Four years and two months of staying sober.
I turn my body toward Leo and take the glass of vodka in my hands. He shifts on his stool to give me more of his attention. The smile on my face is apologetic, but he might not know that. He might think I’m grateful or that I’m trying to get over what happened between us. He’ll soon find out how very wrong he is.
“I don’t like you, and I don’t want to get to know you.”
Four years, two months, and fifteen days of being the new Mindy and now the new broken Mindy.
I hate both of them with equal vigor.
“But thank you for the vodka.” One sip, Mindy. All it takes is one sip. I force a smile to my face, more of a grin really, and bring the glass to my lips. The vodka smells like regret and self-hatred. It smells like desperation. It smells like the worst mistake I’m ever going to make, because now I know what awaits me at the bottom of the glass.
Be brave.
Tipping the glass up just enough to taste the vodka on my lips, I fight back the churning in my stomach. Shit. I forgot how repulsive liquor is. I guess that’s why people drink to the point of being drunk. It’s not like this stuff tastes good. Its real purpose is to numb the world around you—to numb everything until the world you live in is tolerable enough to continue to exist in. And with that thought in mind, I swallow the little bit I manage to get into my mouth. With more confidence than I feel, I lower the glass and stare into Leo’s eyes.
“It was nice knowing you, Leo.” It wasn’t, but it doesn’t matter. His dark brown eyes are suspicious and shifty now. The more nervous he becomes, the more inclined I am to drink. It’s powerful, holding this man’s future in my hands. Intoxicating in a way I don’t think even heroin could be. Instead of being out of it and lost to the world, this power gives me a sense of self, an awareness I don’t know that I’ve ever had before. I force another sip down my throat before I give up and set the glass down on the bar. I can’t finish it. Finishing it would be going back to where I was before.
Four years, two months, and fifteen days.
And now I’m back to zero.
Tears form in my eyes, my heart speeds up, and there’s a sickening lump in my throat. Leo is still giving me an unnerving look. It’s the only thing that makes any of this any better—knowing that I can unsettle the mafioso.
“Before we part ways, just tell me one thing. Was it worth it?” As I wait for his response, I dig my black chip out of my pocket and hold it in my lap.
“You’re taking my actions more personally than you should.”
“But was it worth it?”
“I believe in my cause, so yes.”
“Good,” I say with a firm nod. I’m so focused on my task that I don’t notice the wavy blondish-brown head of hair barreling toward us until I already have my black chip out on the bar top in front of Leo. His jaw ticks as he focuses in on the chip.
“Was it worth it?” he asks.
Worth what? My sobriety? My soul? Is anything worth losing myself? The harsh tang of vodka on my tongue is the only answer I have.
“Yes.”
It’s barely a moment before Leo is pulled off his stool and he’s spun around, facing a familiar face that I barely recognize. There’s a vicious snarl emanating from Ian. It’s so guttural, raw even, that I shrink back on my stool. Tears well in my eyes that I can’t bring myself to wipe away. I should, though. I can’t sit here and cry like a bitch after what I’ve done. I deserve whatever I get. We all do, I guess.
“Did you forget?” The nasty bark of words aren’t for Leo—they’re for me.
“No.”
“I always make good on my promises, Melinda.” Ian leans in close to Leo as he spits the words out. The men around us jump to their feet, with Ryan and Duke appearing out of the crowd, each with a gun trained on Leo.
“Give me a reason, asshole,” Ryan says. His trigger finger lowers and lifts and then lowers again.
“What happened, brother?” Duke asks and slowly lowers his gun. His angry glare turns to confusion quickly.
“Tell me the rules, Melinda,” Ian grinds out. Leo’s arms are raised in the air now. He’s shaking his head with his angry eyes on me.
“The next person I try to score from dies,” I say flippantly.
“Were you fucking confused?”