Dirty Martini
1222 Words
CHAPTER3
Jay! He called.
My hand shot forward across the table in asplit second, reaching for the phone that Gretchen suddenly pulled away, out ofmy reach.
"Oh my God, April. Calm down."
"No, no, no. You can't do this, I'vebeen waiting for his call!"
I stood and stretched forward, ignoring thefact that my movement have disheveled our food with salad greens scattered allround the table.
Gretchen pulled farther away,
"And do you see what this call isdoing to you? April, whatever is going on between you and this guy, he is incontrol of your emotions from wherever he is."
"I don't care! Give me my phone,Gretchen."
I really didn't care who was in control.
Everything was finally going to be alright.
She didn't understand.
"You don't understand-"
"Oh, I understand enough. Sincefriday, you've been beat down, sad, grouchy, weak and according to you'broken'. This guy calls and you're suddenly uppity."
People were beginning to stare.
"And so what? Give me my phone."I try to grab the buzzing phone but she pulls it away again.
"No!" She said stubbornly and hitvoicemail.
And then I lost it.
"Are you crazy? What the hell is wrongwith you?" I yelled at her and her defiant face melted to shock.
A waiter approached us but Gretchen held upher hand,
"Yes. I know. We're leaving." Shesaid and walked out the place with me on her heels.
When we are outside, she whips around toface me but my anger is already over the brim.
"You have no right to decide thechoices I make or tell me when to eat or even stop me from taking calls on MYphone!" I yell at her in fuming rage.
"April, do you hear yourself? You havecompletely lost it."
"No, you have! How dare you? Becausewe coincidentally end up as roommates, you're now obligated to encroach on mylife?"
"I'm looking out for you." Shestates clearly.
"I didn't ask you to. You have no ideawhy he was calling, he was going to fix everything and you ruined it!" Iyell at her.
"Fix everything? I'm guessing he isthe same person that put you in the same mess."
I open my mouth to respond but claim itshut.
Jay didn't put me in this mess, it wasGinger...but I'm not ready to bring her into this.
Gretchen looked at me and continued,
"I don't need an expert to know theanswer. I can't give you the phone. April." She said, emphasizing my nameto let it sink in.
"And can you see why?" Gretchencontinued and gestures to our booth through the window where a waiter wascleaning the mess.
Tears blurred my vision.
"It's not his fault, he is sorry andhe is calling to apologise for this." I said and Gretchen held up thephone.
"Then why hasn't he called backagain?" She asked.
But this isn't right...she has to be wrong.Jay always had an explanation.
"Check the voicemail." I saystubbornly.
"No. You check it." She says andtosses me the phone as she continues,
"You need to see that he is not worthall this emotional pain he is causing you."
And with that, Gretchen leaves.
As I stare at the phone, fear clouds myjudgement of whether she is right or wrong. But my need to prove her wrong isstronger and I open the voicemail.
The voice I have adored for the past 3years speaks, breaking my heart slowly;
**Hey,it's Jay. Just wanted to let you know that I'm going back to school...and aboutwhatever happened yesterday, I can't say I'm sorry, okay? I'm tired of lying.It is what it is, April. Its over. Goodbye.**
****
It is what it is April. It's over. Goodbye.
As I finish listening to the voicemail forwhat seems like the hundredth time, and I can't stop listening to it.
Over.
And over.
And over.
Endlessly until the sun sets, until alittle girl asked if I was homeless and her mother pulled away, until thedoorman told me I was frightening customers.
Over and over.
But I didn't find what I was looking for inthe voicemail.
At least a clue, a mistake in his words,remorse in his speaking or at least guilt. But there was nothing, so I got upand walked down the road with Jay's voice echoing in my head.
I can't say I'm sorry. I'm tired of lying.
Tired of lying? Tired of lying? For howlong? I can't stop the anger that surges through me out of my sickening tears.How dare he?
It is what it is?
The words keep echoing in my head and Ibegin to hate it more and more. Hate the way I worshipped him, the way thisvoice meant everything to me.
Nothing. Its all nothing now.
Loud music probes my thoughts and I stareat the building in front of me, with bright coloured lights flashinghaphazardly.
Perfect. A club.
I slip inside, ignoring the fact that I'mthere in ankle length leggings, a baggy sweater and toms.
I need a drink...if I knew how to orderone. Shaking the doubt out of my head, I march over to the bar determined notto over think this.
Since no one is having regrets, I'm notgoing to.
The bar is early empty apart from one guy seatedthere, face down. Taking a deep breath, I walk over and sit down and withinseconds, the bartender is in front of me.
"You want a drink miss?" He asksthen observes me closer,
"Or you need directions?" He saysand then the guy two seats away from me turns.
I want to tell him to mind his own damnbusiness but when I turn, I recognize the sharp grey eyes immediately with theblack tousled hair.
"What are you doing here?" Heasks suddenly, like I've come to worship in a satanic cult.
Ignoring him, I turn back to the bartenderwho was watching me with caution while wiping a beer mug.
"Umm.." I stammer, thinking ofall the alcoholic drinks I've heard of in movies.
"You do know this a club, right?"Says Griffin.
"What is your problem?" I say tohim with a glare.
"You're gonna take the drink away frommy hand too? You've taken your damn journal and I owe you nothing. So stopbothering me."
The bartender looks uncomfortable as hestares from me to Griffin and back.
"Are you still going to order?"
"Yes. I'll have a dirty martiniplease." I say even though I can't remember how alcoholic it was in themovie I watched. Just so this guy can leave me alone.
The bartender brings the drink in less than2 minutes and as I stare at the triangular wine glass containing liquid similarto water with 3 stuffed olives on a pick inside, I can't help but have secondthoughts.
Should I just go back to my room?
I don't want anymore pity from Gretchen.
Everything I thought I could handle hadbackfired on me. My new roommate knew more about my cheating boyfriend justthrough one stupid call. She could predict him and I've dated him for 3 years.
Idiot.
And then there was Ginger.
That did the trick. I downed the drink in 2gulps, holding back the urge to spit it out immediately. Then I ate the 3stuffed olives.
Oh, Christ!!!
The drink practically set my throat andchest on fire
Perfect. I want to feel this, thisdistracting, burning sensation.
"You okay?" The bartender asksand I smile despite the burning on my lips and the watchful grey eyes just twoseats away.
"Yes. Another, please."
CH
- Writer
