suspect that Jenner may have turned to prostitution to fund her substance abuse.
Jenner was rushed to the hospital upon discovery but with slim chances of survival.
I scrolled back up to the picture of Reil , taken from her yearbook, it said, and stared at her unsmiling face. Somehow she seemed different than when I had seen her half a year ago.
Here she looked defiant, sullen, but above all, alone.
Three hours later I still hadn't heard from Christian .
After grabbing a sandwich at the café, I had headed back to the hotel to check if the RV was still there.
It was, thank god.
But there hadn't been an answer when the hotel receptionist had called Christian's room, nor an answer when I went up to knock after I had pestered her enough to give me his room number. And it wasn't like I could do anything without him since he had the keys to the RV and all my stuff was in it.
I wished now more than ever that I had added his number into my phone. It was on the contact sheet from the packet they had given us, but of course, that was locked inside the RV.
Then I realized something.
Mom had made photocopies of all the sheets so she would be able to keep track of all the information.
I pulled out my phone, which was about to die since I didn't have my charger, and sent a quick text to Mom asking for his number. She called me a moment later
"Hey," I said when I picked up. "I don't have my packet with me so-"
"Georgia ." That wasn't Mom. Why did Dad have her phone? "You're mother's in the shower," he told me, somehow managing to guess what I was thinking.
"Oh," was all I could think to say.
"Why do you need your partner's phone number?" he asked.
I winced. "We kind of lost track of each other..." I trailed off, bracing myself for a lecture about how I was being irresponsible and should be more aware of my surroundings and everything.
Then surprisingly he said, "Let me see if I can find the paper." There was some rustling from his side then he cleared his throat and recited Christian's number to me. I scrambled around, barely managing to write it down before he finished.
There was an awkward bit of silence, then he sighed. "Be careful, alright?"
I blinked. "Yeah I will. I have to go because my phone's almost out of battery. Um, thanks." I hung up before he could reply, leaning against the RV. I had expected Dad to scold me for losing track of Christian and ending up alone, but he hadn't.
I shook the thought from my mind, then added Christian's number to my phone and called him. He picked up after the fourth ring, just as I was about to give up. "Hello?"
"Where the hell are you?" I hissed.
"Why do you want to know?" he asked. I pressed a finger against my other ear so I could hear him more clearly, but the chatter seemed to be coming from his side.
"Because you have the keys to the RV!" I said.
He chuckled. "Sucks for you."
Then the fucker hung up on me.
I muffled a scream and barely resisted the urge to throw my phone on the ground. I didn't need to add to the web of cracks that already decorated the screen.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
I had no idea where he was.
All I knew was that he was somewhere loud, but that could be anywhere. I tried to remember what I had heard, in case that gave any clue to where he was. There had been music, and people talking, I knew that. And a tinkling sound... Like ice against a glass.
He's not...
But now that I thought about it, his words had been just the slightest bit slurred.
I hate Christian Harvey.
I walked back into hotel and approached the front desk again, the concierge gave me a wary look -she was probably sick of me bothering her.
"Sorry, but could you just tell me where the closest bar or club is?"
Her incredulous look seemed to say ′oh hell, she's a drunkard on top of being a desperate stalker ex-girlfriend', since that was probably what I had come across as. Still she gave me the name of a club that was about a five minute walk from the hotel.
It wasn't too busy since it was a week night, I didn't have to wait long to get in. Although there weren't many people, it took me a couple minutes to find Christian in the darkness. He was seated at the bar across the room, his back to me so he didn't see me approaching.
"Getting drunk on a Tuesday night seems a little sad, even for you," I remarked, sliding onto the stool beside him.
He glanced at me, then raised a shot glass and tipped it back, keeping his eyes on me in a defiant stare the whole time. The bartender filled it when he slammed it back down without prompting. Christian ran his finger along the rim, then turned to me. "Drink with me."
"What? No," I told him.
"Too good for me to do that, princess?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I knew I shouldn't have, but something in his expression made me slip the glass from his grasp and toss it back, just to prove him wrong. The liquid burned all the way down, threatening to make me cough But I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to give in to his part smug, part challenging look. I choked it down, barely hold back a flinch.
"Not bad," I lied.
He smirked, then flashed two fingers when the bartender came back.
"I'm not drinking with you," I said.
"Scared?" he goaded.
Maybe it was the alcohol getting to my brain, or just a lack of good judgment, but I found myself reaching for one of the two glasses the bartender set down a moment later. Christian took his and tipped it towards me mockingly. "Ladies first."
I braced myself, then gulped down the clear liquid. It was better the second time, not burning as much as it went down. "That was kind of hot," Christian remarked.
"You're f*****g drunk," I replied, the words slurring together as they came out.
He drank his own shot and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "But so are you."
Then the bartender brought another round.
...And another.
...And another.
Until every shot blurred together in a dizzying mess of alcohol that I knew I would regret in the morning.
- Writer
